The wood goes into the fire
Twisted by knots and time
Weather beaten and bowed
Far from its previous fine

The future brighter than the past
By some though misunderstood
While giving itself to the flame
Its value much more than wood

Warmth to the home is brought
Light chases the gloom away
Comfort for the weary feet
Joy on a cloudy day

Losing its earlier form
No thought of prior faults
Consumed by the flames of love
Dancing the fireplace waltz

David Kettler

 My big leather chair faces our fireplace. It was sometime in early 2008 that I wrote Fireplace Waltz. The idea came to me from the many selfless people who

I have known who have turned the twists and turns in their life into something very helpful and warm toward their fellow man. I liked the idea that you will never see the faults that used to be there when their life has been consumed for others. You only see the positive effect. Fireplaces bring back wonderful memories to me. Dad would build huge fires in our fireplace on Ball road in Anaheim. He would show me how to stagger the wood and start with paper, then kindling on up to the large logs.

Fireplaces always remind me of our cabin in Arrowhead as well. A fireplace is the only source of heat in our little cabin and we used to really stoke it up. I still love to make a nice fire in our fireplace and do so whenever I can in the winter. This is one of my favorite poems...out of all that I have written.

A homeless man waits, for the crosswalk light
Way back in his past, he gave up the fight
The cars keep turning, apathetically right
 Alone he stands, with his blurring sight
Somehow I knew, it would all be alright
When Enya started, to sing silent night

My Country’s in pain, the troubles are deep
The old Uncle Sam, might die in his sleep
U hauls are packed, housings a fright
They’re having to move, to nowhere in sight
I knew everything, would soon be alright
When Enya started, to sing silent night

Son home from college, just turned twenty one
Proud of the things, he’s learned and he’s done
He’s gone to Vegas, to see the bright sight
The lump in my throat, as he’s boarding his flight
I knew everything, would soon be alright
When Enya started, to sing silent night

My dear old Dad is losing the fight
He’s lived a long life, with all of his might
The future for him, is eternally bright
It’s me…that without him, faces the fright
But I know everything, will soon be alright
Enya , is singing her song silent night

Alone in my chair, the fire waving good night
All is peaceful now, I’m filled with delight
I know everything, will end up alright
Enya has sang, her sweet silent night

David Kettler



I wrote this poem Christmas 2008. My two college age boys were home for the holidays and I think it was on a Saturday just before or just after Christmas. We had a fire in the fireplace, Darren was sleeping on the floor in front of the fire and Enya was playing in the CD player. She sings silent night in Hebrew and it’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard. Laying back in my chair wrapped in a blanket, I just remember thinking, everything is going to be alright. The poem was starting to gel in my mind when I needed to run down to the corner store for something. As I sat at the light, I saw the homeless man waiting for the light and those first few lines came to me. The other thing that was very real was my oldest going to Vegas to celebrate his twenty first birthday with friends. I couldn’t help but think of all the things a dad would worry about. I sent the poem to Enya but as yet have not heard back!

The winter vine so sad and bare
hangs there on a wire
Twisted frame once so alive
with bunches for the buyer

Exhausted by a year of struggle
it now appears quite frail
But oh the life that lies within
that twisted vintage jail

The passer-by dismissive looks
at not a hint of green
but patience grants a fruitful yield
of bounty yet unseen

The lips that taste a Cabernet
of fragrant body blend,
might just recall the barren branch
the twisting and the bend

Warm summer breeze through laden bough
will sing of harvest great
While times of secret inner toil
did fruit and wineglass mate

David Kettler

 One day working in Arvin I arrived early for an appointment so I pulled over at a vineyard to wait until my appointment time. I sat right next to the bare vines and wondered how they could even be alive. It was winter time of the year and the vines were just twisted bare sticks and I started thinking about this poem. My favorite line is “oh the life that lies within that twisted vintage jail.” I like the thought of all that fruit and life being locked inside the vine just waiting for the right conditions and time to break out into fruitfulness. It seemed a good analogy for times in my life when I have felt the same way.