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Origami Microchap
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Poems
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| Trees and Me |
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Click title to download Micro
Cover photo by author
of Mulberrry tree
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GREEN MISTING
Trees with faint leaves
early spring
branches still
etch against the sky,
and yet
there is faint green
here and there and there.
A few trees even
fully green
and the greens:
bright, fresh,
this new year
delights the eye
after winter's bare
and gray
skies and
barren trunks;
but now SPRING!
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FIRST DAY
I go outside
and stand in amazement:
warm south wind
refreshing after winter,
birds return to sing,
first flowers bloom
and sway in the wind.
Tiny buds appear
on trees and bushes,
some with blossoms.
And, fresh GREEN:
green of new grass,
bright green
of winter wheat!
Clouds don't matter,
they won't last
but their rain
brings more Spring!
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THE HELP OF TREES
Under trees
and dancing leaves,
in their shade,
with a breeze,
I can quiet down,
I can be calm,
I can find
the center of me,
what which is not me,
which is greater than self.
The Great All-That-Is,
that totality,
essence of Real
which we cover and hide
in day-to-day
business
necessary for life,
but oh, so distracting!
•
Duane L. Herrmann © 2024
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| Bavarian Home |
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Click title to download micro
Cover photo: Reckendorf Public Well
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WALKING IN THE HOUSE
Walking in HIS house,
house of his birth,
his boyhood home
from whence he came
to Amerika-land
when just seventeen;
alone on the ship,
no friend or family,
to start a new life
and find his own way.
I walked old stairs,
worn and aged,
his bare feet touched
as my shoes now.
What life was his,
this little boy,
who I only knew
an old and ancient man?
KLANG!
Klang! Klang! Klang!
Little boy heard
from the blacksmith shop
next door.
Something always
going on there!
Exciting!!
Horses, oxen waiting
their turn
and tools piled
also waiting repairs.
“Stay Back!!”
Papa ordered,
“Leave the men alone!”
And he did...
sometimes,
my great grandfather:
as little boy.
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FAMILY BELONGING
Son of the family,
of the fourth generation,
walks the streets
of his “new” hometown –
one he never knew before,
but
he had known the name,
the legendary name,
almost mythical,
of the family’s origin,
and now:
he was HERE!
Reckendorf.
The return
after a hundred years.
How can you bridge time?
By meeting your family,
learning to talk
in their words
no matter the effort,
and helping others,
on both sides,
know each other.
He carries the name,
name on the stones,
on memorials and graves.
He belongs here!
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THAT SPECIAL PLACE
There is a place I love
my special place,
a family place,
through a gate
no one can say
I cannot go,
ancient gate of
Friedhof Reckendorf,
cemetery where
my family has lain
for centuries
in the hills of Bayern.
Iron gate
creaks a bit
but lets me in
to visit graves,
pray and meditate
among my roots and trees.
CASTLE TRAIL
Following “Castle Trail,”
little signs on trees
hiking in the forest,
venerable Bayern Wald,
harvested and nurtured:
heritage for generations.
Birds and sunbeams dance
through trees, streaming,
enchanting senses,
following the signs.
But: where is the castle
in this amazing place?
Walking, wondering,
among the visions.
Only learning later
that, “Castle,”
merely named
a hiking trail.
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Duane L. Herrmann © 2021
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| Bayarisch Heimat |
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Click title to download micro
Cover photo by Adelheid Waschka
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Translation credit to:
Magdalene Kovach
&
Gisela von Brunn
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DURCHS HAUS GEHEN
Durch SEIN Haus gehen,
das Haus seiner Geburt,
das Haus seiner Kindheit
aus dem er kam
nach Amerika-Land,
gerade erst siebzehn;
allein auf dem Schiff
weder Freund noch Familie
ein neues Leben zu beginnen
seinen eigenen Weg zu finden.
Ich ging über alte Treppen,
durchgetreten und alt,
wo seine bloßen Füße liefen
wie jetzt meine Schuhe.
Was hatte er für ein Leben,
dieser kleine Junge,
den ich nur kannte
als alten, reifen Mann?
KLANG!
Klang! Klang! Klang!
Hört der kleine Junge
von der Schmiedewerkstatt
nebenan.
Dort ist immer
etwas los!
Aufregend!!
Pferde, Ochsen warten,
bis sie dran sind,
Berge von Werkzeugen
warten auf Reparatur.
„Bleib zurück!!“
befiehlt Papa,
„Stör die Männer nicht!“
Und er tat es...
manchmal,
mein Urgroßvater -
als kleiner Junge.
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FAMILIENZUGEHÖRIGKEIT
Sohn der Familie
der vierten Generation
geht durch die Straßen
seiner „neuen“ Heimatstadt...
eine, die er nie zuvor gesehen,
aber
deren Namen er kannte,
diesen legendären Namen,
fast mythisch,
wo die Familie herkam.
Und nun
war er HIER!
Reckendorf.
Eine Rückkehr
nach hundert Jahren.
Wie überbrückst du die Zeit?
Du besuchst deine Familie,
du lernst zu sprechen
wie sie
ganz gleich, wie schwierig,
und hilfst anderen,
geben und nehmen,
einander kennen lernen.
Er trägt den Namen,
den Namen auf den Steinen,
auf Denkmälern und Gräbern.
Er gehört hierhin!
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DIESER BESONDERE ORT
Es gibt einen Ort, den ich liebe:
mein besonderer Ort,
ein Familienort.
Da ist ein Tor,
dessen Zugang
mir keiner verwehrt,
das alte Friedhofstor
von Reckendorf.
In diesem Friedhof
hat meine Familie
seit Jahrhunderten geruht,
in den Hügeln von Bayern.
Das Eisentor
knarrt ein wenig,
aber lässt mich ein,
um Gräber zu besuchen,
zum Beten und Meditieren
zwischen meinen Wurzeln und den Bäumen.
BURGENWEG
Ich folge dem „Burgenweg”,
kleine Wegweiser an Bäumen,
wandere im Wald,
dem ehrwürdigen Bayrischen Wald,
geerntet und genährt:
ein Erbe seit Generationen.
Vögel und Sonnenstrahlen tanzen
durch die Bäume, fließen,
bezaubern die Sinne.
Ich folge den Schildern.
Aber wo ist die Burg
an diesem erstaunlichen Ort?
Ich gehe weiter, verwundert,
von Ausblick zu Ausblick.
Erst später erfahre ich:
„Burg” bezeichnet
einfach nur
diesen Wanderweg.
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Duane L. Herrmann © 2021
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| Lunar Locus |
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Click title to download micro
Cover collage by Jan Keough
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CYCLICAL JUBILATION
Moonlight is my love
shining through trees
casting silver
shadows on the ground.
I would worship
a goddess of the moon
if I didn't know
it was rock.
Mosquitoes though,
can leave moonlight
and me alone!
Blood sucking females,
and others too,
ruin moonlight nights
as well as days!
Just stay away!
After first frost
I dance!
Published by Adirondack Center for Writing
LIVING IN DARK
There is no light –
not here:
Shadows, darkness, recesses,
pools of black.
Distant....points of Light,
What are they?
Too far, we cannot tell,
nor imagine
actual light, bright;
longing though
for other, something else,
we can't imagine...
yet yearn for –
other, else...something....
We do not know
but ache for lack.
How can this yearning
be so much pain?
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ORANGE ORB
Round full orb
rising slowly, silent
above dark reaches,
only luminosity
tells of arrival
to lighten land.
Steady
motionless movement
proceeds.
Orange fades
into luminous light
casting shadows
faint,
creating
colorless
silver,
alternative world
to day.
DRIVING DARK
Blackness to the right...
Blackness to the left...
Blackness straight ahead –
miles and miles and miles.
The only lights:
suspended in darkness –
moon
and distant stars.
Over a rise –
new constellations:
lights scattered widely
at eye level:
farm lights
miles and miles away –
highway driving
in rural Kansas,
or any other
prairie state.
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SILENT RISING
Silent moonlight rising
orb
over fields and trees
spreading grace,
transformation
of the world
into
Not-Day,
unreal
different world.
Is this still
our planet
with all changed?
But I haven’t changed,
though
I see differently
and feel –
unreal.
NIGHT WIND
Moonlight caresses
prairie waves
under wind
sweeping
north or south,
a reminder
of open space.
Clouds linger
overhead,
silent witness
in the night
while we,
frail, ignorant,
arrogant and weak,
try and try
to direct our lives
to an end
beyond ourselves.
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Duane L. Herrmann © 2021
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In Praise of Prairies
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Cover: Tall Grass Prairie
by Lauri Burke
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Every Origami Microchap
may be printed, for free,
from this website.
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Cottonwood
Tree of the plains:
tall, enormous,
where there is water –
enough.
Glittering leaves
tickle the eye
flickering light
and rustling breeze.
Deeply variegated bark
speaks its age
and the shade
most welcome –
on hot, wide
tree-starved plains.
Horse pulling wagon,
and family,
aim for the tree:
cool shade – and rest!
STONE SHELL
The rock house stands
alone
in what once was
a front yard,
now pasture
from prairie.
– No roof
long gone,
doors too, and windows.
Did the family take them,
scavengers or time?
Red cedars crowd
from the gully in back
marching to invade:
no one keeps their place.
TThe house had charm,
the lines say that.
Stunted trees say:
poor soil, no crops,
and the family,
future in debt,
moved on
with pain and hope
that next time will be better
next time,
maybe,
it will rain.
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THE FLOWER DREAMS
The blossom wanted to open
greet the sun
feel rain
dance with wind,
but it deplored
that it could not.
Try as it might
restriction all around
kept it closed.
Eventually the flower
resigned itself to wait:
it could only dream
of sun
and rain
and wind.
It waited,
unaware the plant
was still a seed
TREE DANCE
Tree glistening
in wet
soft breeze
glittering leaves
dancing
alive
joyful
rejoicing in rain
and summer’s day.
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THE FULLNESS OF SUMMER
Sunflower glories
along the road
and goldenrod bright
amid dark grass
and other plants
of summer’s growth.
Trees dark green
with deep shadows
and bumper crops
approaching harvest.
It was a good year.
There was rain
to fill ponds
and creeks –
refreshing
after years
of drought.
We will survive.
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Duane L. Herrmann © 2017
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