Hiders Under The Pillow Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Hiders Under The Pillow
I know people, not many,
who do seem to
for reasons
known to them,
dear to them,
like to hide.
They have
unlisted numbers
with the phone company,
they wear scarves,
sunglasses,
they walk in the shadow of
buildings and trees,
they talk softly,
they answer their calls
by saying HELLO, hesitatingly,
they drive neutral coloured cars,
and they like to be UNSEEN
at poemhunter. And elsewhere.
But then, when the opportunity,
once in a lifetime perhaps,
arises where they could stand,
sit,
crouch,
dance
on the stage, any stage
anywhere,
they shed like dogs
who are afflicted
with acrodermatitis egotistica.
Beware!
Limelight, please!
I have nothing,
really nothing
to hide.
It's just
that the bogeymen
and their cousins
are always
after me. Just me.
Why?
I hear voices,
lots of,
and mean ones,
vicious ones,
on that balcony
and in that pool,
from across the street,
from the spires of the basilika,
from the chimneys of
all of the hot and ugly
crematoria.
They talk, they whisper and
they sing about me,
not to me,
not at me,
not with me,
but about me.
Mean songs they are,
songs of oppression,
of malice and such,
and they never ever
not in this lifetime,
or in the past,
such historic proof,
stop, tone down or,
if they could, fly away.
I hide because
I have something,
a little bit of
sunshine perhaps,
or sugar plums,
or the Queen's secrets,
or Oppenheimer's papers.
To hide and to preserve.
Believe you me,
it is as I say, there are,
without a doubt,
and inevitably so,
ghosts, who will,
if you do let them
and their tentacles,
and all of their
razzamatazz,
come into
yours and mine,
it will surely be our undoing,
and for all it matters,
in the end,
by our hands,
hesitating, yes
but it must be
will be
as God will bless,
your beginning.
Thank us not now.
But hide as we do.
Be invisible
or they will,
in the end of ends,
get you.
Too.
I find the first four verses at least to be sincere and moving. So open, they rather contradict your conclusion! There are quite a few of us here who would like you to shed this pillow-slip if it produces poetry like this. Mr. Anon is a cowardly critic; but he has a magnificent volume of poetry to his credit!
There are NO contradictions in this poem. And where are the names? This poem is, of course a personal one. Aren't they all? My last personal one got me in hot water but I didn't stay long. H
I agree Rich, and thanks. Although it has been my experience that 'Once a Coward, always....' I figure there are about 5 of them (isn't it nice to make enemies?) , all living in the North of the globe. We Down Under have more class..: -)) The reason they won't stick around to make comments is most likely the fact that they didn't get handed much IQ when God turned out so many, in such a hurry, and with less than his usual care. H
This is beginning to sound more like a poetry slam at a collegiate bar rather than a poetry forum. We'd all be best served if we confined use of the rating system to a poet's command of imagery, content, the concept of the poem, control of meter, flow, appropriateness etc. and voice any disagreements that we have with the author's beliefs to the 'comments' section. There are religious poets who are very competent craftsmen, for instance, and yes, Republicans can sometimes write quality verse as well. I won't rate them poorly because of what they belive and I expect the same consideration. Also, If you too ashamed of your opinions to do other than voice them with hit and run ratings, don't bother. In short, give Herbert the courtesy to let him be Herbert. And let's cease the references to one's ethnic background. Even if it isn't meant in a hurtful way, it often does. There. I'm off my soapbox. Sorry about that.
Christine, thank you for your kind, heartwarming comments. I am glad you wrote when you did as I was having a hard time unravelling Michael Shepherds humour. I thought he was making fun of my stuff and my face had dropped a bit when your comment arrived. Needless to say, thanks. H
Herbert, apologies for using your comment box, but I must ask Mr. Saywell to stop using comment boxes to insult me or my culture... what is this insult of beer and guinness? ? ! surely you could find a better offending gambit than a cliche? ? ! - it's easy to hurl abuse by using assumed global norms... but I will desist from doing because it becomes pointless namecalling. AJS, If you want to discuss something with me - please mail me. S.
I can NEVER find adequate or sensible words to praise your work and have given up trying. Suffice to say that I'm often in awe of it and all today's poems are no exception. Chrissie
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 6:40:11 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Thank god herbert at least your not irish, yes i suppose herbert the people with real names, had better watch out or they could be spell checked by hassler maybe hassler is irish with a black cap SPELL CHECK ONE THING IF ANY THING ELSE, YOU ARE A MAN WHO HAS MASTERED THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, I enjoyed this poem of truth, the gentle flow of pure poetry, which should make the irish wet there bed, i found another mother today wants me to do pure poetry have no fun, not to do anything on the beatles jock straps or butcher shops or or copulation well going to have a guiness, mother can i have a beer sonja dearest Warm regards allan