Sylvester In The New Age
It was Sylvester,
the scruffy cat,
who peeked into the Bedroom
of Desire.
It had
not been that long
since that fine day
when one big door
was closed with softness
and some urgency,
trapping the cat,
caught with his tail
remaining motionless.
Yet as the earth
rotated slowly,
again but under laws
of the New Age,
and a new turbulence
had taken hostage
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Perhaps Chopsticks
What is it then that binds us to the mob,
and asks so much of our most precious inner lust?
Will they relent in their demanding heartbreak throb
or would plain sanity whip up a healing gust
of soft humanity and altruistic wallow
is this reality, god-given, an excuse
or fraying vanity with braids so very shallow
that even devils do consider it a ruse?
Could we be masters then, of life's intriguing plan
to sweep away the dust o f Cinderella's ashes
or will our fellow bastards fight us as they can
with ill-won skirmishes and convoluted dashes?
And I think not, so says the meek and humble vagrant
who sits and watches with detached and hollow eyes
he could not care about a body somewhat fragrant
and only welcomes little weevils and all flies.
Are we so righteous that the bums can teach us fools
that all those animals in zoos and in our beds
and even plants in pots who follow different rules
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Levator Ani Is King
As to pussies I (frankly) prefer
just plain smoothness and none of that fur.
As the alley is paved
so the cave must be shaved
then the motorcar truly will purr.
It is eerie and dark in a cave,
just the place for the bold and the brave.
I go deep in the tunnel
with my smooth-talking funnel
he is conqueror, warrior and slave.
There are times when I wonder about
and my mind is all swollen with doubt,
praise the shape of the boob,
her endogenous lube
and the squirt-on-command litle spout.
Skip biology, physics and math,
be a bum or a sociopath,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Papal Limerick
A middle-aged nun from Sicilia
met a dancing girl, name of Cecilia.
When they switched off the light
it was dark in the night
and the nun said, Cecilia I feel ya.
They were hauled to front up to the Pope,
who was harsh and said 'clemency....Nope'.
then they prayed over tea
and the Pope said 'to me
there is method and madness in dope.'
So he took them into the great hall,
where huge carpets hung high on a wall,
in a locked cedar chest
they found what he liked best
that is all I can tellyou, tis all.
(Well I lied it's a common affliction) ,
which affects normal speech and one's diction,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Sweet Mary - Sweet Laurie
Mary, born a little pre
had some trouble breathing,
also, nightly she would pee
and she screamed while teething.
In the private school she met
Laurie from Chicago
Laurie wore a silver net
loved old Doc Tshivago.
Laurie was a trifle sweet
had no use for men,
got just formula to eat
though she rated ten.
Missed the milk that Nature makes,
which was one good reason
to demand those frequent breaks
during hunting season.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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For Max And Sally
The fly was in the belly yes,
and found therein a frightning mess
the fly was anxious to get out
so he flew wildly all about
the belly of the hungry frog
who sat, still, on that ancient log.
When, wise old owl came passing by
all dressed in suit and green bow tie.
She had the latest Sunday Times
and told the frog to read the rhymes
there, in the section 'Poetry'.
The frog first scratched his bright green knee
and then he told himself 'I need it',
and started chanting 'read it, read it'.
But chanting thus requires bellows
to blow and thus, imprisoned fellows
like flies or other little guys
if they're not dead yet, realise
this happy opportunity
to read the paper and be free.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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A Never-Ending Tease
Well, there was nothing else to do,
homework had been assigned
to late tomorrow, after lunch,
and this was just a day, too good
to stay inside and let the world go by.
I walked, which I would never do
without a cause, toward the edge
of our small town, where students
of the arts and sciences co-habited.
There was a pub, about two miles away,
it was the logic of the destination
which attracted me, a sunny day it was.
A rhythmic sound disturbed my mind,
it was created by a hoe between the stalks
of golden corn in a small garden by the road,
and God had seen to it, a maiden with red hair
had been commanded to be waiting just for me.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Udder Budder
A frog, with bulbous eyes and green
was in the mornings often seen
out in the barn when Farmer Fritz
was busy milking bovine tits.
One morning Fritz had kicked the bucket
and yelled a word that rhymes with locket,
he left to get, inside the house,
a new container from his spouse.
While Fritz was gone, the other bucket
was standing there, and, like a rocket,
the frog jumped in to have a drink.
He drank but soon began to sink.
In panic, he swam ever quicker,
placed great demands upon his ticker,
yet he could see (he had a brain)
that efforts might well be in vain.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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A Faceless God
And there appeared
without a warning
a break within the clouds
that had remained,
so heavy and so low
all week, as all HIS people
went on about the business
of burying those
who had defied,
with loudness and
determination,
their fellow man
and now their God.
Committed treason,
thus forsaken
their holy Being.
Abandoned Deity.
And God then did,
with thunderous
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Cat Among The Pigeons
An alley cat with scruffy hair
got into the old pigeon house.
And all it wanted was its share
of pigeon meat, because a mouse
was such a bore and pretty small
variety, the spice of life
would play, exceedingly, a role
for this gray cat and for his wife.
The pigeons flew in all directions
some crashed like Kamakazi fliers
the cat cleaned up the closest section
and then returned to the home fires.
Revenge was planned by all the birds
as word got 'round about the raid
it was decided that with words
one could not sway a cat who made
these trips to be a connoisseur.
So they enlisted Mr. Eagle
who was so strong that they were sure,
that with some luck they could sweneagle
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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