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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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261.
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Primary School
Two boys of the primary school,
thought it would be exceedingly cool,
if they'd take a big leak
at the end of the week
but their Dad said no 'P' in the ool.
So they aimed for the very top rafter
but the peeing then triggered much laughter.
Very soon it was plain
that much yellowish rain
soaked their clothes and their bodies therafter.
Came the janitor whom they called Master,
and his face looked like fresh alabaster,
'What's the raindrops in here,
they resembles good beer',
well the man was a walking disaster.
Just a snippet from long ago days
we had tricks up our sleeves and our ways,
on some Saturday nights
we hung, glued to the lights
and watched girls in the bath through the haze.
You must picture this, agile we were,
on a ladder or trellis, yes Sir.
Little Gina would moon
like a female Neptun
though the details were sometimes a blur.
Herbert Nehrlich
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262.
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Prunes And Tunes
All prunes are plums
all plums not prunes,
the sound of drums
and healthy tunes
is just a side effect, a sign
and its significance benign.
So let your grandpa chew his prunes
between his battle-hardened gums
he's left behind so many moons
and as he sits and gently hums,
he feels the prunes slip down the line
until it's time, for rise and shine.
A poem talking of the guts
would be of interest to us all,
to follow food from mouth to butts
and second-guess potential stall
would be remiss without the plan:
to prunes you ought to add some bran.
Herbert Nehrlich
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263.
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Rabbit Homecoming
It was early in the morning,
the forest never had seen
so much and such yellow fog.
The little rabbit had arrived,
back in familiar territory
after the wildest chase
through phallus grass, across
an unfriendly, frigid creek
all to get away from one mean fox.
Three-legged he had been,
but faster than a speeding bullet,
as rabbits are fond of saying,
almost, it came that close.
But now he felt free again,
breathed so much easier and rested.
One more real road to cross
and he would be home with
the gang of seven, though,
there would be trouble from Dad,
he hadn't been allowed to wander
and explore, that would come later
Mom had said. In Spring perhaps.
He shuddered, thinking of the old Hare,
he would give almost anything,
so he told his God about it, please
if you would be so kind, do spare me
that awful punishment, I am prepared
to sacrifice whatever it may take.
And God did listen as he always does.
A jogger could be heard, then seen,
hugging the garden fences, he was huffing,
so little rabbit -to avoid him- hit the street
and crossed with anxious little legs
and half-closed eyes. There was a BANG,
and all his troubles had been solved,
the driver swore about the dented Skoda
while rhythmically, the runner made his way
toward the town, but was too tired now to look.
Herbert Nehrlich
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264.
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Racists
He'd known it wouldn't be
a picnic with a vintage red,
they'd likely stone the girl
with hatred burning cruel eyes.
Yes, this was Africa, the land
of all the creatures Noah saved,
of open space and sudden death
within the jungle and on open plains,
life did renew itself, eternally, a spring
of nectar, red as blood, and bright
reflecting crystals of hot sand
and gushing with the sound of streams
that never would survive the season.
He'd picked a gaunt and mostly dead
tree called the Jackalberry, home at times
to hungry vultures of indifferent persuasion,
they would be safe from lions and the like.
He hurried on, swinging his satchel
which contained the scones and dates
and one small bottle of Shiraz, a dry
and spicy Joostenberg, twothousandfour.
He spotted her, a flowery dress, a flag
of sweet surrender, perhaps it was.
There was a bloody-mouthed hyena,
eating the last few bits of flesh, and bones,
and only then he saw the birds of death,
all set to pounce, with hurried elegance.
It was the lions that had beaten racial hate.
Herbert Nehrlich
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