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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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2197.
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Rapport
A doctor interviews you first
and stills his interviewer's thirst.
He thinks he understands you well
you think he hears what you do tell
the doctor thinks you know that he
can cure diseases to a T,
you think the doctor thinks he can
cure illnesses in every man.
But if the doctor fails to see
the cause of all your misery
he leads you on so you believe
that he will give you a reprieve,
he does surmise that you accept
that doctors never are inept.
And you, if you are pretty sure
that it is death you may endure
you lead the doctor to lay claim
to being victor of this game.
In time, and just before you die
you ask yourself the question 'WHY'
but then you think about your doc
who stand with you, a solid rock
and both of you then ascertain
rapport itself can be quite vain.
For Rachel and all her doctors.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2198.
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Raquelle
I do remember, sweetie, sure I do.
I had deduced that there was peace
inside your mind concerning me.
But, having passed the interview,
the probing eyes and tilted ears
that formed a portrait of this aspirant
you were a mere but crucial foot away
from me, whose mind was in a daze,
while androgens competed de rigeur
for the attention of a hopeful heart.
I longed so much it nearly blew a fuse,
I prayed to ALL the gods for just one chance,
your eyes said yes and there was promise in your smile.
I have forgotten who moved first, I really have.
But I will never lose the taste of that first kiss.
So, who do you think this is for?
Herbert Nehrlich
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2199.
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Rat-Hounds
The tunnel was so dark
it scared the rats that roamed.
They went in packs to re-assure
themselves and hold each other's hands.
At times they stood quite still
to hover in their stench,
they knew no other and it was protection
against a world of creatures blessed by God.
There wasn't one that would have ventured
into the bowels of this star- and moonstruck city.
All took their chances where the living congregated,
but, there was one, who had by reason of a fault,
anencephalic would describe this thing quite well,
it was a hound of such disgusting, sickly features,
that there was not a bit of rationality.
It had some less endearing, frankly puerile habits
and spent its time with either sniffing or shitting,
one hundred sores were open, draining greenish pus
and there were flames of rotting flesh in gaseous form,
like helpless billows coming out a toothless snout.
Having no brain but only remnants of its tissue,
it did permit some basic, primitive emotion,
there was the loneliness and longing for companions,
though not one self-respecting dog would know this hound.
Then, when it snowed he crowded into sewer pipes
to look for food and seek some shelter for himself,
he came upon, because he stumbled in the dark,
a group of sewer rats who stood quite still and stared.
They found their body language utterly the same,
compatibility was what brought them together.
He did not notice their bad stench or their appearance
but then, he was, himself a sight for vermin eyes.
And for a few short years these slimeballs did their oozing,
unloaded foulness of secretions everywhere,
and when the Gods look down in to the world of crap
they always marvel at the absence of all flies.
There are no moths and no mosquitos and no bugs,
the simple reason is that they have self-respect.
Would it surprise you if the Gods had crossed them off
as quite unworthy of concern and recognition,
until they dropp and choke to death in their own vomit
and foul excretions, even shocking evil spirits.
They have no choice, this pack of rats and that Poo-Hound
but roam in places where no decency exists.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: respect poems, dog poems, food poems, evil poems, dark poems, city poems, star poems, together poems, world poems, death poems, god poems
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2200.
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Ratzinger's Rats
It seems that ugly zinger rats
consider themselves acrobats.
This overestimated feeling
sees them attempt to reach the ceiling
where others really fear to tread
but just one blow and they are dead.
It think that at the Holy See
all rats are taught to poop and pee
in ways designed to smear all others
they even dump upon their brothers.
But when they climb to do their feats
their balls hang out beneath their seats
and once you shoot aimed at those things
the only rescue would be wings,
if rats had brains then they might know
that those that fly first had to grow
those feathered arms to get away
but rats are dumb, thus they must stay
and watch as mice turned into bats
through wings, to get away from cats.
Thus, once again, it proves that brains
will let you leave the common plains.
Herbert Nehrlich
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