America The Powerful
America the powerful, defender of the meek,
around the globe you fight the crime, democracy you seek.
You did not shy away at all, from roasting all those Nips,
and stand there, proud, so white and tall, with brave words on your lips.
Afghanistsn is for reform, you failed, with many dead,
so many bombs, such desp'rate screams, you spew your hateful lead.
America, the powerful, Iraq may bankrupt thee
but for the oil, you keep good books, in your democracy.
You say you must free the oppressed, you sacrifice your own,
your sons and daughters, truly blessed, knocked Saddam off his throne.
Four thousand stuffed in body bags, the nation sheds its tears,
a land collecting soldier's tags can overcome its fears.
I ask you now, America, do you not see a need
to topple yet another one, an evil man indeed?
So will you mobilise again, to see Zimbabwe soil
to sacrifice the lives of men for liberty, not oil?
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The Pope And Tiger Woods
The Pope dies on the very day
that Tiger Woods is whisked away,
their souls rise to the distant skies
where they soon meet with a surprise.
Administrative bungling can
affect in many ways a man,
the Pope (with nothing to repent)
was quickly to the Devil sent.
While Tiger passed the Pearly Gate
where he soon found a golfing mate.
The error was discovered though
St. Peter sent a note below
and told the Devil to release
the Holy Man, and promptly please.
The Devil liked the gentle tone
and put down his red Nokia phone,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Yogget
A solitary piece of yogget
stuck to his shoes and that,
in itself, together with its odour,
it laid the groundwork to
and led to the undoing of
the one who had, without good reason,
gone 'round the neighbourhood,
at night and in the daylight,
to kill and maim, and then to burn
the bodies in a private ceremony.
It took but one detective, ready now
to take retirement tomorrow,
to scratch his silver stubbles,
inser his eye of glass,
(shot out by caliber HP-22)
and do some serious thinking.
He was the only one who knew about
not only yogget but the rest of it,
newfangled gadgets big as life.
The chief had intimated that there would
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Gullible, The Bear
A Dachshund who was long of hair
met in the forest an old bear.
The bear was sitting on a log
and held in his huge paws a frog.
The hound adored all frogs and toads
and always scanned the fields and roads
for something green that blended in,
it gave him a contented grin.
'What did you have in mind, Big Bear? '
Hound asked, his voice now full of flair.
'Frog legs', the bear said, 'are for me,
my snack to have with the green tea.'
'How could you eat the spark of life? !
He may have children and a wife!
Do you not know, you big bad mug
that I could make from you a rug? '
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Leaving (Limerick)
To the people who visit this place
you ain't part of the same human race
my apologies to
the few normal ones who
have no reason to hide their own face.
As you talk of your greatness and verve
while you hide, since you don't have the nerve
when your punishment hits
you'll come down with the shits
may the Gods give you what you deserve.
I shall NOT single out for attention
certain scumbags, there's no need to mention
as you all know the Devil
will soon stoop to your level
and will take you away for detention.
You are welcome to find some more stuff
and make up some if IT ain't enough
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Evergreen State
'No, little Johnny, raindrops are really just
the tears of sweet angels, who cry. Cry
because of sins that people commit,
and that is why, my smart and curious boy,
we get rain so often in Washington State'.
'Oh, so we have a lot of sinners here, then
and that is why it is called the Evergreen State? '
'Well, yes. I have lived here all my life,
all my friends live here and, as to being sinners,
I think it is more because of the tears, salty they are,
they bring down moisture and salt, my boy,
that, in the end, creates the salt of the earth,
and your grandpa is part of that. No sinner.
So, when the angels cry, you can watch the grass grow.'
'But grandpa, that means the more I sin the greener
and faster the grass grows, that feeds our cows,
makes more milk, steaks for the BBQ and, of course,
more salt of the earth. Right, old man, or not? '
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The Stockbroker
The ledge felt quite intrusive,
his bony legs and scrawny ass
had chosen just to sit a bit.
He was unsure, since 10 o'clock
when all results were flashed
upon the giant screen inside
his chances had been wiped.
Just be a man, he'd whisperd then
to no one but his shadow
but face it on two knowing legs
it seemed a thing of honour
and courage that had never lived
inside his brilliant mind
so he continued just to sit
until the crowd would tire
of craning lustful necks to him
and darkness would drift by.
He needed nothing but a quick
and final execution
the logic sat right next to him
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Fate
There once lived an olive green frog
in the back of a half-rotten log.
He was killed in his sleep
well, the log wasn't deep
and the killer was simply a hog.
As for truffles the hog searched in vain
it was clearer than glass and quite plain,
in his terrible mood
he came wholly unglued
but he later was hit by a train.
Thus the hog and the frog bought the farm,
it was sad that there was no alarm,
though the frog owned a clock
which went tick and then tock
'till the sun was well past the yardarm.
But one night there was Ezel the lizard,
he was known in the woods as a wizard.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Malpractice
He was the first to graduate,
top of his class at that.
Male nurse he was,
an oxymoron for the crowd,
but he had stuck with all,
had soon excelled and stunned
the staff and the examiners.
He woke each morning, before five,
slipped in the starched and white
then crowned it all by slinging one
his graduation gift, a bell type, too
across his rigid shoulders, pride
as well as practicality and need,
it was the seal of their approval, yes indeed.
On Christmas Eve, he'd volunteered,
they brought a toddler with a temp of 43,
he called the Registrar to get the go
and drew the morphine into glass, precisely so.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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She Looked Old
That damned tooth gave me truckloads of curry
and I had to reluctantly go
to the dentist, her name was Doc Murray
in the town of Antonio.
She was old and her hair gray and thinning,
lots of wrinkles and spots of old age
and her teeth showed no beauty while grinning
but the name had my recall engage.
I had BEEN in a class with a Murray
many years ago, back in Chicago,
once I dated her when in a hurry
and we watched the old film Doc Shivago.
Though unsure because she was so old,
I now queried the lady like this:
'May I be, my dear doctor so bold
since you triggered me to reminisce?
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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