Duane L. Herrmann Poems

A spot of red in the snow –
tiny, isolated,
easy to be missed.
...

Over the fields and prairie
creeks and tree lines
endless miles
of countryside,
...

I go across the prairie;
alone... to a place,
private...
not even I can enter.
...

I plow the paper with a pen
engaged as the family has been
in cultivation: sowing and reaping.
...

The heat had been forever:
constant oven-wind
shriveled leaves and trees.
...

People of the Wind:
a fitting name
for those who lived
on the windy plains.
...

They died with their boots on
so the legend goes,
and maybe some of them did.
...

Towers of the Spring,
rising billowy brown
climbing high in the sky...
...

The sky-floor miles below,
earth lower still,
furrowed white plains
stretch to the horizon.
...