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These poems sing of our human experience, no matter how painful it may sometimes be. And, at the same time, in the same voice, is joy and exaltation in life and being human spiritual beings. We are all of this.

These new poems will take the reader on a human adventure they won’t soon forget.

What Readers are Saying

Duane L Herrmann is such a powerful poet. His writing is like a curry – a reader thinks she can take on a full platter, based upon sample tastings of singular poems, on quarter-sized sheets of paper. They are lovely and manageable in their emotional impact. So I dove into this collection without care, and found that the heat builds incrementally, until without realizing it the reader is uncomfortable, fanning for air. This is a compliment.

This collection demands to be savored. All those poems, together, pack so many emotional wallops – and they are tasty and satisfying, even the ones that burn – and they need respectful pacing between them. I have read SO many of them over and over, to myself, and aloud to others. And some are so hard, sad, that one reading alone has branded words and images into me for a lifetime.

I thought I could be objective about this work – but I find I can’t. I’m curry-overloaded with these poems and too full to do anything yet but groan, eyes brimming, and nod in stuffed satisfaction.

I’m so glad this collection is published, because it must be. I’m thankful for the metaphor of transplanting, one of my favorite poems in this work! And I’m so, so sorry for all that the author has suffered, which weeps and bleeds out in many of the poems. I thank the poet for these transcendent and triumphal insights.

Sample Poems

A FATHER ONCE

A father loved me
once
a long, long time ago
when I was a child –
a little boy,
when I could not talk
unable or
had been forbidden.
Now,
only I can talk.
He cannot answer.
He never said,
“I love you,”
but his actions spoke.
He, alone, hugged me.
What comfort
to feel his strength,
his energy and power.
I was safe,
for that moment,
in his arms.
He talked to me –
not at me
and listened.
He loved me.
I am sure….

Why did he die?

~~

LONG ROAD TRIP

Having a father
was part of childhood,
that brief time
so long ago,
with birthday cakes,
school bus rides
and barnyard chores.
Never after that.
Afraid of my father,
I did not know
what might set him off.
My mother, I knew
would scream and scream
at the way I walked,
closed my lips,
cleaned house, cooked,
did laundry or the dishes,
even slept,
but
what would set him off?
Would he hate me too?
That,
I could not bear.
When would he explode?
I did not know.
What was a trigger?
I had no clue
and in not-knowing was the fear.

He tried to talk
but I sat petrified
and could not answer
mile after silent mile,
never dreaming
he only cared
I was his son
and we were together.

~~

IN MY LIFE

In my sixty-three years
I’ve …
built a house
remodeled several others;
farmed and plowed
disked, raked and mowed;
written award-winning history book,
several prize-winning poems,
published a book of poetry,
several chapbooks,
a dozen or so stories
for children, or adults,
various articles
in several countries;
cited as an expert
and, surprisingly – quoted;
raised four children who
are productive, constructive
members of society;
served the Cause of God
in regional and national positions,
local institutions and more,
as well as civic service;
built a short road
with shovel and wheelbarrow;
once a Librarian,
issued title insurance,
advised on retirement,
as well as supervised
a small call center;
carried an old woman
down flights of stairs
out a burning building
and pulled a baby from a lake;
lover and planter of trees
and landscaper;
baked and decorated cakes as a child,
and won prizes for them;
cleaned house
taken care of hogs, chickens, dogs and cats
and, for most of my life,
was the family cook;
changed diapers since age six
and fed babies since age two.

I’m tired.

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