Twin Scenario

Would we love a baby’s laugh
if we never heard it scream?
Would we grasp reality
without the vision or the dream?

Would the brightness of the sunrise
mean as much without the night?
Would the trophy from the victory
mean as much without the fight?

Do we appreciate the inside
after being locked without?
Does the shadow of the unknown
help us grasp what life’s about?

Had we ever felt the joy
if we never felt the pain?
Loved the warmth of sunshine
if it wasn’t for the rain?

When the darkest times of sorrow
on our path came bearing down
Did it not define the joyfulness
that later we have found?

If never were we down
would we then not know what’s up?
If once we tasted dregs
would we lift another cup?
If never did we die

then never would we live
Most likely would we miss
what life would like to give
So one defines the other
on this path that we will go

Life is all about…
the twin scenario

David Kettler

Written 9/22/10 @ 5AM

Two things got me thinking about this poem. One was our Wed night bible study in II Corinthians, Chapter 7. I noticed all of the twin scenarios in this chapter…flesh and spirit, die and live, joy and tribulation, sorrow and  repentance, etc. Also I remember the late great philosopher James Rohn in one of his CD’s going on about the “twin scenario” of life…would there be light if there was no darkness? I like the idea that the negative enhances the positive. Greater tribulation often yields greater joy after we come through it. Darker times often make us appreciate the sunlight even more. I remember Dick Middleton once mentioning the “fall and rising again” spoken of in the bible. He said we most often think of the “rise and fall” of leaders or civilizations…but to God, the fall must come first… as in repentance and humility in order for a rise to occur.  (Note: there is a very popular song by Passenger called "Let her go" I think if you read the lyrics to it you will be amazed at the
similarities!)


 

              Baby Stroller


The baby sits in his baby stroller
surrounded by comfort and love
Every need is met by his mother
who vigilantly hovers above

Down the road the two of them travel
toward prospects appearing so bright
The wheels are rolling on sidewalk or gravel
embracing what’s good and what’s right

Approaching them is a far different scene
an old man all dressed in rags
He too, is pushing his stroller…
it is filled with trash cans and bags

No new life sits in his carriage
no prospects, no shrieks of delight
He pushes a load of heavy regrets
and choices that didn’t go right

Long ago it was he in the stroller
with mom right there at the helm
Possibilities spread out before him
the whole World was part of his realm

The two strollers pass on the sidewalk
like two ships might pass in the night
The old man shuffling off to the left…
and mommy, she goes to the right

New life with all of its promise
of good health, good fortune and cheer
Roll past the sad and broken down man
who smells of alleys and beer

The stroller’s a tool with no mind of its own
just goes where its  owner wants
It carries a life full of promise…
or a past of burdening haunts

David Kettler

 

  I wrote baby stroller last week early in the morning. I have been thinking about it for quite a while. Because of working downtown near the bus station, we are over-run with homeless people and many of them are pushing baby strollers. I don’t know where they get them, maybe the Goodwill gives them out, or maybe some of them are stolen from people’s houses? Anyway, the idea of the newness of life colliding with the worst case scenario of life all in the same vehicle inspired me. Also colliding are the feelings inside me about homeless people. One side of me feels sorry for them and the other is totally irritated about the trash they leave around my building, the public restroom they make out of my parking lot, and the idea that I can’t accidentally leave anything outside because by morning time it is gone. However, I have left a mop and a broom outside once and they didn’t touch those! Maybe they represent work too much. My Christian upbringing wants to give them something…and my irritated side wants it to be a one-way ticket to Indio or Brawley. It always fascinates me to see the little pile they leave behind after squatting in my back parking lot. It usually consists of empty bottles in brown paper bags, empty smoke packs and burned out butts, and empty McDonald trash bags. Maybe the empty consumed shells are analogous of their situation and their life?  There are a number of trash dumpsters in the alley behind my building, couldn’t they just once pick up their trash and deposit it in one of the dumpsters? How about the sign holders…”will work for food” – “homeless vet” – “hungry and homeless” – “ why lie, I want a beer”  Even that one has gotten old! How about, finding a little stray dog, and then making a sign that says,” My dog is a drunk, please help him!” or teach the dog to play dead and then have a sign, “ Need money for my dogs funeral”  People would give them a little something just because they made them laugh! I think that is a big part of the reason they are homeless, they didn’t think. They maybe chose rather to empty things that were bad for them into their bodies rather than have creative, constructive ideas come out of their minds into practice that would help clothe and house them. Anyway, I’m no expert, I just keep working and thinking and striving and serving others so I don’t join them.



 

 

 

A chilly wind blows, in from the east, and wraps the flag all around
Tightly wound clear up to the left, till not a white star is there found
He loves to see its proud waving glory, the red the blue and the bright
The crimson past for which it still stands, is hid when wrapped up so tight

The breeze changes, unwinding the flag and it opens up clear to the right
Stripes of red and majestic white stars, resume their waving in flight
The old man sits and watches in wonder, as the flag does its dizzying dance
It always seems to come back around, when given the time and the chance

He remembers what it stood for, so very long ago, when the troops they rolled into France
The tears in the faces of liberated people when they gave our flag its first glance
He thinks about the struggles it’s been through, in the many years since then
The past it proudly and well represented, long ago, so far way back when

Now he sits in his living room chair and stares at the flag just outside
The waving and twirling and wrapping around, as if its enjoying the ride
Many a leader has been in the white house, while the flag proudly waved up above
Some like a hawk protected our country, while others were more like a dove

Some leaned left and some leaned right, the balance is important to see
But one flag has flown high above them all… the symbol that we are still free

David Kettler

5/21/10

This is another poem that my Mom inspired me to write. She told me that Dad used to sit for hours in his chair in the living room looking out the big front window where the flag would fly everyday. He always would comment on it wrapping up from the wind and then unwrapping around the other way again with a slight change of direction in the wind. She wondered if there was a poem in that idea and I though about it for almost a week. I wasn’t aware that it would come out so political but I also enjoyed thinking spiritually about the banner over us which is Love. A gentle breeze opens it up beautifully but too strong a wind from either direction can wrap it up as well to where we miss the real meaning of our flag!

 I’ve built a lot of fences in the backyards of my life
To keep out complication and to keep out all the strife
They say they make good neighbors, those walls of wood and stone
The ones who make the bold proclaim have fences of their own

To keep the good dog in and to keep the bad dogs out
To muffle evening arguments who knows what all about
The fence it stands in wind and rain, a barrier of sorts
Holding back the outside world, the imposing rude retorts

Two by fours and rusty nails, hang there on upright posts
Cement and block all stacked upon the row of concrete hosts
My view extends just but a ways till stopped by barrier sound
Could I not gaze so far beyond where not a fence was found

Other eyes I have succeeded in stopping from their probe
But wouldn’t isolation bring an awful lonely globe?
The higher I have built my wall the less my garden grows
Brilliant sunlight just outside but shade is all it knows

The corn and carrots have been stunted in their growth
Along with me the recluse tenant who identify with both
So bring the wall down just a bit and wave a friendly smile
To your neighbor just behind the wall of defense and of guile

Let the sun come pouring in and let the garden grow
Pet the neighbor’s friendly dog and only then you’ll know
The wall that keeps the trouble out will keep the trouble in
When it starts to be torn down…life will just begin

David Kettler
  Well let’s see….the beginning of summertime in Bakersfield. Sitting outside on a cool Saturday morning or maybe sipping ice tea on a warm evening. Looking right into a wood fence complete with sprinkler stains and all! I guess this is where I started thinking about this poem. Anyway, I enjoyed writing it about as much as the sitting outside thinking about it!  
This also is one of my favorite poems.



 

 
Deep crimson clouds meet the darkening sky

The moon gives a crooked little grin

Each star in reverence, is standing by

While the planet parades through its spin

The fire of summer has all but gone out

The cool of fall has set in

The season’s cycle is turning about

Or did it just only begin?

The night is so still, there’s hardly a sound

From trees as they stand there in awe

The birds they are silent in the branches around

Amazed at what they just saw

As the sun slowly fades disappearing from view

The palette turns darker it seems

With deep shades of autumn in rich amber hue

The color of heavenly dreams

Darkness is patiently waiting we find

As the scene unfolds below

Standing in line just a little behind

Where deep purple mountains all glow

The cast now bows to a standing ovation

As the curtain begins to come down

On the other side… of God’s great creation

It plays in some other town

 

David Kettler, 10/26/09

 This poem was inspired by a drive out to Bryan & Linda Bones house in October of 2009. Bakersfield was treated to a magnificent sunset that I have not seen the likes of since Kona Hawaii in 1981. The next morning I awoke early as I often do and this poem came crashing out like ocean waves. I love reading this poem because when I do the whole scene comes back in vivid color.

 

 I work like a dog in the Bakersfield heat

There’s a pain in my back and a hurt in my seat

My legs they are sore and my feet they are numb

And that pound in my head like the beat of a drum

The good book it says that a man who won’t work

Well he shouldn’t even eat … that old lazy jerk

Not word for word but the meaning you get

You work for your keep and your family is set

I really don’t mind doing my part

But it seems really dark the earlier I start

And when I finish the sun has gone down

The street lights already are painting the town

The days they all melt into fatigable one

My work never finished the job never done

When my sore body at last hits the hay

The pain in my shoulder just might go away

I’m so excited my head it will spin

Because tomorrow morning I start all again!


David Kettler

Written 5/20/09

This poem just came about one morning when I was so sore that I could barely get out of my chair. I can’t even remember what I did the day before but I remember that it was a very full day of hard physical labor! Mom says that we get the work ethic from the Rodreick side of the family. I know my brother Dick sure has it, even Mark says that he can work any of us under the table!    

 Clouded peak obscure from view

Mediocrity might have to do

If ascension joins the few

Why procrastinate and stew?

Journey’s start with single step

Steady work and promise kept

Others climbed while I have slept

Making me feel quite inept

From the mountain you’ll look back

To clouds of doubt and courage lack

Rocky slopes and storms of black

Will appear along the track

Success is grand, the view is great

Ignore the comments others make

Fuel the fire each step to take

Find for yourself…just what’s at stake

So take the plunge, start the trail

Don’t let sidelined friends derail

Goals just waiting to prevail

You will succeed…you will not fail!

David Kettler

Brett was asked in class to write a poem about climbing the mountain of success. I found it difficult to give him direction or advice on how to, or what to write. Very early in the morning, around 4:30 AM, I wrote this one. I think writing poetry is a bit like climbing the mountain. You start at the bottom, you stumble and work at it and eventually you write things that you yourself enjoy reading. This poem very much came out of my own experience of both the mountain top and also the clouds below. You can also say that it has a spiritual and financial application as well. From the valley to the mountain and back down again the path of life seems to lead. I like to think that no matter where I am in life, the mountaintop is the goal. Looking up where the sunshine, fresh air and great view are. I hope someday that my boys enjoy writing. Beautiful writing and reading are like beautiful music, they seem somewhat timeless.

I’m almost half a century, three hundred days till then

The kids would think that I was born, a way-way-way back when!

A lot has passed under the bridge, the time it has flown by

Seems like so many moons ago, I heard my babies cry!

Like it was only yesterday I was riding on my bike

Building jumps in the field next door, the neighbor did not like

With his big old tractor, he plowed them down so flat

But never could he crush our will, our spirits or our cat!

She was the one who had nine lives or was it even ten?

She loved her kittens and us kids just like a mother hen

The carousel of time did turn and next the scene was east

Thirty miles to Riverside where urban sprawl had ceased

Living with the scent of oranges and my lovely bride

We worked like dogs and lived like mice, and still enjoyed the ride

Next the ride had turned again and home was Bakersfield

College gowns and sporting crowns were but the latest yield

Now I sit almost empty nested, staring at my wife

Wondering how we got so fast to the halfway point of life?

Maybe I’m wishful thinking like I’ll finally reach the day

A hundred candles burning bright will warmly have to say…

You best had enjoy your birthday cake…

before the fire burns it away!

David Kettler
June 2010

 I wrote this almost a year before turning 50! Brenda says that I have issues with turning fifty but I like to think it is just another number. Just another milestone on the ride that is called life. Do I think about getting older? Absolutely! I was writing poems on aging and mortality probably in my twenties! I guess it’s kind of like my Brother Mark’s philosophy…think about and plan for the worst and you are always pleasantly surprised by how much better things turn out than you anticipated! I like to think of life kind of like a football game. Here you have Brett Favre who is old as dirt and still playing! From all of his wisdom and time in the league he knows that the linebacker is blitzing, and he knows to step to the right at just the right time…but his forty something old legs just won’t move quite fast enough so he gets sacked anyway by the twenty something three-hundred pound, no experience, brain-dead youngster! After the game though, Favre has a smile on his face and an “awe-shucks” we’ll get em next time attitude! Maybe fifty is actually the beginning? We are now equipped with enough smarts and experience that we can actually begin this crazy journey? I’ll tell you the people who give me great hope. They are the eighty something’s that have a great attitude, a smile on their face and lots of hope for a great future! Fifty is not halfway to the end…fifty is just partway through spring training with all the wonder and glory of the real game still ahead!

 

Cup O Joe my Cup O Joe!

The morning starts with

burner’s glow

Take it black with cream or no

aromatic in it’s ebbing flow

Time to go my Cup O Joe

holding forth the armrest stow

Quiet moments fainter grow

before the day’s shrill whistle blow

Lunch is passing hither fro

naptime dreams or bosses crow?

To the break room I must go

hello my friend…my Cup O Joe!

Dusk comes marching in a row

dearest ones to Starbucks go

More than coffee now you know

Precious time with friend or bro

Pals that share are in the know

With me my cup…my Cup O Joe

DK

 I wrote Cup O Joe in December of 2008. I had the idea of putting together gift baskets for my family and including a poem with each gift. With the coffee cup came the poem Cup O Joe. I’ve always thought about the fact that it’s more than a cup of coffee. It’s the jump-start in the morning, it’s the warmth on a cold day, it’s the friendship and conversation in the evening. The cup of coffee is often the excuse for the activity. I remember three day Harley trips with my brother Mark and the fun of blaring up to a Starbucks for a riding break. The idea of Cup O Joe was the thought of it being like an old friend…always around…just old Joe!