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Best Poems From
HERBERT NEHRLICH
(04 October 1943)
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361.
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Tropical Storm
No it wasn't what I thought.
No angel tears came down
from heaven, no other liquids
from that forsaken place,
where devils live and fry.
A storm had flooded
all houses in my street
and drops fell onto sleepers
seemingly from heaven.
And all were glad about
the current lack of interest
from those above, for now.
It's good to keep your mouth
and ears as well as eyes
completely shut, while resting
under covers. In a deluge.
Herbert Nehrlich
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362.
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Truffles
He will never beg,
as it has been scripted,
by the superior laws,
he will simply drift,
like a log in the sea,
wood too hard to be used
to feed fires that ward off cold,
too much salt they say,
dulls the Stihl, makes a sound
and no one would even think
to look up when drifters come,
they have their ways, they move
when clouds are stagnant, cumulus
or funny shaped, I wonder though,
would gods be at the wheel,
to send those bums into the world,
they're proud and will not fret,
they'll take, and use both hands,
and stuff the truffles into snouts
without a second's hesitation, after all
Herbert Nehrlich
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363.
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Two Faces
My alternate face,
including the nose,
is, in any case
(and I say this for those
who don't know me as yet) ,
just a shade more at ease.
When the two of us met
in a midsummer breeze,
we disliked each other,
really, hate is the word.
Although brother to brother,
recognition was blurred.
At a loss to explain
this discrepancy now.
It is really a pain
that I can't figure how
the two faces could blend,
as this ought to be done.
We would both, in the end
re-unite into one.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read more: brother poems, loss poems, hate poems, pain poems
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364.
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Udder Budder
A frog, with bulbous eyes and green
was in the mornings often seen
out in the barn when Farmer Fritz
was busy milking bovine tits.
One morning Fritz had kicked the bucket
and yelled a word that rhymes with locket,
he left to get, inside the house,
a new container from his spouse.
While Fritz was gone, the other bucket
was standing there, and, like a rocket,
the frog jumped in to have a drink.
He drank but soon began to sink.
In panic, he swam ever quicker,
placed great demands upon his ticker,
yet he could see (he had a brain)
that efforts might well be in vain.
He started then to feel defeated,
adrenals badly overheated,
and vertigo had gripped his head.
Deep down he knew he'd soon be dead.
He prayed for the return of Fritz
when he laid eyes on mammoth tits.
Half-conscious now, he'd never known
that Mother Nature could have grown
a set of such delicious whoppers.
I must inser here, frogs are hoppers
and do not carry real boobs,
not round, oblong or shaped like cubes.
So he, a young pubescent male
now felt a stirring in his tail.
By tail I mean the small utensil,
about the size of a short pencil
that hung below his belly button
and was the colour of fresh cotton.
Now focused on the mammaries,
his 'tail' wagged wildly near his knees.
He kept his frog eyes on the udder,
and soon the milk had turned to budder.
Herbert Nehrlich
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