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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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2317.
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Rolfie's Mother
And there she is,
resting,
like a small child,
in the fetal position,
Mother, I am afraid
this isn't you, is it?
I have many,
well thousands
of memories,
none,
or rather few have faded,
vivid is what I would call
the others,
three dimensional,
full of the colour that once was,
always has been,
you,
my Mother.
From the beginning
when I looked at you,
as you,
smiling with anticipation,
would come into the room,
ready to take care
of all my needs,
me,
the bright pretender,
who,
as often as it suited him,
put on a show, acting too young,
for reasons not revealed
portrayed a midget of a boy
whose stage of growth was not
what could have been
expected reasonably,
given the truth of it.
Yes Mother was a gem those days,
no need would be too cumbersome,
no cry ignored, she had this thing,
this attitude of sheer infinity, as if
all time had been reserved to care
for that small gaggle of fresh kids,
full of rambunctiousness and life,
mischievous dimples in a private niche
inside the Fatherland that nurtured all,
yet would reluctantly agree to see
backsides of them, so soon they went,
to find another promised land, away
and always it was Mother who would be
the stalwart, a short-statured beacon in the sea.
She always found the time, and more,
and now and then she'd have a little too,
just for herself, to brush her hair, to sing
and it would make an even better one,
resourceful and of talents yet possessed,
the kiddoes knew about priorities,
at such an early age, as Mother would engage
into the depths of it, of subtle interaction,
though never called it love, which surely
and with overwhelming clarity it always was.
The years have slipped away, you shrank,
a bundle to be placed inside a home,
where you again enjoyed a little time,
just for yourself, to comb your hair, to sing
and now and then you'd hear the doorbell,
one would bring, a few bananas, overripe,
and sit to shoot the breeze and reminisce.
A pleasant life, the evening of it all,
with time, and leisure on your hands,
to study photographs and have, at night,
those melancholy dreams, to see their smiles,
and wake when first the sun would warm
that snow white linen on your silent bed,
a touch of gold it seemed had come,
through regulation drapes to visit you.
But it was never quite the same, you know.
Without the silly patter of those little feet.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2318.
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Rolfie's Test
A tiny bit of trepidation
arrived with me at half past seven.
I told my spouse that transportation
was not required 'til eleven.
CABOOLTURE PUBLIC, said the sign
and waiting was a handsome girl,
it was too late now to decline,
she smiled, I said 'give it a whirl.'
As now she outlined the procedure,
(I'm sure to make me feel at ease) ,
my colon was to be the feature,
though I was getting weakened knees.
They knocked me out but not about
and did their thing with that long hose.
A white coat figure, rather stout,
stood by in case this guy arose
before the tunnel was explored.
But things went well, so not to worry,
the man that gassed me now looked bored,
he may have been in a slight hurry
to find the truth in my insides.
And soon, a young angelic sister
is there beside me and confides
that things looked good, I would have kissed her
had it not been for my sweet dragon
who was expected to appear
to pick me up in our old wagon.
So I said 'Sister, sister, dear,
I am so starved, would you by chance
have tucker and perhaps a nip? '
Instead, the woman does a dance
around me and removes the drip.
And here it is, a banquet, WOW,
with sandwiches and orange juice,
and coffee, then she shows me how
to sit and rest, or even snooze
in comfy lounge chairs, I must say,
if this is what a man can get,
when he arrives, with feet of clay,
and nervous, trying not to fret
for his own colonoscopy,
then our system is not sick.
And if you ask what it will be,
a carrot or a heavy stick,
I say emphatically NO.
Four hours I had been their guest,
and, even though it was their show,
Caboolture Public is the best.
Hotels and restaurants are rated
routinely, highest is five stars.
The ratings then will be debated,
a bad result though often mars
the business, how it will thrive.
It's detrimental when grown men
bestow a number below five......
but I will give you a FULL TEN.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2319.
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Roma
On top of Ida in Aurora's morning glow
Anchises had been ordered to proceed.
And with the patience of the Sculptor of Milò,
there ventured Eros into Venus bearing seed.
In the Heavens all ye Gods had looked away,
toward Mars whose Rhea Sylvie pulled it home.
This communion in the breeze of Inos Bay
created Romulus and Remus. And then Rome.
Note:
Ida is the mountain where the first copulation of note
took place.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2320.
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Roosters
I have, myself, on some occasions, met a Cock
who seemed a bit more self-assured and proud as such.
The usual talk was 'well, you know this matter Doc',
then to be followed by that small and urgent touch
that speaks of innate kinesthetics among men.
They will, in fact they must have tactile re-connect,
it seems they count inside up to the number ten
when a strong signal makes their muscles genuflect,
I say, my processor relies on genuine rays,
the human touch without a purpose strikes me strange,
yet I am cognizant that there are curious ways
to shoot the breeze in intellectual exchange.
I do prefer though, it must be presented here
as fitting company no paupers and no kings.
Inside the mirror I can always see my peer
and, at an angle it will give my ego wings.
So let me close by being timid, and I trust
that there are humans who would never realise
that many roosters who will crow because they must
are quite convinced they cause the sun itself to rise.
Herbert Nehrlich
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