Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

His Travels - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Cool breezes herald the arrival
of neutral sanity among the folks
who pitter patter through the streets
relieved yet ever saddled with
life's promissary notes, in gold.

Then there is me, a stranger now
a drifter with unknown intentions,
a jaw so tight that people hear
the grinding of the trusty molar guard.

A monkey, stuffed, hangs on a string
and sways above the rosewood dash
as if to show appreciation for the tune
of melancholy and bipolar happiness
content, agreeing with his master
both demons of insane velocity.

He nods his head and grins with teeth
so white that silent lightning flashes
accompany the alabaster dance
of straight Teutonic lines, dividing
as they do, so orderly, within the law
the cubic inches of the ones who have
from common citizens, still filled with hope.

As clouds appear to hurry home
to some unknown and worthy paradise,
he bites his nails in bitter privacy
only the monkey senses the uncertainty
so unaware of it, oblivious to destiny.

Comments about His Travels by Herbert Nehrlich

  • Joe Breunig (8/8/2006 12:09:00 PM)

    An interesting and intriguing write; this piece demonstrates the subtle convergence of travelling through life, driving on the road and intermingling with others (who are bound on their own personal journeys) . Nicely done. (Report) Reply

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  • (8/8/2006 9:50:00 AM)

    I've re-thought my comment, Raynette. I now tend to fall into line with your verdict. The main point for me though, Herbert, is that it is a probing and intriguing piece of writing.

    You may have found 'Desert Ditty' by Linda Hepner in your inbox. A song of determination and optimism which I'm hoping will give you a boost.

    (Report) Reply

  • (8/8/2006 9:08:00 AM)

    I am interested in Gina's comments, Herbert. I dont read the poem as she does at all.
    'grinding of the trusty molar guard' denotes tension, not a firm sense of hope. The monkey swinging above the dash brings a sense of the rediculous to it 'both deamons of insane velocity.'And 'biting his nails in bitter privacy' adds to the unrest, the uncomfortable feelings of his new place during his travels. Only the clouds seem to have a purpose, a home. It is a fascinating poem, nontheless.

    (Report) Reply

  • (8/8/2006 9:05:00 AM)

    H, this is of course excellently crafted, telling, and 'make-me-think', and depicts both the outside scene and the inside turmoil-acceptance so hard (ie as a poem, , well done) that it hurts. Hurry back. Accomplish what you as a stranger in a foreign land (hmmn - aren't we all so often inside our own heads) seek to do, and will do, and then hurry back. t xxxxxxx (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, August 8, 2006

Poem Edited: Monday, August 23, 2010

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