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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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3265.
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Zum Jahreswechsel
Die Welt traeumt langsam vor sich hin
und ueberlegt ob sich ein Sinn
aus diesem Wirrwarr wohl entpuppe.
Ob eine Fliege in der Suppe
eventuell ein Hundehaar
dem Freudschen ego Menschenpaar
ganz vorne steht und auch regiert
Polypleudie, nun schon zu viert!
Wir liegen an der Jahresscheide
bemalen Asphalt weiss mit Kreide.
Doch kommt der Bulldog namens Zeit
und brummt, ihr Leut', gleich ist's soweit.
Geschubst, gestossen und gerollt
die ersten sind's, obwohl geschmollt
die wegen krasser, bunter Luegen
sich in die neue Hoelle fuegen.
Wo ist mein Gott, so fragen alle,
sogar das Schwein bei Bauer Dralle.
Es hat geschrien als es am Spiess
wo es der Herrgott toeten liess.
Wie fremd Du bist, Gerechtigkeit
als Zirruswoelkchen, weit und breit
wie eine Feder, leise taumelt
wenn wieder eine Seele baumelt.
Ich glaube sehr dass uns're Goetter
nichts and'res sind als fromme Spoetter.
Allwissend. Wir sind's die da glauben
und lassen uns, wie dumme Tauben
auf Reisen schicken ohne Fragen;
doch sollten je wir hoeflich fragen
was denn der Sinn des Daseins sei
dann ist das Leben schon vorbei.
Als Fazit stelle ich nun heute
die Depression vor, liebe Leute.
Nur Schwermut kann die Menschheit retten
kann Kirch' und Schule an uns ketten.
Es gibt kein Individuum,
denn, es ist wahr, der Mensch ist dumm.
English Version:
The world in salty salivation
now wallows in deliberation,
determined in its leftist leaning
to learn about a hidden meaning.
A fly inside a tasty soup
a hair of dog formed as a loop
the pair by Freud, an ego trip
who is the captain of this ship?
Supine, we wait at year's swift end
paint chalky doodles near the bend
of Father Time's huge, scruffy dog,
it keeps for us the final log.
We're pushed and shoved, at last we roll
the tune stems from a superior soul.
We fit right in, polyploidy
all chromosomes shall now be free.
Where is my God? They all inquire,
HE let the pig roast in the fire.
How strange you, are Justitia
a cirrus cloud, a swastika.
A feather floats in curious ways
through forests, where a body sways.
I do believe that Gods are just
sarcastic maniacs, and they must
send humans off to do their bidding
like doves who fly while they are ridding
themselves of guilt and other matters.
Yet when they ask, things are in tatters,
their lives are over in an hour
Thus is the force of godly power.
Today, I introduce depression
to save us all through sheer confession.
We can eliminate all pains
by wrapping ourselves in chains.
As church and school look up to God
and wait in patience for the nod,
it is a true fait accompli
that man can never ever be
of many parts the final sum.
Because our man is only dumb.
Herbert Nehrlich
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3266.
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Zuma Beach
I dreamed about an Easterbunny
on Zuma Beach, where it was sunny.
She would have graced big city malls
and told me she liked Matzo Balls.
By which she meant those oval eggs
that hang off males, between the legs.
Though dark of skin her real home
was not the Southern town of Rome.
Hugh Hefner was her dear old dad
he'd started this attractive fad.
Down in Australia they have bunnies
surrounding little shacks called dunnies.
They are the ones whose nether hole
has been designed the novel role
of laying eggs, some green some yellow
for white man and the coloured fellow.
Back to the bunny at my feet,
she said that she was glad to meet
a hunk like me, so well endowed
and might she, kindly, be allowed
to cuddle up close to my skin
where we could share in wicked sin.
I saw the sadness in her eyes
and, being better than those guys
who would have jumped at this small chance
I did remain in mental trance
until those bunnyhands caressed
the little curlies on my chest.
Such loneliness and such despair
it was so cruel and unfair,
of God to make her in creation
and then prevent all fornication,
thus someone had to give her aid
that's how on Zuma I got laid.
Herbert Nehrlich
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