Duke LaRance

Duke LaRance ~ I was born a long time ago and raised on the High Plains of the Rocky Mountain Front in Northern Montana.  I am a poet,  photographer/artist, vocalist and a Gentleman.  I flew under the radar and toiled in obscurity for many years.  I’m now at  www.allpoetry.com/Duke_LaRance and am very happy at my new home where I had six pieces added to the recommended list on the homepage in six months and earned awards in two contests.

About the time I joined AP I was invited to join, private FB poetry pages, Open Skies Poetry where I was Poet of the Week very early; Soul Poet Society, Poetry Kingdome and Poetry Universe.  Published in three anthologies with a fourth forthcoming in two years.

I was recently invited to join “Dream of Equality – Nigeria” where I was named one of three Gold Medalists for a piece written in response to a photo prompt.  

I will always be a lyricist at heart.   I could spend the rest of my days writing lyrics, posting, interacting, taking early morning drives and singing for hours on end.

I am a member of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians of Montana (Métis)

We are Dreamers

If you look, you can see
Barren brown countryside
Greening while it is raining
When the sun comes out
A verdant explosion
We notice things like that
The masses notice nothing
We share a common gift
Either a blessing or a curse 
I know I speak for both of us
When I say, neither one of us
Would have it any other way
A verdant explosion
We notice things like that
We are dreamers
You and me

Frozen Bells

Numbness, silence 
surrounding oppressing
one sits, feeling nothing
save splendid feelings 
nothingness abounding
a cold dark morning
bitter wind blasting
frozen bells ring out
making shattered brass 
silently sing out a missive 
of mourning

Awaken to wander
through every day
silence abounding
holding you fast
in its sway
that silence 
surrounds held fast 
by the numbness
of nothingness

Each day defined
by bitter wind 
Screaming, moaning 
drowning all din
save for the mourning
save for the keening
of frozen bells
of shattered brass
silently carried
each splendid morning 
by that incessantly
roaring bitter wind


As I faded in through the mist
so shall I fade out in darkness
of New Moon, stars shuttered
nightwatchman yells, “Eight Bells”
to you “for whom the bell tolls”
a slashing razor wind will not let him 
light the lamps but cuts him through his soul

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