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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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2837.
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Thoughts for My Best Friend CRA
It was the little lines and grooves,
the pores in soft, pigmented skin
the memory of taste and touch
that reared its pesky head,
as if to say, I am still here.
Like Eros, it had perched itself
on top, its gaze to all horizons
that could be seen from there,
Mount Pectoralis always was
base camp for future thoughts,
and for the reminiscence of the heart.
He asked himself, when twilight rose
from misty valley to his mountain top
if demons did exist in the thin air,
and monsters, big and small
would come to join and gladly share
the tranquil sweetness of their melody.
And he decided then, before the night's descent,
that what they had would easily transcend
the threat of evil and its sibling called despair.
And when the forest came alive that lonely night
he knew it would, due to its nature, never end.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2838.
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Thoughts Of A Boy
It throws a great shadow
I said to no one in particular,
it was the eden of the night
and I never really had outgrown,
or leave behind as Mother said I would,
that fear of pitch black places and,
neither gods nor ghosts would ever,
in my lifetime at least, talk me,
coerce me or shock me out of it.
A flapping of substantial wings
invisible to me and those who lay
deep in the ground, partly devoured
by stoic and ill-mannered worms.
So, here I stand, behind the biggest one,
of hundreds, planted at a time
when it was thought that they would lend,
impart much needed majesty and style
to God's still acres, resting place for souls.
I had, like aunts and uncles who have gone
before me, a special liking for the stuff,
distilled downriver at Big Wilhelm's mill,
I reminisce, right at the source, concealed
from ghosts and gods alike, yet still afraid.
Souls never leave the ground, they do not rise
up to the afterlife, it's all a crock!
They flutter, batlike over marble rocks
and have no hearing and no genuine seeing eyes.
Yet they could take me, a small boy and make me pay
for all the sins I would commit in later life,
that's why I hide inside the juniper and pray,
armed with a capgun and a double bladed knife.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2839.
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Thoughts On Wednesday
I offer purple lemonade
to Ted and also to our Trade,
for praising what some see as crime
my postings, most of which in rhyme.
It never ceases to amaze
that some have just veneer and glaze,
they stand and say they will debate
they call you names (and sometimes Mate)
but when it comes then to the crunch
they may have gone to grab some lunch.
Malont of course must do his chores
like doing dishes, mopping floors,
if Momma rings her little bell
he runs (avoiding Holy Hell)
so you can see, that he declines
all contact with those verbal mines,
and then, there is that little matter
that he will see things on a platter
of quality and intellect
and rightfully he may suspect
conspiracy and sheer intrigue,
which lives outside his little league.
Deep down, he knows about IQ
about the taming of the shrew
and that is why a little man
will brag as often as he can.
As if assertion were a tool
to make a poet of a fool
Herbert Nehrlich
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2840.
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Three New Limericks
A fellow with cowboy boots
was with Satan himself in cahoots.
Though he had a thick hide,
when you looked deep inside
you would find only shallow roots.
I was dreaming of flowers in May,
the blue sky of a wonderful day.
It was surely no joke
that it snowed when I woke.....
on a frosty November day.
I once knew a loyal gray kitten,
who was always around and so smitten,
that it never occurred
when I found a new bird
for no reason I'd bitten my kitten.
Herbert Nehrlich
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