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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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325.
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Store Detective
The elevator stopped to beep.
Two girls got in, they were alone.
One mentioned 'underwear' and 'creep'
in slightly hushed, embarrassed tone.
Quick reached her hand into her crotch
to pull them downward, just a notch.
Me, the detective, at the screen,
observing, also hearing that.
A sight that I had never seen,
then I looked down to where I sat
and knew that no man, 'wake or sleep
would ever look inside his pants
and call the fellow 'Nicker-Creep'.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: sleep poems, alone poems, girl poems
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326.
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Talent
A poet wrote a lot of stuff
but no one liked to read it,
yet he had judged it good enough
and that's how he succeeded.
Some critics, quite articulate,
pronounced it so clichιed,
they acted 'up-themselves' a bit,
their faces looked dismayed.
Big words came tumbling from their lips,
line breaks, also free verse.
They talked at a staccato clip,
their verdict was a curse.
The people read his poetry
and begged that he write more,
each afternoon, at half past three
they'd wait outside his door.
He dropped them from the windowsill
just as he wrote them down,
the crowd reached from the Barley Mill
right to the edge of town.
The critics lost their voices then,
(that must have been God-given) ,
the citizens all voted 'ten'.
The poet? He was driven.
Herbert Nehrlich
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327.
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Teachers
Of all the many salient features
of childhood I remember teachers.
Right after birth you get attention,
they cater to you, not to mention
free food and lodging and those rattles
with which to fight your frequent battles,
when no one listens to you crying
and Dad pretends that you are lying,
yet overall, all those distractions
and those which trigger strange reactions
are not what I would call oppressive
or, even in a pinch obsessive...
Back to the subject, the main feature
which, after all, is what a teacher
does to an innocent, still growing,
developing and overflowing,
perceptive and receptive student,
it seems to me it would be prudent
to lay all cards upon the table.
A teacher, though extremely able,
and with the best of all intentions,
can teach you math and those inventions
that are considered quintessential
for kids to harness their potential.
He'll teach you how to write to Nana,
about the bend in the banana,
and photosynthesis of grasses,
the volatile and inert gases,
about the nature of the STASI
and what went wrong with Esterhazy,
he shows you how to draw a stallion
and how to count in good Italian,
why Hitler ended up in power
and how an insect-eating flower
digests the flesh of German roaches
Do not forget their role as coaches.
They must be anchored in Gymnastics
so that they turn the dumbest spastic
into an athlete and achiever,
and, as a genuine busy beaver
he is a jack of all persuasions,
which comes in handy on occasions
of idiosyncratic troubles,
a teacher thinks and rubs his stubbles
around the chin for stimulation
of dormant neurons on vacation,
and students sit in awe and ponder
how soon the bell will ring, they wonder
how any human can stay jolly
when faced with this forsaken folly.
And in the end, when years have faded
and all your teachers judged and graded
you as a product of the system,
you'll find that after all, you've missed them.
Herbert Nehrlich
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328.
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The Computerdoctor
Dear Doctor, would you tell me please
why your computer gets attention.
I came to you with MY disease,
you listened vaguely, not to mention,
your stethoscope was not in use,
you glanced with style, but rather coldly
at me, the patient, and my shoes.
I'd spoken up a little boldly,
it was compassion that I needed,
your time and all your expertise!
I see your hairline has receded
and that you have increased your fees,
two new machines are sitting proudly
behind your mahogany table.
And your computer, rather loudly,
spits information, is it able
to do all doctoring for you?
That on command, at your request
it tells you that the Asian flu
has got me and what kind of test
it wants me to have done today.
A fascinating modern age,
where humans can be freed from chores,
and motherboards are all the rage,
but me, I think they're little whores:
You have to pay to get your answers,
your eyes are glued to image-flickers,
a bell sounds when it finds those cancers.
I had expected that my nickers
would have to come off so you could
inspect what I have come here for.
Remember when you always would,
with interest, look at every sore?
I'm glad we had this little chat,
I'll pay the nurse on my way out.
Next time I'll wear my pretty hat,
perhaps you'll turn your chair about
to look at me and not that screen.
Oh, one more thing before I go:
I meant to ask you, what if things,
like nasties inside start to grow
and we will know it when it rings?
I may shed tears that you won't see
and mumble that I understand.
Will you then have some time for me,
to talk to me and hold my hand?
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: today poems, remember poems, time poems
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