KANSAS POEMS OF DUANE L. HERRMANN

Frontier Kansas 1-18

Kansa

Wee-che-taw

Santa Fe Trail in Kansas

Kansas Fort

Hays Place

Hays Boot Hill

The Wind’s Own

Pony Express

Express Rider

Corner Graveyard

Abilene, Abilene

Prairie Graves

Council Oak

Buffalo City

Wagon Train

First Bridge

Spring Lake

Native Son

Kansas Landscape 19-27

My Prairie Ocean

Flint Hills of Kansas

El Dorado, City of Gold

Trees

Spring Towers

Rock City

Flying Thunderhead Mountain

Oil Wells in Kansas

Colorado Looms

Seasons in Kansas 28-36

For Deer Waiting

Coyote Rules the World

Morning Exercises

Summer Wetting

Autumn Flaming Sky

The Fawn I Saw Last Spring

First Winter Day

In the Snow

Winter’s Last Stand

Life in Kansas 37-45

The Frozen House

Making Hay

Wagon Tale

Night Visits

Buffalo Spirit

Grandfather’s Road

To Visit My Father

Corner Lot

Family Plowing

Kansas Immigrant 46-54

Memory of Franken

Destiny

Family Man

Mutter Sprache

Generations

Looking for Faces

Bavarian Man

Kansas Nachtlied, Goethe

Home of My Heart

And More... 55-

Frontier Kansas
1 KANSA

People of the Wind:

a fitting name

for those who lived

on the windy plains.

People of the wind

live in Oklahoma now

but their name was claimed

by the center state.

Flying with the wind

when horses came

they roamed

the hills and valleys

of the place

that took their name:

The People of the Wind

on the windy plains.

2 WEE-CHE-TAW

So named by the Osage

their name became:

Wichita,

The name of a county

and largest city

in Kansas.

They called themselves,

Kiddi-ki-dish:

“eye tattooed.”

Their homes of grass

and hunting lands

gave way

To highways, air fields,

factories, schools

and commerce.

In the heart of the city,

on a point of land:

a sculpture –

At the confluence

of the rivers

stands

“The Keeper of the Plains”

a grand invocation

in tribute

To the first inhabitants

of this land:

wee-che-taw.

3 SANTA FE TRAIL IN KANSAS

A hundred-some years ago

this was the crowded through-way,

thousands of people, wagons and animals

traveling

in one direction:

west.

Lives and hopes

in the balance:

would the journey be successful?

or we die on the way?

would hopes come true at the end?

or not?

Terror, death and disaster

just one step away,

never knowing

when or where or if.

Noise, dirt and confusion

everywhere.

All are gone now,

grass regrown over the tracks,

silent wind plays

upon the flower blossoms

bending, dancing

in their joy.

The people are all gone

only a line

winding across the prairie

shows the way,

and only hints

of memory remain.

4 KANSAS FORT

A Kansas fort

on the western frontier

was not a fort of walls.

It was a space,

a very large space:

space that gave protection.

Through the space

and flat open land

an enemy could be seen.

The other protection,

last refuge,

or castle keep,

Was the blockhouse,

(or armory),

often made of stone.

This was the structure

that remained

when the fort disbanded.

Fort Hays, Fort Dodge,

Fort Wallace:

all active in their day;

Only brief time as forts –

now cities

bear their names,

Reflecting a brief moment

of expansion

in the American West.

5 HAYS PLACE

From the windows of the second floor

over the hardware store,

now apartment of college friends –

conversation and speculation;

Shot from these windows

the last Indians,

the last Americans

native to these shores.

This was the tallest building

then, in Hays;

the safe one, of rock

that could not burn.

This is “The West” (or was),

now a small town

on the plains of Kansas

a long way from everywhere.

“Hays, Amerika,” some call it

in loving jest.

Hippie ways were far away

but the effort was made.

Front street faced the railroad,

unused, reused storefronts

faced the empty tracks

where commerce used to flow.

The old fort, its remains,

a tourist site preserved

to hint of the past

and a few buffalo: penned.

The university, Fort Hays State,

the reason some come and go,

a small outpost

of the outside world.

An American place

with paleozoic roots

into the ancient seafloor past,

was my home for a time.

6 HAYS BOOT HILL

They died with their boots on

so the legend goes,

and maybe some of them did.

Others just died

by disease or stupidity,

or accidents of life.

They no longer lie here;

a decision was made

to move them away.

Now houses stand

and streets cut through

the once-burying ground.

When it rained,

my landlord said,

her sons would find little bones:

Finger bones or toe bones.

They could not find them all

when the graves were moved.

Now a marker says

“Boot Hill”

and a bench is placed to sit,

But it’s more a tourist site,

no cemetery,

no memories remain.

The “real” Boot Hill

is in our minds

and legends.

7 THE WIND’S OWN

The wind:

roaring, howling –

wild, screaming

shrieking into every crack –

shrilly, demonic.

The wind:

incessantly calling –

pleading, pulling, prying her out,

never letting up –

continually, mercilessly...

Alone –

on the hill, the woman stood

surrounded by the wind

crying through the grasses –

pushing the clouds along.

She could not see another house,

or person

alone for miles,

no other human evidence.

Alone –

just grass and hills and wind.

Her mate away to pay the claim,

she joined the wind.

Shrieking, howling, crying...

she was sister to the wind –

they ran the hills together:

companions.

The wind had claimed its own.

Crying, shrieking...

she was found

running with the wind...

No human here,

she fought the loving arms around her:

a creature of the wind.

She has her peace now.

The wind does not trouble her

on the Hill of Silence –

caressed

by the breeze.

8 PONY EXPRESS

Small young men,

fast ponies

to carry mail

between the ends

of eastern and western

rail lines

over empty prairie

and mountains.

They ran flying

in relays

to move the mail

in the shortest time.

Only nineteen months

this business ran

until telegraph wires

were strung,

yet in that time

legends were born.

9 EXPRESS RIDER

WANTED!

Small young men

looking for adventure,

orphans preferred.

So read the sign

and I applied;

the pay was good

and I could ride.

In all kinds of weather

we rode, day and night

from one station

to the next.

At each station

we would change horses

until the next rider

could begin.

Ten days trip

from Saint Joe

to Sacramento –

the quickest mail yet.

We began April third

till October the next

when telegraph wires

connected the ends.

This was not a long time

but long enough

to link this great country

from shore to shore.

We were not stopt

by hostile Indians

nor wild animals

on the way.

It was an exciting time

that is over now,

We rode our way

into history.
10 CORNER GRAVEYARD

A teeming metropolitan area

with two million

population.

Houses, streets and businesses

cover more than 5000 miles

of rolling prairie;

Once empty prairie

is now filled

and crowded.

Along a busy highway,

once a pioneer trail,

a reminder of times past:

A tiny cemetery

tucked between

houses and traffic

Bears testimony

to frontier times

when death came quickly.

Thirty graves or so,

tombstones of various sizes

dot the tiny space

Bearing witness to the effort

and lives it took

a century and more ago

To carve and build a city

on the plains

where there was none.
11 ABILENE, ABILENE

Abilene,

the goal of cattle.

Abilene,

the dream of cowboys.

Abilene,

the railroad point.

Abilene,

the place of contact.

Where no one tells you

what to do

until they shoot you dead.

Where the untame cowboys

briefly meet

the edge of civilization.

Where there was no law

but fist or gun

and no one stayed for long.

Where legends were made

and heroes died

and a year’s pay spent in a day.

Eventually

the railroad pushed west,

the settlers stayed on,

and the town became like others

but for a moment

it made its place in history.

12 PRAIRIE GRAVES

Between the highway

and the railroad

which run parallel

Are lonely graves

far from any town

or family.

Lonely graves

of railroad builders

killed by Indians,

Buried where they fell

their families mourned

far, far away.

Indians tried

to protect their way

but failed.

The graves will testify

for centuries

of the changing tide

As one civilization

was over taken

by another.

Between Victoria and Hays

the graves are found

with prairie all around.

Most passing by

only glance

and continue on their way.
13 COUNCIL OAK

Site of treaties, ceremonies and appeals

holds energy even today

as a stump,

A dead tree stump, five feet high,

protected by a roof

now from rain.

A sacred site where promises made

between civilizations:

white and red.

The red men honored their own word

and suffered and died,

white men lied.

Hopes of peace linger in the oak

symbol of possibilities,

trust betrayed.

In a grove of trees the oak tree stood

beside a small river

dry prairie,

Site of councils on the Santa Fe Trail

and message tree:

Post Office Oak.

The first town grew in Kansa land

to help travelers

to Santa Fe.

The town bears the name of the place

where people gathered:

Council Grove.
14 BUFFALO CITY

“Buffalo City”

they called the place

because the herds were so huge

all around

And easy to shoot

in the lungs.

Then silently fell without alarm -

and the whole herd died.

Tons of buffalo skins

were sent to the east

and the great herds whiped out

in a brief time.

The bodies would rot

that would have given

a native family food and tools

for a year.

Later the bones

were also sent east

to be ground into fertilizer

and the herds were gone.

The formal city began

at the edge of the fort

close to soldiers but not their law:

the city grew.

Dodge, for a time,

was the end of the trail

for thousands of cattle

from Texas - sold.

The range was closed

after farmers came

to plant crops and homes

and families stayed.

Dodge City became

a farm based town

like thousands others,

but - with a frontier past.

15 WAGON TRAIN

In the train

the wagon creaks

slowly moving.

Walking in the center

of a vast blue bowl

it never seems to change...

Rolling prairie all around:

prairie before us,

prairie behind us,

Prairie to the right,

prairie to the left,

prairie all around.

We travel

but it’s hard to see

our progress.

We walk all day

to spare the oxen

their load is so heavy.

Soon we will enter

hostile territory

and have to take more care,

At night the wagons

will be circled

and scouts will go ahead.

We will cross

the American Desert

to find our new home.
16 FIRST BRIDGE OVER THE ARKANSAS

The first bridge over the Arkansas

at Wichita

was a toll bridge.

The bridge was welcome but not the toll,

yet somehow

the cost had to be paid.

Wagons had little choice, they were big and heavy

and would stick

in the river mud,

But horses, often, given their own lead

could walk

the normal river level –

Which was not high.

Photographs exist of horses walking

with rider

the almost empty river.

In normal times the river flow

was only

inches deep,

So walking was no problem for horses

or men

because it seldom rained.

The Arkansas River was only inches deep

but very wide

and remains so today.
17 SPRING LAKE

Sitting on the rocks

on the edge of the lake

the water gently claps

into holes and spaces.

The breeze bringing waves

brings ancient sounds

that have survived

the post-Columbian Age:

Thumping, thumping, rhythmic thumping

drums and chants

in clear and ringing tones

through the opposite trees.

The chants of America:

native words in native voices,

five hundred years endured,

proudly raised once more.

In the clear evening sky

the night queen sails,

smiles on brothers and sisters of the moon,

knowing they will shine once more.
18 NATIVE SON

Charles Curtis shows

what can be done:

great great grandson

of Kansa Chief White Plume

and grandson

of a French fur trader

and son

of a New Yorker;

Charles Curtis, attorney,

of Topeka,

was Kansas Senator

for two decades

and then Vice President

of the United States –

from the Kansa people

and elected with pride

by citizens

of all the nation!

Kansas Landscape

19 MY PRAIRIE OCEAN

The field stretches far away;

shades of green: a sea of green.

Green is not one color

and a sea of wheat has many.

It is a different ocean

whose waves whisper under wind

green it whispers gently,

a rolling sea of growing wheat.

How alike the two seas are

under the blazing sun

and clouds cause each to grow

in their own different way.

Waves of wheat whisper softly

under wind that brushes,

caresses,

whispering wheat.

Wheat whispers me to sleep

with moonlight and a breeze,

taking cares and heat and pain

far away.

Listen to the whisper...

washing through me

cleansing my heart

bringing peace and sleep.

Whispers, "peace."

Whispers, “peace.”

20 FLINT HILLS OF KANSAS

Where the highway winds

through a hundred miles

of hills and grass,

Limestone below

feeds the grass

especially rich for cattle.

Cattle graze on the hills

where the deer

and the antelope play.

Bison once roamed

but not today

they were done away,

Flint Hills burning

marks the spring

then new grass grows on black,

River valleys

and creek beds

nourish lines of trees,

Hilltops are bare

swept by wind

in high grass,

A unique geologic feature:

grass covered hills

in the heart of Kansas,

And in the heart of the heart:

Matfield Green

and Cottonwood Falls.
21 EL DORADO, CITY OF GOLD

Gilded with gold,

goal of Coronado

in his search for fame and glory.

He came to Kansas

looking, searching, wishing

to find wealth beyond his dreams.

There was no gold in Kansas,

he found grass and sky –

and endless rolling prairie.

He found village huts

made of grass.

reflecting gold in the setting sun.

Disappointed, he returned

to New Spain

and another life.

There is gold in Kansas

from the ground

but not that he could see;

Kansas gold is grain:

golden wheat

flowing in tons and tons

From the prairie

acres and acres,

thousands of acres

Brimming with wheat

as the harvest

reaps its gold.

22 TREES

Trees bend

against the wind

south to north,

even grass will lean,

when it can’t grow straight.

The wind,

the ever present wind,

blows all day

and night;

the sound of wind

in the grasses

and leaves of trees

Wind blows your clothes

and hair

over rolling prairie

and flat plains,

the wind

will always blow.

23 SPRING TOWERS

Towers of the Spring,

rising billowy brown

climbing high in the sky...

Hundreds of feet in the air.

One here, and another there,

another further on...

Altering the landscape,

dwarfing trees and hills,

on the scale of clouds.

Tomorrow they are gone

vanished in the air;

blackened earth remains

Evidence

of regeneration

by prairie burning.

24 ROCK CITY

Rock City, city of rocks

and such rocks!

Rocks as round as balls

layered and HUGE!

Rocks the size of houses

and some tilted.

Rocks formed in the ocean

now above dry land,

No other spot on earth

has such rocks as these.

They can be climbed on

and photographed.

Awesome is indeed the word

to qualify these rocks:

A city of rocks,

sandstone concretions,

Now on a hillside

of the Kansas prairie.

25 FLYING THUNDERHEAD MOUNTAIN

The sky-floor miles below,

earth lower still,

furrowed white plains

stretch to the horizon.

Rising from a pile of white

is Thunderhead Mountain,

gleaming white mountain –

a sight to behold.

Towering over the plains,

sometimes giving rain,

only glimpsed by a few:

a mountain range of thunderheads.
26 OIL WELLS IN KANSAS

From the High Plains

of Hays

to south Flint Hills

oil lies

deep underground –

black.

Since dinosaur times

trees

and other muck

(organic)

pressed and cooked,

kept,

transformed into oil

and gas.

A strange sight

among

wheat fields and cattle:

oil wells

pumping black crude

for use.

27 COLORADO LOOMS

Driving the high plains

of western Kansas,

Colorado looms unseen

over the far horizon,

but not unfelt.

Highway signs proclaim:

"so many miles

to Colorado."

(it is the only place

worth going to.)

People of the steppes

of Kansas - windblown,

are far from the lights

of Kansas City, St. Louis,

and Chicago.

In the invisible,

but pervasive shadow,

of the Rocky Mountains,

felt far in the west,

they work and die.

They are not part

of Colorado,

and the mineral history

of Denver...

is not their own.

These patient, tried,

endurable farmers,

and workers of the plains,

the true heart of Kansas,

are lost among

The wind and open spaces;

over which unseen,

Colorado looms.

Wind and open spaces:

over Colorado.

Seasons in Kansas

28 FOR DEER WAITING

In twilight time

the cicada circus sings

and fireflies alight.

A distant dog wakes

and gentle jet rumbles

through the clouds.

Darkness hides the day.

I sit watch and wait,

for the deer coming.

Slowly, from the woods,

one step, then two,

the doe ventures forth.

Sensing calm and safety,

she walks

into the field and nibbles.

Unexpectedly the fawn

dances into sight:

joy in being free.

Protectively the dark

shuts their world

from mine.

29 COYOTE RULES THE WORLD

As he trots across the field,

along the fence-row,

or down the dusty track;

Coyote is disdainful of the world:

barking dogs,

or passing car.

He knows he is the only one

who really matters...

calling in the night.

His world secure and timeless,

always mice and rabbits,

and a wiley brain.

Neither shopping mall

nor suburban sprawl

will deter or stop him.

The perennial prairie resident:

will take more than progress

to force his kind away.

30 MORNING EXERCISES

Early morning wings

are damp,

here flex them in the sun.

The tree is alive,

the branches breathe...

slowly open and shut.

Golden orange leaves

with black,

move to unfelt breeze.

The tree is alive

with butterflies

doing morning exercises.

By ones, then twos,

the gold and black

leaves swirl from limb to limb.

The monarch masses

climb round the tree

then circle on their journey way.

I can never hope to see

the sight repeated

in the rays of morning sun.
31 SUMMER WETTING

The heat had been forever:

constant oven-wind

shriveled leaves and trees.

Cemented soil cracked

in canyons reaching deep

into the tortured earth.

No rain for more than weeks;

moisture only dimly

a faint and fragrant memory.

Suddenly from far away

echoed muffled rumblings,

and low dark clouds.

Salvation seemed too true

to suspend parched lips

or slack dry skin.

Eyes watched with hope and wonder

as clouds relieved the sky

from the searing sun.

A miraculous wall of wet

advanced across the fields

and, suddenly, was here.

God was good again.

Steady showering filled

pores and cracks and leaves.

The crops and life and animals

were saved. The family

would survive another year.
32 AUTUMN FLAMING SKY

Autumn skies in Kansas

are different

from the rest.

Autumn skies in Kansas

explode

in brilliant colors:

Flaming orange,

scarlet,

royal purple - deep,

Pale blues and greens

and white

contrast and shock,

Blushing crimson,

silver

and magenta,

All, in turn,

illuminate

the spread of clouds.

Is there a purpose

for the brilliance,

such celestial splendor?

Incidental chemicals

or cursory refraction

result in gorgeousness,

Appreciated

only

by the human heart.

33 THE FAWN I SAW LAST SPRING

Was the fawn I saw last spring

the deer I see this winter?

How can I know

how or where they grow?

It was a late spring evening,

when shadows cloaked the land,

I was walking on a path

then stopt.

In surprise, I saw before me

a fawn surprised as I.

We studied each other with care,

uncertainty and wonder.

Suddenly -

it fled to the shadow mother.

I remained

in praise and wonder.

That moment I recalled

this day, as I see deer again,

walking, running,

along the fence to cross the road.

We live so close -

yet worlds apart.
34 FIRST WINTER DAY

The stillness of the afternoon –

quiet as cathedral tomb,

The slanting rays of shadow leaves

fall across my page,

The sun-warmth strikes my cheek

the orb begins to speak.

The sun says softly:

“You are well to be here.

This is a place to rest,

you will need energy for future use.

Rest now, and meditate,

your soul needs space to roam.

Crow echoes across the valley

as if the world’s his own.

A plane hums into hearing –

I am snug within myself.

A silent breeze in dry leaves

sets the world in motion.

35 IN THE SNOW

A spot of red in the snow –

tiny, isolated,

easy to be missed.

An eternal event

(of minor proportions)

has occurred here.

One life was given to another

no tragedy in cosmic terms,

just patterns of life.

Tracks across the snow –

little ones end,

larger ones continue.

36 WINTER’S LAST STAND

This has become a day of ice;

window screens opaqued.

Ice trees near are silver,

silent,

gripped with death,

Weeds and grasses frozen

fragments

of living yesterdays:

Winter’s Last Stand.

A few days more: Naw-Ruz

and Spring.

An icy day of winter to remind us

of the past.

The new year is resistless,

as is the Day of God.
Life in Kansas

37 THE FROZEN HOUSE

On a winter’s day,

dark, cold and gray,

I know a house,

a frozen house,

with roof of snow

and icicles dripping.

Its windows dark,

no life or light.

Inside the house, is empty

its walls...

skeletons of sticks.

It is so cold.

The view of snow outside:

white fields,

white trees,

white skies;

an icy alien world.

The frozen house,

cold to the bone,

waiting for life;

and love.
38 MAKING HAY

Mornings when the dew had dried

Granpa mowed the field of hay

going round and round and round,

outside to center.

Early after lunch the boy would rake

the now dry hay

once around for Granpa's twice,

outside to center.

Fluffed up windrows snaked along

from sheets of new cut grass

raking opposite the cutting,

outside to center.

Once done, the hay was raked again

merging two windrows to one,

drying all sides of the grass,

outside to center.

Father ran the bailer, especially -

if the knotter had a temper,

following the windrow

outside to center

39 WAGON TALE

Driving down the rocky road

something soon "feels" different

then a crashing in the bushes.

Backward glance saw horror:

Brand newbuilt hay wagon,

shiny, clean and perfect,

just finished days ago;

now awkward in the ditch.

Heart with dread the boy confessed

the accident on reaching home.

The father, solemn, listens

with simply nodding head.

He seems to take loss well,

thoufht the son,

all thumbs when working

farm tools and equipment.

At the scene they start to clear

brush to free the wagon.

"This has grown up some," says the Dad,

"since I last lost a wagon here."

Then with a chuckle adds,

"...and with the bailer too!"

40 NIGHT VISITS

The little child slept

his troubled sleep

then panic woke him in the dark

feeling little feet

(and brush of wings),

sure the wasps would sting.

Too terrified to scream

or move, or even breathe,

the midnight seconds passed.

Bedroom windows had no screens

and wasps would fly inside

looking for a home.

Sometimes they found his face

or dropt

little balls of mud.

Little feet were crawling

on him;

tiny little feet:

on his face,

across his cheek.

41 BUFFALO SPIRIT

Giant beast of the plains

across the hillside

calmly eating their way

in one direction.

Calves are mixed in the herd

with their mothers

who all have horns

and humps of their age.

Once multitudes roamed

these endless seas

of grass and sky,

great thundering herds.

Now the herds are fenced

and restricted

to places here and there -

they cannot freely roam.

Still, they remain

awesome beasts:

awesome and amazing,

huge and fearsome.

Once indispensable

to prairie life,

they are now curiosities,

a reminder of the past.

They allow our imagination

to join them in the past,

to become with them

free spirits and roam

Over hills and valleys

of spiritual adventure,

to thunder unrestrained

over prairies of possibilities.

They are now a symbol

of our soul

to be and grow

as God intended.

42 GRANDFATHER'S ROAD

Invisible to the traveler now,

two tracks through the grass,

but the discerning eye

can see two fence rows on each side.

Across the prairie and down

the hill it leads

over a little cement bridge,

with iron rails;

One missing.

Also missing is the house

and barn and windmill.

Not even a line of stones.

His early life,

his boyhood home,

has returned to the prairie

from whence it came.

The earth has reclaimed

it's own.

But the road remains

to show the way

to the past of my grandfather's life.

He walked this way to school.

43 TO VISIT MY FATHER

I go across the prairie;

alone... to a place,

private...

not even I can enter.

I cry.

Where has my Father gone?

Why was I left alone?

Some days I can talk:

“What should I do?”

“Where should I go?”

Some days I feel you answer:

“You are doing fine, my son:

stay.

This soil is in your soul.”
44 CORNER LOT

My father was buried in the corner of the cemetery

a quarter century ago

(in which time I have become a man).

His was a quiet corner,

past the trees

near the edge of the bordering fields.

In this corner his soul could roam

over the grass to the fields

like the ones where he lived his life.

As the seasons changed, so did the fields,

and he was home with them all.

I loved our private corner.

Today I went,

for the first time in months,

and found the cemetery changed.

Enlarged on two sides

rough roads lace the old and new,

already graves are there.

My father's place

is now an intersection

of new roads on the old boundary.

He is penned in.

Where does his soul go?

trapped by the roads and old head stones?

I don't know.

45 FAMILY PLOWING

I plow the paper with a pen

engaged as the family has been

in cultivation: sowing and reaping.

I plow the paper with a pen,

in a solitary field -

it always has been.

My father was a farmer,

his father, and his before him;

we are plowmen in our rows.

I plow the paper with a pen -

rows of words across the space

in neat and even lines.

Though plowing is the family business,

my "machineries" now differ

for a different kind of crop.

But the plowing is the same:

long straight lines

across unmarked fields.

Kansas Immigrant

46 MEMORY OF FRANKEN

My grandfather never missed

the hills of Franken,

He never knew them

nor the village of his father.

He did not know

the winding roads

to villages

and fields.

He did not know

the forests, dark and tall,

that ring the fields

and guard the village.

He never attended

the village church

never sat in its pews,

nor said his prayers there.

He never knew of cattle

nor of crops,

bought and sold

indiscreetly during mass.

He never heard the church bells

in his home

nor when walking

or while working in the fields.

He never walked

the cobbled streets

to feel them hard

beneath his feet.

He never saw his father’s house

nor walked in it,

or climbed the stairs,

looked out windows.

My grandfather never saw or missed

the hills of Franken -

I have been there

and I miss it all.

47 DESTINY

The Father bid farewell

knowing he would never see

his namesake son again

And died of a broken heart.

To save him

he had to send him

to a foreign land

forever.

If not,

the new Kaiser's army

would take him

and destroy him.

Each would never see the other again.

In the foreign land,

far, far away,

the boy and family grew;

Thriving, generations later,

because of the pain

and sacrifice

of one father and son.

Back at home

the family name died

due to one war or another.

I cannot give sufficient thanks

to Andreas (the elder),

and Andreas, his son:

Urgrossvater Meine.
48 FAMILY MAN

Sitting on the front porch

proud -

on a homestead claim

in Amerika land:

a Man,

with a house, a wife and a son.

Behind the family group,

a blanket made

with skills from "the old country"

where a man could not

make himself new

if need be.

Here was success

"American Style,"

my great grandfather

and infant grandfather;

And proud of it –

in 1898!

49 MUTTER SPRACHE

I cannot talk to the children

they do not know my words,

Their parents say they have no need

for my speech.

“The children are American.”

I know, so were mine, also,

but if they could talk to me,

it would be nice.

Maybe someday there will be someone,

a little child,

who will want to talk to me

in my own speech.

It will be a joy

to simply talk.

I will wait for that day

and that child

to talk to

and speak.

50 GENERATIONS

I try to run the farm

as I see fit

the way that has worked for me

in this new land.

My son agrees

and we do fine

but his son causes problems

for us all.

His new-fangled ideas

are disturbing the farm

and I have no peace

anymore.

He wants a tractor,

of all things!

“Not in my fields!”

I roar!

I never treated

my grand father

with such lack of respect,

when I was home!

Doesn’t he know

how hard it is

to begin a new life

so far from home?

No one listens to me

when I try to tell

what life was like

back home.

I was so young when I left

and never saw

Reckendorf or my family

again.

51 LOOKING FOR FACES

She stands in the yard of her home

in Reckendorf, Bayern

looking into faces;

faces holding camera

and

faces she'll never see.

The faces she misses most

are her oldest brother

and two older sisters

who disappeared forever

in a foreign land across the sea.

The family was divided

to preserve it.

One hundred years past then

three Herrmann males were born:

the name was carried on.

In the Fatherland

the wars

had killed them all.

She looks into the future

wondering why,

and:

Will I ever see them again?

52 BAVARIAN MAN

The Bavarian Man

came out in the mirror

staring back at me.

Who is this German burgher?

This foreign image

in my bedroom?

I’d only put on different clothes

with bright suspenders

and there he stood!

An image of my ancestors,

from Bavaria, they came

and still are.

Years later we connected

and, dream upon dream,

I went there.

I walked the pathways

and cobbled streets

and in the door:

Into the door of HIS house;

my great grandfather’s house,

where he was born,

To which I can return

at any time

in memory.

He was born here in this room

grew and played and worked

then went away

To the foreign land

where I was born,

and farmed.

I went back, a century past,

found his village,

walked his streets

And met my family that remained.

These are MY people,

my family roots.

The circle is now complete

the family is whole again

and

I have come home!
53 KANSAS NACHTLIED, GOETHE

There is a stillness

over the hills and fields;

meadows lie baking

in the heat.

There is no breath.

Birds are silent and the weeds

grow lank and seed.

Wait!

The heat will feel you too.
54 HOME OF MY HEART

I’m in love with a country

called: Home –

far away.

It is for me a long trip

to Home –

far away.

A trip which before

was made only

one way.

I returned and hope to again

return home

far away.

During the time home

I was alive

to the core of my being.

I found myself

standing before me,

and other selves I could have been.

All of me are real

in that special place

Bayern, meine Heim.

Additional Kansas Poems

(this section will be expanding, so the numbering order is different.)

8 Prairie Evening

7 Awesome

6 Prairie Hawk

5. Witness

4. Remnant

3. Schoolhouse

2. Clearing Cedars

1. Schoolhouse Picnic

8 PRAIRIE EVENING

Soft grays and gentle browns

of the winter prairie

under pale blue skies

with thin white clouds.

The low, cool sun

signals the end of another day.

The setting sun

tinges the sky with color:

faint purples and pinks begin,

and delicate yellows,

the more courageously

violent oranges and blues.

Across the prairie

silhouetted on the ridge

a coyote lopes along

on its solitary way

content with the hunt

heading home.
7 AWESOME

On top of the prairie

with the world all around

spread below:

rolling hills and valleys,

lines of trees along the creeks –

open spaces everywhere.

The sky is immense!!

more bluer than blue.

The wind is forever

caressing the grasses.

The spaces proclaim

the vastness of God,

what other else

could be so huge?

Life on the plains

teaches humility and fragility

for it is plain

that creation is so vast.

6 PRAIRIE HAWK

Over the fields and prairie

creeks and tree lines

endless miles

of countryside,

I survey my domain,

All MINE! All MINE!

The wind past my eyes

lifts me up or down.

A sound carries

on the wind

and I know

food is near.

I see motion

and swoop down,

the meal...

will me mine.

AH!

Life is good!
5. WITNESS

The abandon building

gray

weathered wood and warped

still

erect, upright and proud

here

on the side of the ridge,

now

prairie all around - lonely,

once

the seat of culture-learning

pride

to become “Americans”

this

was their school and center

when

they knew who they were

becoming.

4. Remnant

Once a school

the building now remembers

lessons, lunches and love.

This was the scene

of social live, excitement

as center of community life:

spelling bees,

literary nights,

box socials leading to love.

Time passed,

and children too,

and homes and farms and barns.

The school was closed,

the community died,

even social nights grew few.

Some time ago

ceiling boards removed

for building of a home.

Owls nest

and wasps make homes

above the rafters in the dry.

The porch remains

and creaky floor

broken windows, but no door.

Dignity is evident

and pride of place

in this outpost of hope.

3. SCHOOLHOUSE

On a trip

we found a school

or what was once.

The building stood

erect and firm

but aged now,

windows gone

and ceiling, too;

no outhouse left.

Surrounding prairie

had claimed the schoolyard

fence line disappeared,

the corner marked

by scattered bones

and feathers.

This was a site

of significance

a century ago

when knowledge,

that precious goal,

was found far away.

Children came

to improve their lives

and now have grown and gone.

This building

is a testament

to triumph and success!

2. CLEARING CEDARS

A dry winter day

is best for this job,

knee pads are helpful,

gloves are essential,

as are long sleeves -

a winter guarantee.

Cutting is easiest

when the trees are small,

just inches tall

is best of all.

Carefully cut

even with the dirt

or the stubs

will stab tires.

Without this effort

a cedar forest

will consume

the farmland.

1. SCHOOLHOUSE PICNIC

We had a picnic,

my children and I,

under bare branches

in an old schoolyard

reclaimed by the prairie

of a forgotten school.

After eating we explored

the abandon school,

cracked cement stoop,

no door, but a floor,

walls ripped out

and birds in the rafters.

Outside, bones and fur

and one outhouse.

Our trip was long

and the stop was good:

a special event

we will long remember.