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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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3037.
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Will O'The Whisp
When weeping willows wonder
whether weevils want
wild wishy-washy women
weaving with willingness,
whose whining
whips willing whimsicality,
wild wedge-wood weak warbler waste,
wallows, while witty wombats
win weird wealthy wallabies
wandering wankers, weak-willed,
weasels, wicked woodworkers,
'wimpish wire-worms wilt wantonly.
Herbert Nehrlich
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3038.
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Will You Keep Me?
Yes, it is me
who looks at You
from the oddest places and strangest faces
as I just happen to be
only near You to see
you go through life's mysterious paces.
In your coffee cup though
it's unbearably hot,
as I swim to and fro:
Will you drink me or not?
In the night I am flying
through mountains of ice,
always looking and searching
for the one Edelweiss.
As you found me inside you,
chamber locked from within
I will welcome your presence
and I'll have my own grin.
So, I ask you in shyness:
Will you let me stay longer?
(Feel like calling you 'Highness'
if it makes my case stronger) .
I will still look at you
from the watering can.
If You tell me 'I do'
I will stay as your man.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: night poems, swimming poems, water poems
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3039.
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Will You?
I fall asleep at night, with ease
alone, and captain of my sheets.
The other pillow still remains
unused, 'tis sad though, I can say.
She left and took
her trinquets
her mink,
a thousand shoes,
twelve plastic cards,
an album of rare stamps,
nylons from Bon Marchι,
the Merc,
false nails,
ten boob supports,
coupons and files,
Aunt Hulda's coins,
both Sonys
and a wad of cash.
She'd come
some day
for photos
of the brats,
and us,
of the reunions
and the trip to Spain.
I kept the Satin sheets,
her pillow
and the pumicestone.
I wake alone,
I dream
and drool
but
never touch
what cradled her,
withstood the gel,
the overnight renew
and hops inside
to help attain
a perfect sleep.
And then,
there came the day
when I awoke
from lethargy,
put on my thongs
and went
for city walkabout.
Eyes must be trained
and mine were not,
they'd learned
to sleep
and let the world
and all its women pass.
Until the day
that she,
whom I describe
as a blue flower
of the very special kind.
Exquisite plant,
she winked.
I kid you not.
Her lashes were
not false,
a reassurance
of the kind
that men,
becoming set
in their own ways
and (really) stale,
would take
as cash in hand
to pay for inner peace.
We spent
what turned into
a silent avalanche,
to be averted
yet unwilling to comply.
She touched,
I did return
and there was heat
and laughter
all the same,
and there was need.
I have removed
at once,
the pillow
from the past.
Its place,
now occupied
with timid pride
and hope
that cries its tears
and laughs its joys,
by stubby shorts
and Bond's Y-type,
a bright Hawaiian shirt
and one small handkerchief.
It smells of HER,
a scent
to kill all doubts
just for
a little while.
And there is room
in case she comes.
And a new pillow
and the real things
in life.
Herbert Nehrlich
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3040.
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Winter
As winter comes again this year,
its breath turns dewdrops into ice.
Out in the forest freeze the deer
our houses, refuges for mice.
The snow brings happiness and joy
for many girls and every boy,
with grace and silence it descends,
for autumn storms it makes amends.
The farmer leaves alone his soil
and Mr. Chevron brings the oil
to heat the inside of your house
and keep you warm, also the spouse.
Before you know, the winter must
pack up, it sends a final gust.
And when you hear the robins sing
your heart fills with the warmth of Spring.
And this procedure comes each year
ye Gods must have a special reason.
From what I've seen it does appear
that winter is my favourite season.
Herbert Nehrlich
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