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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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2009.
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On A Mossy Rock
A mossy rock was waiting
I sat and watched the waterfall
and tiny bubbles springing free
as if to reach the sun's warm rays.
My grandpa had, so many times
sat on this rock, on older moss
and, knowing him a bit, I'd say
his thoughts may well have been
the very same. Something like
what's the meaning of it all,
and what will happen on that day
when I must go, and all that godliness,
the learned raw facts of history,
and chemistry, so many formulae,
and who would run as fast and jump
one meter eighty-two in height?
That wisdom I had recently confirmed,
it was at last a real part of me.
All this would go to dust, would then
be swept away by waterfalls perhaps,
I left when darkness came, I smiled,
it had now been confirmed that Heaven
would have a use for all of this, my talents.
No bloody way that God would be so wasteful.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2010.
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On Abuse
Accepting, if I did, from you
the thing you give, it's called abuse
would mean I am no longer true
to my own self, who needs to choose
all thoughts and deeds that come my way
while standing near, to you, the gnome
and do not linger, do not stay
as I am wisdom's epitome.
Do keep away your sodding hands
the road to greatness, it is steep
and it is I who makes demands
while all abuse is yours to keep.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2011.
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On Being Human
An educated man came by
and talked about humility.
And over tea and humblepie
I answered with hostility.
The tea was gone, so was the pie
when someone named Futility
joined both of us and told us why
we needed serendipity.
He was, I'm telling you no lie
the picture of civility,
'make peace', he said, 'too soon you'll die',
it was a probability.
The smart man now let out a sigh,
sure sign of his nobility.
'you must not oversimplify,
or lose all credibility.'
Then God came down, straight from the sky
in grand formidability.
I asked him when I was to die,
he gave me gullibility.
He'd brought a giant humblepie
and urged to live with dignity.
'If humans would transmogrify
we could dispense with deity.'
Herbert Nehrlich
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2012.
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On Cancer
'What is', he asked,
'this thing called cancer? '
An evil cell, expertly masked,
with patience, unsurpassed?
It wakes one day
from hibernation,
and starts its journey
of ravenous proportions.
You may, no question,
call it oncogene,
a cell with traits of wrath
and wild distortions
of known biology,
where number forty-six,
our noble chromosomes,
just does not count,
as cells of true malignancy
will vary and adapt
to all the chemo
and to ionising radiation.
We never will get victory
with tools too dull
and logic that is brittle.
Capitulation is
our unloved destiny
and it has reached
our lonely hearts.
'Is there an answer
to the sourge ', you ask
I say, perhaps
for all is known
about initial stages,
its true beginnings
and its seed of death.
To fight this cancer
is a thankless task,
it's paid the wages
of imbeciles in suits
who earn their keep
until your final breath
succumbs to tyranny.
No thought is wasted on
the image of efficiency,
you toe the line
and do not reminisce.
Indeed, you see deficiency
and luddites in cahoots,
when it is there,
in front of you,
a chronic lack, no less
of something called ascorbate,
the guardian of collagen.
Now you begin your quest
to count each lowly clue.
And if you do arrive their first
and find the golden goose,
some little guys will point
down to the tracks your feet have made
and tell you, smiling to your face
that bubbles bearing promises all burst.
Herbert Nehrlich
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