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©2016-2018 by Pat Durmon, Poet. Proudly created with Wix.com

December 31, 2018

On my way to town, I drive past houses where smoke from chimneys curls upward. It’s comforting to watch the updraft. I suddenly recall the boxy houses with chimneys that I once drew with a pencil as a child, always a curl of smoke climbing.

What I like about the smoke,...

December 24, 2018

How any poem is created is a mystery to me. How concrete (shape) poems like the three below happen is an even greater mystery. I had nothing in my mind. Then bam! a shape. Why one shape shows up and not another is God stuff. Why one word, the heart of the poem, dominat...

December 17, 2018

Rain had fallen for days. Puddles, all over the yard. The days had been dark and cold. I could feel it inside my body.

It made me reflect on the dark days more than 2,000 years ago. The world was not at its finest when baby Jesus came into the world. He had picked the t...

December 10, 2018

4:00 p.m. It’s Friday, December 7th. I’m on time at Curious Craftsman, a shop in Norfork, Arkansas, ready to sign books for four hours. Here, just in case someone buys a book and wants it signed.

I’m pretty disciplined about writing. But not so good about marketing what...

December 3, 2018

Saturday morning. Skies are clear.

An hour after awakening, my husband shows me the two tall pines we lost in the night. One lays toppled on another. The straight winds blustered entrances and exits most of the night. No way these trees can upright themselves again. The...

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