Retiring Early

A man who did retire early
each night, and was a rather burly
well-fed and stocky specimen,
would always have lights out at ten.

One evening, it was in May,
the month when younger folk will play,
he somehow failed, did not remember
woke up next day, it was November.

This shows the act of breaking habits
should really be left to rabbits.

You see, a rabbit either sleeps
or checks the basement, where it keeps
digested pellets for re-use,
but rabbits always (is this news?)

are in the mood to....well, to hop,
they'll do this easily, non-stop.

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Snatches from History 1

They adored him, their Louis Quatorze
such a legend and so many lores,
on a trip up the creek
during Ramadam week
he'd forgotten to pack his two oars.

He had wanted to visit les noirs
and peruse the Oriental Bazaars,
in the end (due to oars)
he'd be covered with sores
and a red, angry pile on his arse.

Said the emperor when he returned
'well, as far as myself be concerned
they can all go to Hell
for they lie, cheat and smell
I could care if the lot would get burned.'

That's when strife grew between the two nations,
one, the King could not muster the patience,

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Grenouillage à Trois

Deep in the forest, on two logs
were perched two rather handsome frogs.
The logs were pretty close together
and served as shelters for the weather.

Now, on the smaller of the logs
was sitting, still, the bigger frog.
He looked across and had discovered
that on a tree a third frog hovered,

apparently intent to pounce!
He must have weighed a paltry ounce.
They say that from necessity
all frogs, no matter where they be

will act. So this one did pretend
for competition soon to end
that in the tree the frog was meat,
a moth or insect he would eat.

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Frog Sees Tara

A small and green but drunken frog
sat in the evening on his log.
He contemplated there on life
and wished he had a green frog wife.
He'd interviewd a thousand frogs,
kept diaries and detailed logs.
But never did he find the one
who'd rest all day out in the sun
and dream with him at night in bed
so this green frog was never wed.
One day he saw, down near the trees
a British subject. What a tease!
She was a trifle big but, well,
we cannot all live in a shell.
She chatted with the folks and then
there was a silence among men.
They looked at her, so did the frog
he sat, quite drunken, on his log.
He dreamed that if he ever were...
this was the girl. If frogs could purr! ! !

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Nicer

He intimated that he had
penultimate authority,
though never did he say so.
And what they call in television
a 'nicer', he would be
impeccably, conservatively dressed,
with matching body language
and a butterfly bow tie.

The two of us appeared to be
exchanging pleasantries,
with faces from the film called
Misery Loves Company.

And in the end, when I could feel
a dozen newly-hatched gray hairs
make their appearance, laterally
I left the temple of this moneychanger
and sniffed the air for penthouse scents.

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Awesome Dreams

It is a bit shocking,
to have a dream
that is nothing,
not spectacular,
not weird at all,
but just normal.
Like a narrative,
taken straight
and without
embellishments
or intriguing
and beguiling
or so scary
bits of action.

Last night
it was, again,
all about me.
I stood
and stared

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Mary's Gators

Mary had a little horse
the horse was just a pony,
the horse had hooves and balls of course
but ate no maccaroni.

She led the horse back to her flat
they took the elevator,
at night the horse slept on a mat
next to an alligator.

As you can tell, this lady had
a screw loose in her bonnet,
she wasn't altogether bad
that's why I write no sonnet.

A sonnet would be all too clear
and show hat she was mental,
but she was really such a dear,
we'll call it accidental.

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Lightgreen

Wolstencroft they called the guard,
big he was, a tub of lard.
Stood before the Pearly Gate
guarding heavenly estate.

Came St. Peter, checked ID,
said it simply cannot be
that a man who is not white
could come in, it was not right.

God was asked about his view,
he replied 'The sky is blue,
it is not your bloomin' race
or your black and ugly face.

It's the name, you could be green,
brownish like a Pinto Bean,
you would see that at this gate
we do not discriminate.'

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Tulips For You

I had, for reasons of expediency
done all my chores, took out the files
to weed old wisdom and the silverfish
out of my life, it had been overdue.

Thus, time ran out and slammed the hollow door,
taking all pens and pencils, every one
I, in my youthful drive to clean the slate
had shredded all remaining paper. It was done.

The poem I was set to write for you, it must
wait for another time, perhaps you're fine to wait?
Meanwhile may I present a little treat today:
One hundred hectares, yes, a sea of tulip kisses,
guarded by windmills and a dike not made from clay.
You'll get to meet Hans Brinker, all in stone
and see the fossil of his clever finger bone.
And while you count in Dutch the tulips in the sea,
I'll write a lovely limerick for you, from little me.

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Russian Recreation

He liked his Sunday afternoons,
only the privileged deserved
the sanctuary of a datsha
out in its splendid isolation.

Hot lava rocks, reflecting heat
of Northern Hemlock panels, grooved,
and twigs of birch, so tightly bundled
to beat the sweating hide, once in a while.

A splash of watery extract of Georgian Pine
onto the rocks, alerting with a rush
the breathing paths of those who rest,
while busy servants bring new buckets,
full of ice, and well-chilled steins with stems
to complement the elixir of life and limb.

Which is, in parts like these, called 'little water',
or Vodka, just to let you know the truth.
A burning skin, dilation at extreme

[...] Read more

poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!