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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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1997.
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On Cats
A cat, they say, dictates the rules
to feline owners, dogs and fools.
For me, a cat does spell disaster,
without one I can be the master.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1998.
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On Chastity
' It is the push, ' she said.
' No one has ever done it with
such equisite elaboration,
and effrontery, mind you.
Not that I've had experience
in carnal matters, but I can
recognise a pleasant picket,
if I may call it that today.'
Communication is the key, they say.
Although it shall remain unsaid,
that the sophistication, so exquisite,
was brought about by simple human shyness.
Herbert Nehrlich
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1999.
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On Deliverance
I sat there, all alone,
and stared against the wall,
wallpaper peeling off
and funny brownish specs.
A fly sat patiently
worth waiting for a mate
six legs or eight
it mattered little
a long, curved stencil
with hairy fluff
it would be welcome.
But me, did no one care
about my soul
the one that looked
out from that fly
a kindred spirit
only human,
and old, not wise
just flashing
pretense again,
a lifetime now
thus far results
were so elusive
that's why I sit
and stare, eyes shut.
Will revelation
or salvation
ooze out from dusty
brittle mortar
yellowed with age
the home of crawlers?
Yet my last hope
before I take
that frigid piece
gunmetal blue
that Mr. Smith
or Master Wesson
had crafted finely
for such deeds.
And there he comes
assuming now
because he humps
onto her back
the act is swift
but listen, now
they're hanging in
for many minutes.
It gives me hope
and I turn off
the melancholy
and the morbid.
I now must find
a willing mate
and all will be
deliverance.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: funny poems, hope poems, home poems, alone poems
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2000.
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On Easter
'Twas the early bird, Rhode Island Red,
she met, down at the barn with Mr. Rabbit,
negotiations were, as they were every year
about the price that would be fair for light brown eggs.
The rabbit, being middleman would pocket
a fair and pleasant seasonal reward,
the hen and all her sisters, cousins even nanas,
complained about their sphincters and their legs.
Each second, so it seemed, would then appear
a new one, some came out the speed of rockets
it all depended on what chickens had been fed
some liked their grains mixed in with ripe bananas,
as others sat and preened and pompadoured.
In any case, this Eastereggbaloney has become a habit.
Herbert Nehrlich
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