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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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189.
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The Fall Of Rome
One pool was filled with brownish sludge
its colour similar to fudge.
The other stank of pharmacy
and bureaucratic chemistry.
They did assure the stupid masses
that any emanating gasses
were simply signs of distillation
and this would lead to fractionation.
You see, the public servants had
neglected things, and now were mad
that lakes and rivers had run dry
without the water, all would die.
So they convinced the skeptics all
that Rome prevented its own fall
by cycling all their excrements
through special pipes and narrow vents
until they bubbled, mixed and rose
in volume and to please the nose.
The bladders of those placid mules
were used as filters in their pools.
It made the brew look fresh and clear
and wiped away the people's fear.
So, soon the Romans skipped their wine
and helped themselves to bubbly brine.
Their chemists had not known the fact
that oestrogen will stay intact
inside a liquid and it will
wreak havoc first and later kill.
Each woman, since she is a she,
has hormones hidden in her pee.
These substances will act in men
to make them feel like Mother Hen.
They'll grow size 44-D breasts
and try to hide them under vests.
Rome fell due to a lack of tails.
Recycled water killed all males.
Herbert Nehrlich
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190.
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The Kimberly
The croc had eaten that day,
they do without even a snack
for weeks on end, and in the summer
when water's warm, they float,
and frolic, swim just for the sake
of being there and having, yes, fun.
It was a scorcher of a day, and Joe,
whose job it was to get the tourists
from all those countries safely home,
had been the first to take the plunge.
And he was safe, so all did join him,
and had their swim to cool the boiling bod',
when it attacked it was all over in a blink,
they later put the guide into the local jail.
Herbert Nehrlich
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191.
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Thoughts By Eugen Roth
A man, sweat dripping from his brow
earns his first bread and now knows how.
From bread to ham the step is small
and now the appetite wants all.
A lobster sits upon his table
expensive bubbly, he is able.
The rich get to this upper stage
arriving on their final page.
They see that there is nothing else
beyond the luxury of smells.
He reminisces of the bread
before he reaches it, drops dead.
Note: This was inspired by Eugen Roth's Lebensleiter. It is a loose translation thereof.
Herbert Nehrlich
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192.
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Today's BD Poem
I wrote a poem without preambles,
the subject was those prickly brambles.
I dedicate it now to you
so wear it if it fits. The shoe.
It's writ for Mahnaz,
and for Mary and Sherrie,
and, with further pizzazz,
there is Andrew and Jerry,
AJS and Ern'stine
and that scrumptious young teen,
and, as not to forget
our lovely Raynette.
So I'll let you now be
friendly wave to JC.
Herbert Nehrlich
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