Herbert Nehrlich Poems

The double helix, yes.
Talking genomes here,
genetic fiddling,
all are four letter words,
...

There was
a time
where laws
of rhyme
...

He had released a bit of gas
and felt a need to scratch his ass.
He was in public and he stank,
considered it a youthful prank.
...

There once was a Vicar named Groon
he was raised with a true silver spoon.
And at bedtime he'd take
for his haemorrhoids' sake
...

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,
...

He slept the dream of ethanol
and when he woke, his battered soul
was in a mood too foul to bear
as vomit stuck in his gray hair.
...

There once was a fellow named Gripp.
He let poems roll over his lip.
With the Kraut in his genes
he has more than the means
...

Well, Max, you wouldn't understand,
a dog is not a human, after all.
I'm in my forties, says my gut
and the chronology, it matters not,
...

I once knew a ballerina
she had flown in from Argentina
she liked playing my flute
and was udderly cute
...

I climbed the path
up to the church
and, once inside
did get a special time
...