He was partial to one single nip, <br />but no smoke ever passed by his lip, <br />as to attributes then <br />he would die by his pen <br />and while wearing a Freudian slip. <br /> <br />He detested inferior genes, <br />wore not Levis but dark Wrangler jeans, <br />blue his eyes, full of flirt <br />and Hawaiian his shirt <br />and his house he named Smithereens. <br /> <br />Though he knew his position in life, <br />there was envy you'd cut with a knife, <br />On Waitakere's sands <br />they held love with their hands <br />and they talked of the world and its strife. <br /> <br />Would you look at the gods as hot air, <br />like a cloud full of methane and hair, <br />woven tightly and squeezed <br />hordes of Lucifers teased <br />and the lies on the surface and bare. <br /> <br />If there were, in the past, friendly ghosts, <br />who would rule all the land 'tween the coasts, <br />they gave more and then less <br />like a rigged game of chess <br />or the stealth of two quickly switched posts. <br /> <br />Thus it's envy that fouls up the rules, <br />and integrity saddles the mules, <br />it is best to ignore <br />each small pimp and each whore <br />let them drink from the kettle for fools!<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich 2<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kettle-for-fools/
