For Linda Ori - No Special Occasion
While sitting on a hollow log
I noticed a small, handsome frog,
he came to me, quite unafraid
and said 'we need to find some shade.'
I was as you'd imagine shocked,
he sat there seemingly half-cocked
and smiled with bulging eyes his smile.
And so we sat there for a while.
'The sun will move toward the West',
he croaked while scratching his green chest.
It did and shade soon changed the hue
from green toward an ocean blue.
'I say, you are the Limerick Earl,
and do you know the Ori girl?
She's written some fantastic stuff
but hasn't been praised quite enough.'
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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A Glimmer
The campus had been plagued
by much unrest and bigotry,
there was the ROTC, pathetically,
those closely cropped nitwitted
and underhanded opportunists,
their president, he didn't like the word
dean or other titles, though PhD
and membership in learned groups,
prestigious clubs and then the Chamber,
was on the stationery, black embossed,
he ran the ship with iron fists, too well,
there were some fifteen nurses in the school,
administering the dispensary and, also
the student hospital, which, owned by Doc,
a graduate of Innsbruck University,
which does deserve its Dr. Ins. repute.
The students came from all the walks
of life as only poverty normally permits,
to keep them off the streets, and out of jail
they lived the life or Timothy O'Leary,
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Horse Sense Under The Oak Tree
It was the greenest green
that she had ever seen.
A tiny, sad-eyed frog,
daydreaming on a log.
'She' was, of course, a horse,
who used, as a good source
of minerals the log
upon which sat the frog.
It was a cloudless, balmy day
and many children were at play.
They did not bother either critter
due to their spinster babysitter.
Thus undisturbed, they did commence
a conversation near the fence.
The mare inquired why the green
was something she had never seen.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The History Of Frog Pigment
A frog is green not by design,
but by his own volition,
it started all with Father Rhine
where Grandpa did his fishing.
Back then pollution was a word
used only by the teachers,
it's what they read and overheard
on air wave science features.
Each Saturday, my Opa sat
down by the raging river
he was a stocky man, not fat
and had a touchy liver.
I think they told us kids that fate
had brought him this affliction
I had my doubts....at any rate
it was a plain addiction.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The Greenie
A frog, dark green, sat in the gutter
and waited for the frightened flutter
of insects native to these parts.
He heard, that evening, just farts.
He had been raised by his grandmother
together with a younger brother.
His mom had died when she was two
inside the cistern of a loo.
The plumber had installed within
and fastened by a stainless pin
a reservoir that would dispense
blue liquid here to recompense
for odours, stains and other matters
like flying pieces, even splatters.
Yet no one had observed the critter
who spent her days inside the shitter.
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poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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