The Tonsil Streptococcus
I met a frog the other night
he asked if could spare some time,
it seemed that I, a human, might
be able to reverse a crime.
A princess had been at the weir,
drank water from the river's edge.
She saw a man and said 'my dear',
I like you and can make the pledge
that if I kiss you, you shall be
a prince and suited thus to wed,
not that dumb girl but pretty me,
and sleep inside my Royal bed.'
He offered quickly her his cheek
and she bestowed a little peck,
and in the darkness, near the creek
he shrank! It started at the neck.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The Test Of Loyalty
He stood, oak walking stick
and trusted Shepherd by his side.
It was a view not for mere mortals,
life was not stingy with rewards,
such as this view from Obersalzberg.
He'd baptised it Wolfsschanze,
with which he had expressed the thought
that it would make a launching ramp
for the great wolf, son of the old eagle.
Today was graduation for ten officers,
Sturmstaffel, also called SS,
they'd demonstrate the ultimate of all:
Life for the Fuehrer and the Fatherland.
The training had been tough and cruel
for man and beast, all Shepherd dogs,
each candidate was given a male pup
to raise, from weaning time, with utmost care
to teach the tricks a German dog should know,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Battle Of Wits
A man who, tired but awake
came to the shore of Deerhorn Lake,
his wife could tell he had not caught
a single fish. When he had bought
those lures and poles and fancy reels
he'd talked about delicious meals
that they would have once he would go
onto the lake just like a pro.
He told her then he'd go and snooze
inside the house (there would be booze) .
So, off she went with boat and gear
and half a pack of Coor's cold beer.
She reached the centre and released
the anchor of the large-hulled beast.
She reached for the big fishing guide
when there was movement at her side.
Inspectors do patrol these regions
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Of Horses And Flies
A fly had ventured from his nest
and flew (of course) then came to rest
upon the tailbone of a horse.
And with considerable force
he pushed his stinger through the hide
which promptly ended up inside.
The horse, whose tolerance of pain
was governed by an oblong brain,
a horse, that much is widely known
is born without a funny bone
It follows that a horse may cry
when bitten by a nasty fly.
The fly, whose cousins own the dunny
inflicts his germs and thinks it funny
when bits of half-digested dung
infect the spot where he has stung.
Though in the case of any horse
it matters little since, of course
a horse makes, on command, vaccine
which brings resistance to the scene.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Jerry The Limerick
He has grown, in the clinic, a beard
but the stubbles are rough and much feared
by the soft, peachy skin
of both cheeks and her chin,
she considers his hairyness weird.
So she sharpened that Wilkinson blade
pulled the love of her life to the shade,
and proceeded to shave
from the face of this brave
man the hair, but she left him his beard.
He had grown, near each ear in just days
a small bushel of hair, like some gays,
and he blamed the selection
of the drugs for injection
it was Medicine's modern day ways.
After resting the night at his home
she had run out of white shaving foam,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Near-Miss
A mouse, all gray with tiny ears
was crying salty rodent tears.
A cat had cornered him and planned
to eat him as he ate his aunt.
Just when the cat had opened wide
a voice was heard from the outside.
Dog Brutus, who resided near
had just decided to appear.
He barged, as he was fond of doing
inside and saw the trouble brewing.
And since he liked all little mice
he told the cat 'now you be nice'.
The cat, however, was not used
to be directed and abused.
And with the swipe of its big paw
the mouse went down into the craw.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Not Stood Up
At last she had arrived, hips swinging.
Boobs leading,
heels clicking,
unhurried, rather strolling.
Two hours late,
I, like a girl,
a whimpy one at that,
I had stood there,
pretending very well
to like the neighbourhood.
But not quite blending in.
'Well, piss off, inner man,
your lonely finger of
such righteous indignation,
it just fell off, things happen!
Buses break down,
parents mingle,
handbags lost,
stolen carkeys,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Paradise Gained
Albert and Hulda lived in style,
they walked each Saturday a mile,
ate vegetables, fruits and bread
but then, they ended up quite dead.
Up to the Pearly gates they flew
St. Peter and his trusted crew
asked questions of the lovely pair
and took them into God's own care,
he showed them to their home in Heaven,
'twas on cloud nine, number eleven.
There were such riches in that house,
so Albert said, my dearest spouse
I can just see how they would give
such luxuries to those who live,
but to the dead, it bogs the mind
I did not know God would be kind.
Upstairs the had a spa and golden taps
outside the pool for morning laps,
a golf course just around the bend
where would this lavish lifestyle end?
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Cinderella And The Dog
Cinderella and her dog
sat at home on the old log.
Sisters had gone to the dance
homely ones did have no chance.
Said the dog 'my Cinderella,
may I be this evening's fella,
we could wash and dress with care
and could make a handsome pair.'
She had raised her bushy brow,
asked the clever dog just how
they would get into the castle
while avoiding a big hassle.
'You are nothing but a mutt,
always scratching your big butt,
full of craziness and fleas
barely reach up to my knees.'
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Nightstalker On A Mission
A fat and lazy pussycat
was eying, up a tree, a rat.
The pussycat had been neglected
since nasty flaws had been detected
in her behaviour as such,
though in a way it was not much
to those who love their pussycats,
prefer them over rats and bats.
It seems that, in the dark of night
right after she would have a bite
of what they sell in shops as kibbles,
apparently these crunchy nibbles
do stimulate motility,
which means they work the pebbles free
inside the cat's long feline gut,
soon after, they then leave her butt.
And she had long been in the habit
to dropp those pellets like a rabbit
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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