|
|
|
Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
|
|
| |
|
|
2557.
|
The Aftermath Begins
He had waited,
though he was no patient man,
the winter storms
gave way to early Spring,
a silly hare regarded him
watched his descent
into the town
that righteously was
nestled at the foot
of granite boulders
and dead gravel's chaff.
He had to face the clowns
once allies
with their merchant's grins
it seemed they'd stepped,
mid afternoon had come,
outside to watch their son,
who'd chosen war,
against his own
and all of decency
forfeitted all,
a rightful place
though tied to strings
within the fold,
and not a single hand
would ever rise
to greet him,
there was scorn,
a clan rebuffed
dismissed
as if the plague had come
to take possession
of good taste
and manners
holding up the sky
which would have fallen in
of that they were
so sure
and folks now gathered
at the baker's den
to shoot the breeze
if not the messenger
which was against the rules,
oh they detested him,
all empathy had gone
when words could not dissuade
and he stood tall to take
her hand,
and brought it to his lips
to have her fingers slip
inside his mouth,
it was a sign,
a symbol so the baker said
of decadence
brought on by lust
and sheer insanity
that had befallen one
whose council once was heard
throughout the region
and whose voice,
subdued
would calm the boys
and those whose paths
led near the southern tracks
where lepers lived
in poverty,
by God's will,
and shunned
by decent man.
He would not bow
not dip his head,
nor would he halt
his steps
to greet the past,
they dared not spit
though he could see
white flecks of spittle
on their chins,
there were loud calls
to get the carpenter
an able man,
to make a hasty cross,
but he walked on,
a melancholy smile
seemed frozen
on his stoic face.
And all just stared
as he crossed over
and was lost
in morning's dew
at the horizon
near the summit's stars.
There was
no sound
for those
who stood,
still
near the bakery,
and not a single soul
would talk
or mention HER,
due to selective blindness
they'd not seen
that they were two,
perhaps they did,
for they were one.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
2558.
|
The Alcoholic Of Sylivania
There is a place
called Sylivania,
named after silybum,
the thistle of the milk.
It's where the laws
of Physics
and of Chemistry
as well as most
of what we humans
have come to
see as truth,
have been suspended
for ever
and a day.
A man can drink
in Sylivania,
he takes a bottle,
size one gallon,
Sylivanian measure,
he looks inside
-an introduction-
and then inhales
the fragrance
of the devil's brew.
Upon approval
he dives, head first
into the delectable
and promising
deep well of pleasure.
And as he floats
without an effort
he drinks his fill
again and then
again, only
to feel the need
to breathe
now and perhaps
much later.
And so he floats
up to the top
at intervals,
dictated by
the body's need
for oxygen.
And then he sinks
to find the other,
it gives a life
not so unlike
and also asks
of him to make
his choice.
And when
the pleasure
and the promise
of the need
come into focus
in the eyes of
blurriness
he may decide
to stay.
Forgo the need to
float past
the horizon.
And stay
forever
at the bottom
of his well.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
2559.
|
The Allergic Honeybee
A honeybee, (it was a she)
sat in the Frangipani tree.
She had been told to fly around
just seven metres off the ground
that way she would detect the source
of future honey, which of course
was made from nectar by the bees
this is what made her ill at ease.
You see, she tested positive
to allergies, ergo to live
a life without the misery
she could not be a honeybee.
The queen however used her clout
and told her she could be a scout
and thus stay outside of the hive
that would ensure she'd stay alive.
You see, anaphylactic shock
can hit a bee just like a rock
and once knocked down onto their knees
it is the rarest of the bees
that could recover and be well
as most would tumble down to hell.
An owl sat on that forest tree
and blinked right near the honeybee
the owl, a bird so old and wise
said 'Darling I have a surprise,
a Doctor from up in Vermont
who published in Electra Font
discovered that most allergies
cannot be fixed by eating cheese
but since you asked, I put my money
not on those steroids but on honey.'
And thus it came that honeybees
do not use steroids, not eat cheese
and since that time all allergies
that once afflicted honeybees
have all been found to be extinct,
thanks to the owl who sat and blinked.
The little bee was also free
she pulled up her small tree tee-pee
and gladly flew back to her hive
healthy and happy and alive.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
2560.
|
The Anatomy Lecturer
She placed his timid hand just where the collarbone protrudes,
and lectured patiently about the pectorals, how they attach,
monocled, framed by silver hair she called men foolish dudes
but this one would be fine, she'd found perhaps her perfect match.
Her nipple rose as if to reach and touch his sweating hand
the speed of breathing changed, as rouge painted her face
he wondered briefly how a woman so benignly bland
could be so self-assured and buoyant in her grace.
They sat until the watchman made his early moaning rounds
a breeze had helped to firm her tissues in the cold
their close encounter followed, slyly, with its sounds
she was a lecturer, anatomy, I'm told.
Herbert Nehrlich
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|