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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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1993.
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Of Ladders And Fate
I left this door agape,
it was no oversight
and no intent ought to be read
into my slight of hand
if that is what they think.
A draft of harsh and ugly words
most laden with indignity
and bundled into reprimands
with poisoned stinger darts
wafts in to occupy my space
and I retreat and call, in vain for you
where are you LOVE,
what have the bastards done,
is not your place with me,
your arms encircling me
your so delicious lips
caressing mine, your tongue
which ought to speak
its magic whispers
into tastebuds just to say
that we are joined
if not at birth
then as a magic Siamese,
acquired by pure chance
while on an estuary dance?
Oh, yes, I see you now,
you look so pretty there,
among the eucalypts,
had I been more prepared
I'd be a saviour to you
and hand you down
a ladder from the sky,
to climb, led by your decolletι
into my waiting arms.
Tis very sad my LOVE,
but wait, I note your tears,
a thousand drops,
like rain amidst the smile,
oh yes, your Happy Smile!
I understand, and it must be
my kisses will be yours
and yours be mine,
we must not wait
for fancy ladders or for fate.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1994.
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Of Mideastern Appearance
He was, and so they say with righteousness
of middle eastern, unkempt appearance.
His skin was so unwashed and quite unwhite,
plain clothes of foreign fabrication, so exotic
I am no xenophobe and always hold my tongue
in case strange utterings want out to air their wit,
so I went up to him to say that justice must be seen
and heard, of course, if it is to be done, at all, at all,
which is, of course, akin to marketing, of emptiness
and this ought to be done from upper windows of
Potemkin's Villages, it will impress the masses.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1995.
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Of Praise And Skenollaise
The written word,
a whisper barely heard
a pat onto the dorsal fins
a smile, a triple nod
a word of praise, how odd
how effortless it wins.
Wins supporters and friends
as it modifies trends,
lifts the spirit for all
so you feel ten feet tall.
It is surely a matter
that the people who flatter
will go far in their lives,
even keep their own wives.
But there is a confounder
and you know it of course,
like the slow swimming flounder
it's a case of the source,
any praise is becoming,
as it makes us feel warm.
Some will find themselves humming
others panic and swarm.
Yet there's one. When she utters
just a few gracious things
and so quickly unclutters
silly thoughts as she sings.
Yes, this lovely Godiva
trickles balm to the sore,
the great healer saliva,
will she trickle some more.
If the praise is intended
to work miracles though,
there is something so splendid
as it comes with the flow
and it coats wounds and scratches
soothes lungs and chafed skin
it so easily matches
all endorphins within.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1996.
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Of Radishes And Psychiatry
A radish popped out of the ground
it had red cheeks, his face was round
the leafy hair he had was green
and little else could then be seen
he waited patiently for me
to pull him up so he could see.
It was a Sunday in July
I'd gone to Oregon to fly
my cousin's brand new ultralight
as I enjoyed the splendid sight
of valleys and of mountaintops
and, on the freeways, traffic cops
I thought that I had missed my chance
not even thrown a fleeting glance
at all my veggies when I left
thus of their energy bereft
the veggies and myself would wait
'til in the evening, when late
I would return from my long trip
arrive at home, prepare a nip
and suddenly, it comes to me
I wander out to check and see
if it is time to pick and choose
and as I stand there, with my booze
a sadness overcomes my being
my eyes get moist as they are seeing
the little radish, so admired
has shrivelled greatly, looks expired
his hair, so leafy and so green
his reddened cheeks, so clearly seen
a face, so loving, big and round
a veggie from the underground.
It is too late now, you were brave
to wait for me, I'll dig a grave
say radish to radish, and dust to dust
and raise my glass because I must
go back inside, prepare for bed
just think, that little fellow's dead.
That night I dream that I am mental
that radishes are incidental
to modern living, they are food
to nourish and enhance the mood
and if they die they go to ground
where they, next season can be found
recovering from hibernation
like people from an operation
so all those tears were overkill
of the old geezer on the hill
it's just that veggies are my friends
which in itself shakes me and tends
to make me think of them as kiddos
and when they die they leave their widows
The shrink said radishes are hot
if you don't eat them they will rot
he gave me pills then to arrange
some of my thinking, which is strange
and one small box of funny seeds
he said 'They are exotic weeds,
truly immortal and won't die
when I grew radishes I'd cry
today my garden is my joy
but you are schizophrenic, boy
you cannot look at simple plants
and overlook that they wear pants
it all is pretty much confusing
so take these pills, you won't be losing
your mind, which really is a vulture
all due respect for horticulture.'
Next season I went out to look
there was the radish, and I took
him in the house without delay
and sliced him up, he looked okay.
Then ate the fellow, hair and skin
and nothing ended in the bin
I told the doc about it later
he said, he would no longer cater
to health and welfare of my mind
but that he was just being kind.
He said that he had now retired
to do what he and I admired
he stitched together shirts and hats
for radishes, (he called them brats)
and cared for them and for the others
because no veggies know their mothers
and I do think that in the end
the doc and I went 'round the bend.
Herbert Nehrlich
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