Best Herr Poems
Eyes furtive carry the reflected sheen of aluminium paint that is smooth a chrome flood
On the tin roof of the woodshed seen, with moonlight awash, awaking the dreaming scene.
The light has the tint of coyote’s hair; the furtive fox is rising to maraud with that
Peripheral stare, the balance tail is curving around a body still turning, his eyes red dots
Burn beside the russet and auburn fur, in the night full deep, guard dog in slumbering sleep,
With a stealthy gait the stooping steep steps you negotiate, around the mottled boulders
Grey you move or even! glide your way. The lightest breeze full on your face, with elegant
Tresses like a filigree trace, to soundless halt you poise your form upon the ledge with its
Girth two pace. Your.. goal in sight about to spring.! with visage grim, the huddled lambs
Sense... sudden..fear! They start to bleat hear querulous tones, the move was neat! Yet P D
Drops down on lightening feet, from her crop of rock with a body shock, she lands on him
With her forked tree limb, his neck is pinned, in her sundown boots she stands on his tail at
The very root, with feral fear his eyes a-glare, how now will the tale of the captured fox ensnared
Unfold? Don’t destroy the tail of this fox caught cold! She could train him as her reddy scout
He has a fine nose plus attuned senses that she alone caught out!.. or better still she could
Keep him well penned perhaps in documents contained, or back to herr schäffer send!
I have come out of retirement ha ha! for P D's inner animal contest .
© JOE MAVERICK 2-01-2011
I found your eyes so randomly,
your face did not exist
No waist to place my arms around,
no lips for me to kiss
No hair to lose my fingers in,
nor ear to whisper sweet
No one to hide within my heart,
to fall in love so deep
Your image I saw by happenstance,
a beautiful vision to see
You held me there with just a look,
as you stared back at me
Your eyes, those lips, that lovely face,
my feelings are all for not
For you are more than a world away,
my beauty from Herat
Herat (Herr-Rot) is both an Afghan city and province. Herat City is the capital
of Herat Province located in the western portion of Afghanistan.
Written in Afghanistan -May 2013
‘Twas the night before Christmas in the little town of Oberflugelschweinsaxenmitcracklingewurst.
(There are some that are much longer; it isn’t the worst)
Now hier ist ze haus of ze happy family SCHMIDT
Und Herr Schmidt mit rosenconk giving ze gluwein a hit
Ze Schmidt kinder all excited - Santa Claus kommin to town
Und everyone so merry, mit big smiles, und never a frown
Und zere in ze garten ze liddle haus you know what for
Zose are ze shoes of Frau Schmidt sticken aus unter ze door
Und now here ist gekommin Santa Claus on der grosse toboggan
He is singin Oh! so merry cos he also had a noggin
See ze reindeer geklompin uberhead, leaving Lufthasa standingk
Zen down zey are kommin - all ready fur ze Landingk
Ach! Meine Gott! Zey are heading for ze liddle haus in ze garten!
Kablunden! Blitzen ! Alles Kaput! Ze liddle haus Ist geflattened
Und Frau Schmidt ist runningk aus mit ze knickers round ze ankles!
Zat’s enough to spoil your Christmas; in ze snow it really rankles
Fater Christmas zen ist sayingk: "Shtupid dumkopf reindeer - Heraus!
I gave you clear instruction to be landing on ze SCHMIDT Haus !!!!!"
11/10/2023
I have never had to give up my home,my town, my family in any war.
That was done for me, by willing, brave heroes, who have gone afar!
Courageous women and men, who loved mankind.
They left pets, beloved family and homes behind!.
They knew that America had to protect a flag of red, white and blue.
No matter what country, you are now in, they died for you and your
country, too!
Herr Hitler might have become the ruler of all free countries as well.
Heroes were buried in your country, so peaceful now, in green fields
with Sunday bells.
Heroes such as these are why religion and speech are so marvelously free.
Don’t let a single person nor power group, rob thee of these.
Enemies start worldwide, with controls, they rule..don’t need guns!
Allowing lies, murder and a brave, crooked world to have its evil ryn.
So don’t let military service and young deaths disappear in vain.
They lie in simple, quiet graves, in moonlit cemeteries, in the crying rain..
Herr Wolf is now wearing a hellava frown.
Denied Heaven‘s entrance, he had to go down,
but was thrown from Hell too,
because LUCIFER knew
that HITLER could capture the devil‘s own crown.
For the L and H Limerick Contest of Catie Lindsey
Woe to the ones with a sour attitude
Those who grumble in mumbled words so rude
Their poems sour the air
When one wrote of the 'Herr'
I've grown tired of this silly childish feud
It was on this day
December the 21st, 1988
Pan Am Flight 103
Would learn of it's fate
Blown out of the sky
For all the world to see
Two hundred and fifty nine people
Rained down on me
My country Scotland
Lockerbie town
The falling of life
In deathly down
This 747
Model 121
Laid-en with fuel
The horror's begun
Argentinian, Belgium
Bolivia too
Canada, France
Sat beside you
Germany, Hungary
India as well
Hey, Herr
The flights going well
Ireland, Israel
Italy flew
To go to the States
All feeling brand new
Jamaica, Japan
Philippines seated
Family toil
Families depleted
South Africa, Spain
Sweden in flight
JFK
Will not be tonight
Switzerland, Trinidad and Tobago
The United Kingdom, United States
All of the above
On this December date
We also remember
Eleven on the ground
Who obliterated to nothing
Not hearing a sound
The town of Lockerbie
Will never be the same
Yet one of the gang goes free
Because the poor guys in pain
Where's the compassion
Of the 270 lost
Their memory now tarnished
To the Scottish Governments cost
We set him free
To his home he goes
Treated like a hero
All compassion has froze
My thoughts and my tears
Are for the truly lost ones
Who will never enjoy
The return to their hometown
In dedication to the 270 who lost their lives on December 21st 1988.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/loss.php
One of the greatest classical composers was a Prussian.
Herr Bach went by the name of Johann Sebastian.
Laboring at his harpsichord, his compositions were many.
He wrote a rather short tune that was quite pretty.
It had an upbeat, allegro type melody.
His famous piece was the “Minuet in G”.
Along came three young women in the twentieth century.
‘The Toys” would become this trio’s adopted name.
One hit song catapulted them all to fame.
With a small band, they entered a recording studio.
Their production became a hit nearly everyone would know.
They sold many recorded copies of “Lover’s Concerto”
If Johann Sebastian were alive today, he would be pissed.
He could not get a copyright, and all those royalties were missed.
Inspired by a video from You Tube
Days blend together, time's fabric is frayed
I'm a prisoner of my own verse,
Friends lose importance and eating’s past tense,
Things are going from troubled to worse.
Not that successful, poor poet at best,
But the pressure to write presses hard,
There’s no escaping though I push it down,
There are weeds taking over my yard.
Wonder if dinosaurs struggled with rhyme,
It seems clear that it did them no good,
Free verse seems doomed to a similar fate,
Even rhymers are knocking on wood.
Politics likely to kill us for sure,
Trump has studied the lost dodo’s path,
“Build a big wall and we’ll keep the rats out,”
While we lock in the worst psychopath.
Dodo bird even resembles Herr Trump,
Be my guest, just check Google and see,
“Smart as a pigeon,” peacock without tail,
A great emblem for our history.
Long Tooth
July 11, 2016
Jurgen Klopp
must work with essentially the same old shop
invigorate, stir
but, look, it's Arsenal today, Mein Herr!
Video shock treatment
got my thoughts moving wavy ...
why ain’t my fear of the future
dawn misty dissipating?
This mental picture is getting more hazy
Dr. Strangelove says
the other patients are nervously afraid
of my tin foil cathode crazy talking
Seems my current condition ain’t getting no better
Electric cult personality
got me screaming at the telly
As I try to warn everybody,
but it looks like nobody can see
those invisible mind control
piercing pulsating nano-needles injecting
Everybody around me
got a bargain cut-rate surgery
Government free lobotomy
Pinocchio politicians offering gift rubles,
handing out pet puppet lemmings ...
Lord knows, I’m not dreaming
Yet, Dr. Strangelove says
my cranial circuits are overloading again,
as I’m fighting to stop that invasive
satellite signal from getting patched in
Gotta leave this cuckoo’s nest,
time share eagle swift divest
However, I must be blood simple wise,
when there’s so many peeping eyes
Herr Doktor is a sly, smart mole
playing me dumb
But, I know an undercover G-man
when I see one
Dr. Strangelove says
my current condition isn’t getting any better
Then why are my spiritual survival instincts tingling wild —
Grim forecast: Expect nuclear holocaust bad weather
She was a fiery seashell,
lost 'neath convoluted oceans
amongst opuses of pure poetry,
artistically outspoken
'tween invertebrate reality
secretly devouring mankind,
beware Herr Lucifer,
she rose from the gaseous chamber
to live amidst ashes of immortality
& renowned marital infamy,
eternally burning spirit of Lady Lazarus
In honor of Sylvia
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
- Sylvia Plath
Erratum
Dedicated to the women and children at war.
Room unlit, sshe graps the
familiarityy in blackness,
as herr eyes slowly adapt to
reach the siill and peek out the window,
the daark is deeper outside, the
thin glass betweenn her and the dark got
thickeer, awaits the falling ash
from a mill neearby, begins counting, starts with an odd for
her lips got tiredd of murmuring
even, her pace becomes fasster and faster, digits piling up followed by
three dots and a flatline, can't hhold of it much steps backward,
found the edge of thee bed, and lets the weight of
her body fall flat on the mattress, delliberately and intensed, still her
eyes fixed at the window, the "ppouring" halted, the ashes
from where it fell gather turned flesh, rises and
clings at the pane like silhouette of hands,
big and small, like footsteps imprinted on
grey slates that in one stroke will return to ash,
thoughts begin to baffle her,
where are they going now?
Herr Heinrich Schneider and his spouse
Felt the need to wander,
And for once to leave their house
For a land that lay far yonder.
Japan at cherry-blossom time!
No better place than this
Enthralled the German couple’s mind.
The chance they would not miss.
"But what of Spezi", Heidi cried,
"We can’t leave him behind."
"Ach! unser Spezi," Heinrich sighed.
"There’s a way we’ll find."
They gave him anti-rabies shots
And medicines galore.
All that red tape, and lots and lots
Of paper-mountains more.
Off to the orient they flew
With hopeful joy and glee.
Oh what wonders bright and new
Would soon enthral all three?
Imperial palaces they saw
And Fuji’s snow-capped summit,
Ornate gardens stirring awe.
You name it, they had done it.
Immersed in culture and in art
They sensed a certain lack.
And so it was that they took heart
To leave the beaten track.
They hired a car and off they went
To some far-distant by-way.
And many a pleasant hour they spent
Till the dying light of day.
They found a cosy place to rest.
On the price they made a deal.
At last a chance to have a "Fest".
The time came for a meal.
The menu was in Japanese,
As well one might expect.
The waiter clearly meant to please
And bowed with great respect.
Of English, German and of French
He had no scrap of knowledge.
He gave each ear a nervous clench.
No, he’d never been to college.
Herr Schneider felt like sauerkraut
And Heidi felt like veal,
Food of this kind they’d do without
Until another meal.
But Spezi’s hunger would not wait.
Herr Schneider eyed the waiter.
"Wuff, Wuff, our Spezi wants a plate.
For dogs one has to cater."
While they sat there, a full hour passed.
Then the waiter brought some dishes.
The Schneiders ate their strange repast,
Which fell short of their wishes.
It was now time to pay the bill,
Which ran to many a yen.
Both were feeling somewhat ill.
and hardly spoke a word, but then -
Heidi cried "Is Spezi back yet?"
"Wuff wuff" did Heinrich bark.
"Please, waiter, tell us, where’s our pet?
In the kitchen? In the park?
A piece of fur the waiter brought.
Then Heidi’s face went pale.
She had a grim and horrid thought
On seeing Spezi’s tail.
What is the moral of this tale?
Down under be a dingo.
Where e’er you roam you should not fail
To understand the lingo.
Come take a walk in the tombs with me,
go on a little late night graveyard stroll,
Let the vampire wing full moon silhouette
overshadow us in the chilly October rain
Let me kiss your pale cadaver lips in the cold,
pick a few dying flowers, violets-do-forget
Make you remember the harshest jolt pain,
as you try to avoid your laboratory cloned destiny
No monster truly ever have wistful regret,
tears on the tracks of an oncoming train
Pride of life is such a vexing cemetery mystery,
reaper of souls need only to vanguard thoughts bold
Lovers of temporary pleasures breathe insane,
should Herr Doktor rewire your internal history?
But all of the replacement parts have been sold,
and your frayed insulation is starting to get very wet
Let me cover you with a warm shroud of circuit certainty,
bring you back into the dank dungeon gallows fold
The touch of electricity should amplify your sweat,
energize the dirt maggots crawling in your brain
Come take a walk in the tombs with me,
lets re-animate and lose the fear of zombie release
Take baby steps back to the petri dish reset
Any one other than me will run from your ghoul pain,
only another like you can hold the metallic poles
Walk with me, as we both half-life decay old
Walk darkly thru the catacomb tombs with me,
let the Lycanthrope beast within lose control
Walk with me to the lowest nether crypt degree