Herbert Nehrlich

Solitary I play.

caught insidethose stubbles.Who was itthat rang loudand clear, just oncethe doorbellof my house?The one whose deedI was cajoled intoplacing my name beneath,they said it wasa facilitation ofthe way things are.And wereand will be nowforever and a day.Only, the foolsdo not quite graspthat I rememberthe way things were,and that I wish they could,in some belated waycome…

To win the West

let’s say it’s bestto realisethat I stay quietin this endeavour,prevent a riot(which shows I’m clever)well let us saythat all the urgesand interim galactic vibesremind me of Stalinist purgeswhen he got rid of all those tribes.The West was wonwhen crazy fellowsequipped with gunand Scottish bellowsstood up to arrowsof savage loutscut out their marrowsbashed in their snouts.So…

He called her ‘Silly-Putty’

He’d clamped his iron fistaround her eager ankle.She’d cried her tears of rageinto the river far below.They had, against all odds,made a great life together,there, in that coal-dust townwhere Black and White unitedagainst the signal from canaries.Rich men in suits, so far away,in towers made of ivory and chromeare always busy counting doughwhile clippings of…

Come dance with me

Salt water waveletsLap at our sores.Faltering stepsIn longing and painMarks struggle betweenSacred and profane.Pause the dance nowFor the body is weakIn each others armsIs the respite we seekDraw strength anewIn the sharing as oneWe are completeA new round has begun.As we take the firstSteps to danceBack to the moorsWe know in shared heartThe future is…

He used to drive us crazy,

spit out those dull clich├ęs,calling them, for lack ofwhat you could call a betterand more appropriate term,colloquialisms, which sounded,to uninitiated ears, like communism.That night when Grandma diedhe told her that the shirt she worewould be her last and that no shirthad pockets if it was your final garb.He turned to our solemn faces and,earnestly, eyes…