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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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2877.
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Tom And I - Our Hysterectomy
The latest news, from Ocean Shores
although I'm sure you've heard such lores,
is so she can, in comfort, pee
she'll have a hysterectomy.
She may tell folks a sordid tale
through telephone or through the mail
that someone beat the stuffing out
and who is guilty? It's the Kraut!
Well, she had noticed for some time
that pelvic organs will not climb
once sagging, upwards from the knee;
she needs a hysterectomy.
First doctor was a woman Les,
it's hubby's well-considered guess,
she ruled with such an iron fist
that she would not explain the gist,
and when they asked what will be done
she said to take a hike. What fun! .
The second one was slightly dark,
his bite was sly, so was his bark.
Trained in the jungles by Mandela,
turned out to be an Indian fella.
He did suggest to use a mesh
to keep inside that female flesh.
Like gutterguard it then would serve
the man may be a covert perve?
Then, finally they found their man.
He wears a bowtie, yet he can
do all the latest of the skills
and is no fan of modern pills.
You know about the waiting lists
when patients hammer with their fists,
on tables, counters doctors' ears,
for months and, oftentimes, for years?
Well, luck was smiling and he took
a bit of pity, got his book
and wrote her name there near the top
he left then, always on the hop.
November 14th is the date
that she will enter dreamtime state
and then his scalpels cut and scrape
to get her snatch in better shape.
Three days in hospital they say
then they will be awaiting pay,
and after that we may be there
to take her home into the lair.
Six weeks the doctor says to pamper
her day and night. There may be damper
at home for all their daily meals
perhaps the lad will catch some eels.
She will be lighter, that's expected,
although it may not be detected
by casual looks, perhaps the scale
will tell its own revealing tale.
It is suggested not to send
fresh flowers or Swiss Chocolate Blend,
please spare a thought for Tom and me
it's OUR hysterectomy!
VB or Bourbon may be nice,
we do have plenty Maytag ice.
When slaving here, with dogs and birds
out in the yard removing turds,
and weeding, cleaning gutters, floors
as you can see we WILL have chores!
We need to be refreshed to run
two households and it must be done.
This is the end of latest news
about a woman's P's and Q's.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2878.
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Tom Did Not Make It
And it rained so much that Spring day
that all the angels did run out of tears.
Tom was a tiny little tomato plant,
a real runt, cute but with a hunchback,
a rough and tumble looking coat
of tiny hairs, white prematurely,
sprouting from the green stems of Roma.
It was his last chance, parched lips
and withered roots, curled up, in the open
were at their wits' end with worry,
'water' they cried, and a merciful God heard.
Hell it had been, sheer purgatory,
furnace-like Arizona desert winds,
bringing the occasional locust, dehydrated
and pale with fear, but ravenous and cruel
and Tom stood, like a lone soldier
as straight and sturdy as his condition allowed,
among the grasses and the lower class weeds.
Thistles mocked him over his spindly arms,
snails spat their slow-flying slime in disgust,
and male desert rats lifted fat and hairy legs
to spray and mark their territory, God, where are you?
And so Tom had toughend early, he was strong
and he had courage, passed on from the Grosse Lisses,
and he stood there, listening to the endless whine of those
who were really nothing, worthless in the end,
he was fed up and in his desperate struggle,
swaying on weak knees and leaning onto an oleander
for support and for friendship in this time of need.
And now the rain. It changed life as he knew it,
it chased humility into the spinifex valleys,
it woke up all those who had only prayed,
but had not believed, hope was a penalty to them,
and Tom stretched until his joints cracked,
he would survive, yes, the Gods had listened
and had been kind, he would never forget.
And when the rains ceased and only the few trees,
looking a bit worse for wear but upbeat as well,
allowed thousands of drops to roll off their leaves
little Tom, handsome and homely, a real tomato,
began to change, and he started singing softly,
only the tune had changed, it was a new melody,
fit for a new life and for a more fitting attitude.
His eyes swept across the greening landscape
and they loathed what they saw, all had blurred,
and a new clarity taken its place, a revelation.
Grasses and Herbs, Thistles and Weeds,
had tasted from the waters of cockiness,
and they had been poisoned for life, marked
and condemned to the death they had so narrowly
and so righteously and perhaps unknowingly
escaped, and that only by the grace of their Gods.
Tom now despised them and he pushed over,
with visciousness and pleasure the old Oleander,
who was, after all, a cripple no longer required,
he sneered at all those who had prayed with him,
stood with him on their own spindly legs,
he raised his chin to avoid their miserable faces,
yes, the sun was what he now needed, giver of life.
And thus it was that Tom fell asleep, with his chin,
that pedigreed square tomatochin, so colourful,
exposed to the full and fearful rays of the sun,
mind you all, the Arizona Sun, one like no other
and the sun did her best to help him grow in strength,
through photosynthesis and the rays of A, B and C.
And, when sunset came in the desert, it was beautiful
and hauntingly so, only Tom had burned to a crisp
and he never got to see it, and he never ever heard
what the thistles, the grasses and the weeds talked about,
when they looked over at Oleander who was on the mend
and when they talked about the handsome Tom, once their friend.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: soldier poems, sunset poems, courage poems, sun poems, strength poems, change poems, beautiful poems, spring poems, rain poems, friend poems, green poems, water poems, fear poems, god poems, hope poems, life poems, death poems, believe poems, angel poems, running poems
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2879.
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Tomatoes Are Berries
Too much wine will, at first, make you merry
(it is best to slow down on the Sherry) .
As from grapes they make wine
would you come and taste mine?
Each tomato I use is a berry!
After stomping them all we can do,
while the yeasts are fermenting the brew,
is to lick off our toes
like our forefather pros.
And perhaps play the Didgeridoo.
Soon the yeasts from our feet will create
an advanced and delicious new state.
Bloody Mary-like juice,
and for regular use
for you folks and for me and my mate.
Just to tell you myself what I mean,
there's a substance called Lycopene.
It will help you to pee
keep from cancer you free.
It's a berry but never a bean.
Note:
Yes, tomatoes are indeed berries.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2880.
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Tonight (A Rebutt Poem)
Tonight....
I look for you again,
and when I find you
I shall swoop
bald eagle like
sharp talons gently
securely
claim the prize
that Nature has,
in her astonishment
as well
earmarked
in the appendix of
her master plan.
You are, indeed
my breath,
each beat
a drum's sweet symphony,
olfactory
so pleased by you,
fine perfumes
rise from apocrines
into my soul,
Schneiderian folds
straight passage
to the mind,
pituitary style,
swift messengers
despatched
through rivers red
so many stops to make,
adrenals too,
constrict
and dew from Cowper's
just to tease
and ultimately please,
addicted,
frazzled telomeres
in handsome genes
yes you may drink
and lick my wounds
as I do yours
we step
with agile feet
back from the brink
and brace our eyes
to dive into the flood
where no one hears our cries.
Tis right, I say
fatigue must wait
for yet another century,
I court
forever brave,
would be,
if asked
your new devoted slave,
yet here we are,
have travelled
brief but far,
have knitted from pure silk
a web,
tis ours now,
you tidied it,
wiped off the dust
and placed soft cushions
near the fireplace,
I read the plaque
etched in the granite stone
For Love And Lust,
and WELCOME
is the word,
we utter it
in unison,
then whisper
as we kiss
there is
a spot of moisture
on your face,
oh yes,
there is as well on mine.
Herbert Nehrlich
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