Something Practical For Valentine
There sits, atop a cherry tree
a bird that badly needs to pee.
He's eaten cherries to his fill
and now is bloated, feeling ill.
Bird guts turn cherries into wine
for critics here, on Valentine.
And if the critics have the gout
the wine will drive the acid out.
I think that I shall never see
another fancy cherry tree.
Nor any bird, a cherry thief
who, bloated, aches for quick relief.
But the idea of cherry wine
gut-brewed just for my Valentine
is reminiscent of the gout
today is it, and I could shout!
I'm off now to the local shop
to get her present, a new mop.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Galilee
Some time ago he dumped his little flask,
companion for the hours of still nights,
she came from the great mist, to have him bask
in carnal lust and love, they flew like kites
and landed on the sill of Heaven's dome
where cotton candy lined the window panes,
much later she gave birth to a demented gnome
and he blew out their bright but disappointed brains.
God sat and watched, he even nodded now and then,
as if to say that matters were as they should be,
the Devil meanwhile knew that living things like mice and men
would never rate compassion from their God, in Galilee.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Poets Meet In London
They met, in London's Springtime haze
and entered into a short phase
of snap assessment of each other,
as if they'd hoped to find a brother,
or, rather an attractive sister.
The one who's called (by Allan) Mister
looked just exactly like I'd dreamed,
moustache and all, his features beamed,
although I 'd guessed a smaller waist
and next to him old fate had placed
Gina, who smiled, (what could she do)
good looking truly was the crew,
mischievous face there on the right
well, I do think, some day I might
be lucky to be in the middle,
and if you want, I'll bring my fiddle.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Your Question About Poetry
You asked if my poetic skills
would be what an emetic fills
namely a basin of foul smelling
regurgitate, there is no telling
what someone sees in poetry
for me it's what the gods decree
somewhere the talent lies and sleeps
until the time comes where he keeps
it under wraps no longer, hidden
and out it comes, at times unbidden.
Poetic skills are not for all
some do prefer the shopping Mall
but those who can appreciate
and joyfully do contemplate
a poem as it lives and loves
the subject can be hawks or doves
those are the ones with open hearts
and they take in this art of arts.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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So What? !
He woke, a bit too early
on that Saturday in May.
And could no longer fight
the smoke-filled fact of
what others had already seen
so long ago. The talent.
There was no question now,
but how does one who floats
on cushions of reluctancy,
meaning respect, on loan
until it's graduation time.
How does this expert,
on paper anyway,
change course
halfway to liberation?
It will be tantallising
and voulez-vous?
But I can wait
until the man,
if he does have it,
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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True Aussie Racism
There once was a young, male recruit,
he was smart rather tall, also cute.
At the first interview
he was told: 'It is true,
your credentials, they really compute.
But a test is still needed to know
if enforcement can give you a go.
Shoot five Abos today
and three beards as they pray
and a rabbit by means of crossbow.'
'I shall do, Captain, just as you say.
Right this moment I'll be on my way.
May I ask why the hare? '
'Well, your question is fair
you can start in your job straightaway.'
Note: Huge strides have been made in Australian society to overcome racism. Huge strides are needed still.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The Jumper
He swayed on top of the tall tower
and braved a cold Chicago shower.
His bank accounts were in arrears
the biggest sum was owed to Sears.
So, fittingly, he'd wisely chosen
Sears Tower, now he was half frozen.
And, as he tried to catch the mood
he smelled a whiff of Polish food.
It had arisen from the city,
and what a godforsaken pity!
Could he not go and have a last
hot sausage? It would be a blast.
A helicopter now was drifting
across the windy city's shifting
and pregnant clouds, it hovered loudly.
So, he decided, he would, proudly,
head down below to get a taste.
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Hook, Line And Sinker
I have always wondered what it means
when someone using oral means
says something so colloquial
that it is understood by all
except us foreigners of course
yes language, it is such a force!
A lady fishing from the bridge
her husband though had climbed a ridge
they were in heated competition
and liked the thought of going fishing.
A tug was felt along her line
at first she felt she should recline
and pull until the fish came out
it probably would be a trout.
It did not work and hubby yelled
about the way his sweetheart held
the fishing pole, she called him 'stinker'
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Love Is Reflection
Alas, it follows that
true love is
just an animal
that always must
be a reflection
of its own self,
seen in the depth
of your blue eyes.
It is not
a seperate
entity
for reasons
unknown
but not
unknowable.
So then, you ask
about
this thing
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Of the Family
Hairy, Hairy, quite contrary
sat upon a stool.
Came the kindly wombat fairy
from the Fairy pool.
Said to Hairy, have a sherrie
makes the bowels loose,
Hairy thought it rather scary
maybe, too obtuse.
Hairy took a wife named Mary
fat she was and round
built a cosy, visionary
log home on the ground.
Home was small but Hairy loved it
'twas a sturdy log.
Found a lichen rug and shoved it
in to warm the frog.
Frog had been cast from his quarters
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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