Five Poems by Duane L. Herrmann

 

MORNING DREAMING

 

Mist rising, circling wisps  

over still, smooth water.

Silence.

Morning is empty,  

even the birds  

have not found their voice –  

waiting, waiting  

for the sun  

and warmth and light.

SPLASH!

Ripples cross the lake  

gently rock the boat.

The boy stirs,  

his sleeping nest  

too warm to leave,  

the dream  

just within reach:  

mist circling, rising…

 

 

WIND DID

 

The wind, wind, wind

helps me fly

high and higher

great loops and curves.

I see down, little –

everything!

Trees – small green puffs,

streams and rivers

snake along – winding,

moving lives:

all ants!

I'm so free

why can't I be

ever this me?

“Be kind.”

Words find my mind

and I shout joy

all around.

 

 

WHEN SALMON DOESN'T EXPLODE

 

Each time

salmon doesn't explode

I am relieved.

When it does,

it makes a mess;

and I don't need

another mess

of any kind

by any one or thing:

baby poop in diapers,

cat poop in sand-piles,

were some messes

I had to clean

as a child

and exploding temper,

disorder, chaos

my mother created...

I'm done with all that.

 

 

STARS SHINE

 

Through my window

I watch leaves

fall in autumn chill,

bare branches soon

etch the sky

and now, again,

stars shine through.

Stars pull me up,

off Earth, away

to other suns and worlds,

beyond imagination

where life can be

so much, much more

than we know here:   

speaking in colours,

breathing gases,

moving motionless,

and so much else!

HILLS UP

 

Where they wait

for you to see,

walk, climb

up

into air

where knowing belongs,

knowing you are small,

tiny against the sky,

perspective

of insignificance

in vast expanse

of space above,

yet unique,

and a universe

within

waiting

discovery.

Take a breath:

hold...

still...

BE...

You are one,

a part

of all that is

and perfect

as the hill

that raised you up,

and give thanks

for being...

now...

when...

and forever more.

This is the purpose.

This is the reason

for breath:

and all is well.

Duane L. Herrmann, internationally published, award-winning poet and historian, has work in print and on-line: Midwest Quarterly, Little Balkans Review, Flint Hills Review, Manifest West, Inscape, Gonzo Press, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, over one hundred other publications, over sixty anthologies, plus a sci fi novel. With branches of his family here before the revolution, and a Native branch even longer, he writes from, these perspectives. 

His full-length collections of poetry include: Prairies of Possibilities, Ichnographical, Praise the King of Glory, No Known Address, Remnants of a Life, Family Plowing, and Zephyrs of the Heart. His poetry has received the Robert Hayden Poetry Fellowship, inclusion in American Poets of the 1990s, Map of Kansas Literature, Kansas Poets Trail, and others. This, despite an abusive childhood embellished by dyslexia, ADHD, cyclothymia, an anxiety disorder, a form of mutism, and now, PTSD. He has carried baby kittens in his mouth, pet snakes, and held conversations with owls, but is careful not to anger them! He was surprised to find himself on a farm in Kansas, and is still trying to make sense of that, but has grown fond of grass waving under wind, trees, and the enchantment of moonlight.