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.

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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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
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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.

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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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

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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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.

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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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.'

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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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
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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

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Plum's Destiny

A little plum dropped from the tree
and struck a frog upon his knee.
The frog did hurt and cried a lot
the plum said Oops, I plum forgot.

Which wasn't altogether true
you see a plum is always blue
a frog however must be green
thus he can easily be seen.

So, folks, it truly stands to reason
that in the Fall, the ripening season
a bit of care would be advised
that way a frog is not surprised.

In any case, the knee did swell
the plum just stayed right where it fell,
so in an effort now to heal
the frog fell for the plum appeal.

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Only The Best For You, Gina!

Lovely Gina ate cake with some icing
I was there, just to help with the slicing.
Took my eyes off the cake
which was one big mistake.
Well I found lovely Gina enticing.

So the slice was the shape of the Moon
and she called me a greedy buffoon.
So we ate it together
still discussing then whether
we ought to obtain a large spoon.

Full of cake lovely Gina got up
filled with Burgundy one coffee cup.
Then we washed down the cake
and went down to the lake
where I called her my burgundy pup.

So you see, when old geesers start dreaming
and imagining, lusting and scheming

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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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