Wordtreasure

Shock and Awe

Reports that say that something hasn’t happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—the ones we don’t know we don’t know. And if one looks throughout the history of our country and other free countries, it is the latter category that tends to be the difficult one.

~Donald Rumsfeld

Baghdad…
birds build their nests
in smashed houses
it’s the migration season
for people

after curfew,
men in ski masks
visit the neighbors
rib-thin dogs
hunt for food

springtime in Baghdad…
soldiers plug bullet holes
with chocolates
nest-building birds
know nothing of God

suicide video—
her last wish
is for the continuation
of hatred…
changing the channel

third deployment:
tears
cannot be numbered
the nation
goes about its business

stage props
as the president speaks:
flags, banners, signs, soldiers…
which of these things
is not like the others?

the death toll rises
because of us…
because of us
the war is back
above the fold

water finds its way
around and through
all things
even the bodies
in the Tigris River

moral clarity—
soldiers die for reasons
no longer operable…
no one likes the president
any more

Contact info: davebaldwin37@gmail.com

The Hills of the Central Coast

Under a raspberry haze, row after row
of the smooth-sanded hills of the Coast Range
compress into a flat two-dimensional view.
Except for the accidental live oak here
and there, bare grassland is all I see.
Telescoped ridgelines are like art-paper cutouts
stacked on a canvas: the lowest are khaki tan;
the highest in the back are on the brown edge of black.
Only the silhouette of the topmost ridge remains
at the coming of night. Unchallenged by city lights,
a tsunami of stars washes over the world.

Oneonta Hills

Dad was a ham radio hobbyist
earning his first license at 14.
It was a happy time for me

when Dad drove up
the winding dirt road
into the Oneonta Hills

in his ’51 Ford V8
where he did his radio checks
from the setup in the car:

“Calling CQ, calling CQ.
This is W6ECM calling CQ.”
Two or three hams, always men,

responded each time and Dad
and these voices in the night
compared notes about their gear.

Dad asked where they were calling from,
making notes in his log,
and there would be a sharing

of new technical developments.
All the technical stuff
was over my head,

but I was blown away
by my Dad’s radio voice,
so smooth and loud and confident

unlike his voice at home
or in public settings.
This was the love of his life

[tanka]

double-clicking
the Events folder
our first kiss
remembering your touch
and the tilt of your face

Murph, the Butcher

One of the Ms at the M&M Market
on Huntington Drive
in the early 1950s
was Murph, the butcher.
Dad was a meat and potatoes kind of guy,
and Mother was an excellent cook
of beef, pork and lamb.
It helps to have
the best cuts of meat
and Mother was good
at getting that
by flirting with Murph
on her trips to the M&M.
I saw her in action
many times, and Murph,
bless his heart,
knew he was being played
by a master manipulator.
Mother would give me a wink
as if to say, See how it’s done?
The result was always the same,
and Dad never complained
of servings at suppertime.

Dorm Room Bull Session

Romans 6:1-11

“Where sin increases, grace abounds all the more,”
said Paul to his roommate, the sophomore philosophy major
who offered this devil’s-advocate wager.
“I propose to you: the more we sin, the more

God’s grace shall abound. Thus, we should sin
with gladness so grace abounds all the more.
By sinning more, we are doing God a favor
since he loves granting grace to those who sin.”

Paul frowned and countered the jest with commonsense.
“Once we die to sin, why would we stay
in that condition? Why would the emancipated slave
stay with an abusive master? Does that make sense?

If you were released from prison, would you go back
to your cell or would you choose to live free?
The question answers itself. If you won the lottery,
would you continue to live in an old shack?”

Paul’s interlocutor loved to bedevil and astound,
especially in a deep discussion of sin and grace.
He said, “I just like to see you red in the face.”
Paul was laughing as they wandered out for a round.

Hap

A lost transcript was the beginning
of a life-altering event when I hoped to go
to the University of Oregon.
I enrolled instead at a smaller school in Idaho.
Little did I know this course correction
would mean so much.

I took a summer job at Sun Valley.
As a lowly kitchen worker,
I was quite sure my floating world
would persist, but then, there she was,
traveling through as a guest.
Sixty-three years have passed
since we met at the Lodge.

Who knows which moment is meant to last?
Who knows! From the vantage point of age,
I could be looking back with ruefulness
at a listless river in a barren landscape
or a hellscape of conflict
or a life of emptiness like the wave-polished shell
abandoned by the creature who used to dwell—
or enjoy a different contentment with someone else.

Devil-may-care at the time of first action,
my initial moves belong
to a thousand-piece puzzle near completion.
We make informed decisions, but life is long.
For happiness, there is no map,
and often it is simply the result of hap.

Thomas the Apostle

John 20:19-31

Faith is trust in the things you cannot see.
Love is service to the least who are plain to see.

Faith without love is life without compassion.
Love without faith is life without a mission.

You honor the Lord by giving your best to others.
Do all you can to help your sisters and brothers.

Walk by confident faith, not by sight.
Trust the Lord to bring you into the light.

Faith and love inspire both head and heart.
This is how the saints are set apart.

NOTE: These are lyrics for an anthem.

Home After a Glum Day

Home after a glum day.
Yellow crocuses are breaking ground.

Jumping up and down
and spinning around,
my dog likes me
more than I like myself.

In my world,
even the shadow has a shadow.
I look for a place
to lie down
between words in a sentence.

The world of work
is a slow winding river
on a featureless plain.
I remember nothing;
nothing remembers me.

Shadows lengthen,
evening comes.
The busy world is hushed,
the fever of the day is over
and my work is done.

Grant me a safe lodging,
a holy rest,
and peace at the last.

[haiku]

end of an affair
sprinklers go off on schedule
in the hard rain

Autism Turns 21

It is hard for us to guess what’s on your mind.
We question you until you answer yes.
Outside of family, the world is not so kind.

Sometimes it’s twenty questions until we find
what triggers you. We understand your stress,
but the family needs to know your state of mind.

You are now of legal age and fully grown
standing six foot one and big as a house.
We give you hugs. The world is not so kind.

We know your music playlist calms you down
and steadies your nerves in solitude. Distress
starts up when conversation prods your mind.

Cold, indifferent people are not inclined
to help: it’s not my problem; it’s not my mess.
Outside of family, the world can be unkind.

For you, my grandson, if the future is predefined
by the past, please know you’ll always have our blessing.
The family will embrace whatever is on your mind.
Outside of us, the world is not so kind.

NOTE: This poem is about my grandson Casey Baldwin.

A Moment of Kindness

It was a long time ago,
when I was young and in my prime.
I was entering the city for Passover. Lo and behold,

prisoners were leaving the city at the same time
for their executions. One was Jesus.
He was weak from scourging as he struggled to climb

to the place Golgotha while carrying the cross.
Seeing that I was a Jew,
a Roman soldier tapped me aside the face

with the flat of his sword, and said, “You.”
Pressed into lethal service for the Roman
state, I knew what I had to do.

“Brother, let me lift your burden,”
I said, as I hoisted the wood shoulder high.
Together, we walked the hill

to his certain death. I wonder why
happenstance put me in that time and space.
Why me? Of all the events under the sky,

why I was plucked to show some grace?
I was in the right place at the right time.
A moment of kindness can last a lifetime.

Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco

We had a large brown radio
in the living room
when we lived on Brighton Street
in Burbank.
Mother and Dad listened
to their shows on Sunday afternoon
while I played with a toy
or worked a puzzle book
on the living room rug.

They laughed at the jokes
on the Jack Benny show
sponsored by Lucky Strike,
and because of their laughter,
I started to pay attention.

I kept hearing the letters
LS/MFT, and I asked Dad
what that meant.
Both Mother and Dad answered together
with a hearty laugh,
“Lord, save me from Truman.”