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
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