|
|
|
Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
|
|
| |
|
|
1797.
|
Melancholy
I have had a melancholy day.
And please don't ask me why.
I do not know myself
why gremlins come in to the
lounge room of my mind.
It ought to be forbidden,
I would say.
That bad vibrations,
'couraged by bad spirits,
can settle in and ruin my life today.
All things went wrong today
except the morning pee,
it came out by itself, without
privation.
And I despaired-
I'd told her I would not,
but what the hell was,
bloody, going on?
Some hours passed,
the darkness out
is waiting.
I'll run my legs off,
maybe that will help.
I'm out the door,
the phone rings
and I hear her:
Don't worry,
things will never
be the same.
And, be it known:
My Goddess is
my friend.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: today poems, running poems
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
1798.
|
Melancholy Song
I watched him as he sat, high in the tree,
attending to his feathers and a polished beak.
It seemed he glanced, occasionally, at me,
as if he thought my future to be bleak.
Without an introduction he descended then,
and perched on a green stump, close to my bench.
We eyed each other to the count of nine (or ten) ,
he, feathered friend, and I, a dressed-up Mensch.
He spoke before he sang and said 'my human friend,
it is the heart that will decide, it must be strong,
so would you listen to my music to the end,
it's all for you and called The Melancholy Song.'
Herbert Nehrlich
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
1799.
|
Melbourne Cup
I love that hat, it gives some shade
to mammaries on this cute maid.
The melbourne Cup is once a year,
most visitors drink wine and beer.
And all the ladies form parades
with ponytails and fancy braids,
but soon they do recall the reason
they've come here, it is racing season.
So, quickly, make a risky bet
adjust your hat, the mozzie net.
Sit down and watch the race unfold
and dream about that pot of gold.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
1800.
|
Melinda's Cancer
The day that follows Christmas,
they took Melinda to the Phillippines.
Healers were known to heal and cure
without regard to medical convention.
That was, if you would have asked them,
the point of healing, and they truly had embraced
spiritual essence of all beings superhuman,
it was a blessing that the gods had only sent
to this small monastery in the Southern Sea,
the sick would pave an alley to the word of God.
Four midsize tumours were removed without ado,
a tiny effort if you look at the tall fee,
she was sent home at once, perhaps to be ahead
of the Grim Reaper, should he want to claim her now.
The thing recurred within a week of their return.
They went to Hulda who had promised them a cure.
And fourteen thousand heavy steps and dollars later,
she was as sick as she had ever been before.
So she was sick of being sick and sick to death,
of all those quacks who had the world at cruddy feet,
she vowed to follow what the doctor of her choice
suggested after he had spoken on the phone
to the oncologist who was both feared and loathed.
She spent her money as expected by the bucket,
and there was praise and talk of plaques in her own name,
and two administrative nurses came to chat
about a giant sign atop the cancer ward.
It seemed the name Melinda was, as such, okay,
and if one added a sweet sum to make it whole
there would be promise for the future, very close
a hundred grand would make her name immortal, too.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|