Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

On The Mississippi - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A bearded Massachussetts Hippy
was going down the Mississippi
just like that Huckleberry Finn
who sailed these waters with a grin
and certain motives of his own.

The raft had wet bar and a phone
as well as Satellite TV
that way he was equipped to see
his favourite team and how they fared,
he was a modern man who cared
about events of daily life.

Not to forget his lovely wife
who watched her Operas called Soap
where she could share the actors' hope
and cry when things got pretty sad
well, anyway they both were glad
to own this floating house of joy
which was much more than just a toy.

The grand piano stood far aft,
the Maytag Fridge weighed down the raft,
a Microwave and barbecue
a Finnish Sauna, colour blue,
and the garage along starboard
was home to not a lousy Ford
but to a Hemi Cherokee
an item that just had to be
essential on their list to take.

And they had picked the only make
which would be suitable for trips
once they got clear of all the ships
and landed at a pretty place
and anchored there to make a base,
while cruising through the Southern Woods
take photos of exotic goods
while learning of the Southern Ways
and soaking up the sun's warm rays.

They had, it was a fateful Monday
returned from what I'd call a fun day
and brought with them a load of fruit
inside the vehicle's big boot.

It seems that giant watermelons
were harvested by striped-pants felons,
they took a thousand to the raft
set sail again with their big craft,
but when they got into lane
where ships do travel in the main,
they noticed to their great dismay
that their big house began to sway.

It went from starboard to the stern
creating instant great concern
and then, before they could react
they took on water, well, in fact
the raft went under in no time
there was no reason and no rhyme.

Or so they thought, not being skilled
in boating, now a panic filled
their hearts and minds and they both ran
to what in situations can
save man and beast from a wet grave
it was the only really brave
last second tool that they could use
so in a blink they grabbed the booze
which was Jack Daniels, one large crate
and there was never a debate
you always take the bare essentials
well now the Jeeps three differentials
were waiting to display their stuff
he turned the key, it was enough
to make their eyes get slightly blurry
then they took off, in a slight hurry.

Straight into waters ten feet deep
went, laughingly the grand old Jeep.
The music was by choice a song
that sailors sing right from Hong Kong
to Perth and down to black Capetown
The driver now displayed a frown
because the river did get deeper
his spouse called out 'Oh Jeepers Creeper'.

But it was fun in many ways
among the fishes and the rays,
the turtles and some water snakes
he stepped on ventilated brakes
disks both in front and in the back
to slow them down and get a crack
at all the underwater features,
they also filmed the many creatures.

The navigation system showed
how deep the murky waters flowed
but wait, they thought quite suddenly,
we cannot let the raft just be
and lose our property like that
so Hippy scratched his sailor's hat
looked in the navigation screen
as he was now extremely keen
to find his house of pride and joy,
they turned around, to find the toy.

And in the end they hooked her to
the towbar which was spanking new,
went all the way to New Orleans
drank whiskey on the way, ate beans
and also watermelon slices.

They found that all the neat devices
worked flawlessly without a glitch
and if you think this yarn too rich
go ask the Hippy and his wife
about their most exciting life.

Comments about On The Mississippi by Herbert Nehrlich

  • (8/24/2005 5:19:00 AM)

    Or he doesn't like the place 107 of the poem on the 500 list?
    (Report) Reply

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  • (8/23/2005 7:04:00 AM)

    Really funny poem....come on down south and I'll take you to Lynchburg and get you a case of 'ol Jack...LOL.! I enjoyed it alot! (Report) Reply

  • (8/23/2005 6:13:00 AM)

    Matthew, this is supposed to be a fun poem. While I liked some of what you wrote and posted in the beginning other stuff of yours was not up to snuff.
    But, as you may have noticed, I did not point this out to you or the world.
    Of all the resident critics here I must say that I can do without YOUR ill-considered and unnecessarily harsh comments, your remarks about whether rhymes do me any good were also without foundation.
    Whether I write way too much or not and what quality the individual poems may be should be my 'problem' and mine alone. If you would look at the public acceptance of my 'creations' you may find that you have a lot to learn.
    So, in the future may I suggest and request that you refrain from commenting on my work unless you can do so in a civil manner and without the venom.
    Venom is produced by lower class animals when they are fearful.
    Best wishes
    P.S.: Are you intending to stay at this site long?
    (Report) Reply

  • (8/23/2005 6:09:00 AM)

    I thought it was a great story. Very nice. Sincerely, Mary (Report) Reply

  • (8/23/2005 5:40:00 AM)

    This must have taken a while to write. Nobody could write so much badly forced rhyme by accident. I liked one you wrote called 'A Prayer' which was simple in style but quite endearing. I think you write far too much, so nothing is as good as it could be. I would also suggest not making rhyme. It doesn't do you any favors. For instance, your poem 'Kill' is better for you not inserting rhyme. (Report) Reply

  • (8/23/2005 5:40:00 AM)

    Yes, a great movie and well observed similarities in thought here.
    Best wishes
    (Report) Reply

  • (8/22/2005 10:27:00 PM)

    when i hear the word deep south Mississippi i just want to hollow yippee
    you know i saw the movie deliverence with burt reynolds when i think of that poet who took a short break with his partner i think of banjo's and fellows who aren't a
    full quid which is two bucks american you know i keep seeing him playing that banjo the bloke in the movie i mean i can see the poet playing a comb with a piece of white paper as a backing, has the place changed at all
    anyway herbert great poem, i loved it

    Warm regards allan
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, August 22, 2005

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