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

December 23, 2019

Dear Friends,

I am listening to Christmas music. Why? To get myself more and more awake to the true meaning of Christmas.

Maybe I’m trying to counter what the stores (on-line and downtown) say—that things under a tree will make people happy.

I totally bought into what the...

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 18, 2017

I look at the shadows growing long in the yard. They come from a tall maple and our old ribbed house. There they lie on a hard yard like sleeping giants. It happens every December as we near the shortest day of the year.

The days darken. I hear the train across the rive...

August 28, 2017

I keep bumping into people who look fine on the outside. When I stay quiet and listen, they talk on. That person is leaving a familiar rut to just talk. I prize the moment, the heart connection.

The good news: when we expose a sadness, healing begins; when we expose the...

August 14, 2017

Summer or winter, I throw open the blinds and curtains. I want light like a sunflower standing tall in a garden.

When others think there’s enough light, I am looking for more, always looking.

Something about seeing. Something sacred about it.

Last week, I left a soft ligh...

April 3, 2017

When doctors are juggling my friend’s meds to find the right balance and she is feeling at her worst, she says, “It is like I’m floating backwards. I have no control.” She goes on to say that my holding her hand helps ground her, that I have become an anchor for her.


December 26, 2016

A cloudy sky, but a tiny bit of light seeps through. I want to feel that light, its warmth. I want to stop the car right now, stand in the middle of Push Mountain Road, and let a ray of light touch me. God’s light. Clouds are thick, but the sun lies just beyond them.


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