August Thirteen,1961
It is today that you remembered,
they built the wall, seemingly overnight.
Berlin was what it was and would not be,
they said the communists were swines,
so full of guilt and gasping for a breath
of sweet deliverance of every day.
They shot the innocent, rewarded those
who, in the blink of it, would shoot to kill.
August thirteen, my friend, is you on time.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Of Fishes
A fish can never be a pet,
like dogs and cats and silly parrots,
because his home is always wet
and he despises peas and carrots.
I hope that you now understand
why no one walks with fishes ever,
all pets can spend their time on land
or swim in water, which is clever.
A fish will swallow in the end
a silver, extra sharpened hook.
No fish will ever be a friend
to anybody but a cook.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Minks
A flower, ebony and pink
looked south in the prairie,
where a huge clan of silver mink
stood like a circle 'round a tree.
The mink, fifteen in number stood
perhaps in trance, so motionless,
the fragile flower hoped they would
come near to see her pretty dress.
The mink however had no taste,
appreciation of all art,
the flower was forever chaste,
each little mink though had a heart.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Silverfish
A silverfish is not a fish
also not part of any quiche.
It lives in houses below par
that's where the roaches also are.
So grab the mop and fullstrength bleach
go after all the bugs in reach.
And keep your home in shape A-one
and do not rest until it's done.
And if you see a fish that twinkles
and doesn't have too many wrinkles
out of the water, on dry ground
just step on him, without a sound.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Acrostics
S lice cabbage with a sharpened blade
A nd keep the crock well in the shade,
U nless you hurry and use salt
E ach microbe soon comes to a halt
R each deep and stir within the crock
K nee-deep and barefoot, it may shock
R eligious types and cityslickers
A s they pull up their cotton knickers
U tter the phrase 'I am a Kraut'
T he end result is Sauerkraut.
An attempt at composing an acrostic poem.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Haematology Lesson
The question was what is Rh,
it is a bloody factor
that can destroy an unborn life
in a most painful way.
If father has the factor,
and mother is a minus
the baby may inherit
the father's blood, a plus.
The mother then detects
this foreign factor quickly
and gets her panzers ready
that's how it works my friend.
There is no other option
so learn this simple fact
the mother must be minus
the father needs a plus.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Bloomin' Mongrel
I must surely confess
that this comment is true
may ye Gods come and bless
Christmas Day just for you.
As the day leaves behind
all its sounds and the light
you just rest and unwind
with sad eyes, blue and bright.
There is not on this globe
even one who could give;
like the lights of a strobe
you are mine and you live
for your master, that's me
you impose no condition
could I be a small flea
we would surely go fishing.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Ginkgo Biloba (Limerick)
The Indians of Manitoba
grew acres of Ginkgo Biloba.
but the squaws had a taste
made it into a paste
it was used to make warriors sober.
In the brain of an active redskin
lives right next to traditional sin
a big bundle of hoses
all the colour of roses
if they get their Biloba you win.
As this herb works by instant dilation
it bestows an euphoric sensation
and a mental perfusion
is no simple illusion
but an intellect titillation.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Rrhythmias
I took alexithymia
away from her at three,
they found a slight arrhythmia
genetic to the T.
She grew into a fine young maid
the word would be eurythmic,
became a teacher, I'm afraid
and dabbled algorithmic.
Inspite of all her troubled past
she never quite could grasp
that folks would put their spelling last
it made the teacher gasp.
I do agree, if one does choose
to play with foreign tongue,
unless they have a good excuse,
tread lightly or be hung.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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No Limerick
There was a boy from Baltimore
no peers did like his style
perhaps a haemorrhoidal sore
(they also call it pile)
is causing him a lot of pain
and also it may leak
foul excrements that smell and stain
his future looks so bleak.
He goes around and leaves his turds
on neatly cut front lawns
not realising even birds
are tempted just to yawn
when he spits out from either end
his emetocathartic
he will have lost his final friend
just at the point of 'artic' *
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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