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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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2997.
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What I Think Of You (By Rachel)
I think of you
somewhat
as a bank building,
tall and well-built
and
beautiful but with
very few openings.
There are two windows
for withdrawals,
and four windows
for deposits;
there are no doors.
There is
an immense computer
running data inside
and a staff of many
to interconnect
and to process
information.
There is
a very large storehouse
with knowledge,
memories,
literature,
scientific papers,
ancient stories
and poetry
and more;
well-catalogued
for easy access.
There is also
a large furnace
so that nothing
gets cold in
the physical plant
(as it's known in bureauracracies) .
Since everything is
contained
and somewhat rigid,
the building reacts well
to some soft touches
and needs them
whether this is obvious or not.
There is a plan
and a structure for defense
against
the dangerous world
which can be activated.
This is somewhat how I see you;
you know that I have
immense respect
for all the knowledge
and connections you have.
Do you call them synaptic?
And would you be
able
and willing
to create a door
for little me?
© 2008 Rachel
Herbert Nehrlich
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2998.
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What Is It?
Dungbeetles eat it.
It fertilises gardens.
Smells to high heaven.
Worlds would not exist
without the putrid droppings
all done in private.
Which means that goodness
might be dependent on it
can't live without it.
Herbert Nehrlich
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2999.
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What Is Poetry
Poetry is not
what some suppose in error
to be emotions.
Emotions flowing
is grease for human actions
and life's search engine.
Excess emotions
result in overflow then,
not poetry though.
The poet's soul is
a special gift from Heaven,
few strings attached though.
Poets are good souls,
their work be great or simple,
Judged by the people.
Herbert Nehrlich
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3000.
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What Price Kindness
Even before the crack of dawn
I would be in the barn, yawning
but ready to do the essentials.
Susie, the Jersey, cantankerous,
tough, tail-happy and accurate,
but supplier of rich life-giving milk.
On that Sunday, the 4th of July,1976,
the fateful day for my very own
bicentennial baby, due soon,
I was in lone command of the barn.
It wouldn't be long now, she had,
experienced giver of new life,
pronounced herself 'over-proof'.
Waiting upstairs, lounging in bed.
Hurrying now, one bucket aside,
one more to milk with hasty fingers,
and perhaps there was time for
a leisurely, but brief brekkie in bed.
Murphy's law, with impeccable timing,
allows a very good sized rat, gray,
to fall into and start swimming in
panic, hoping, praying the rat's prayer.
No time today for this foolishness,
dammit, no TIME, well let me see.
Quickly, ungentlemanly, gingerly,
fishing out is what I do, now,
saving lives is always on, or is it?
Pathetic he looks, white beard,
not unlike a wet rag of evil spirit,
thief of the night, respecter of nothing,
with a brain to match my instinct.
Off he hobbles, unhurried, unafraid,
now that he has seen a miracle,
performed for his soul, dark as it is.
Mocking me now, the grain bin,
it's on the way, after all, one mouthful,
and freedom beckons from the hayloft.
No one is watching, not a soul, human or
anything else capable of laughter and
indignation, the earthenware bowl is huge,
all the rest of Susie's gift will be awaiting
those who need it. After all, it is Sunday.
The fourth of July. What's a little bit of
human kindness on a day like this?
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: july poems, fishing poems, swimming poems, baby poems, freedom poems, laughter poems, evil poems, today poems, happy poems, time poems, dark poems, life poems, fish poems, hope poems
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