Senora

Scarce is life in her parched breath,
dry in a desert left bare
of her own mother's love.
Clinging to drops of moisture,
until Mother Monsoon brings
tears of summer.
Matriarchy bestows fresh those
living day-to-day, hour-to-hour,
green and bright and anew.
Our lady of resounding diversity,
bosom to burrowed creatures
hibernating in colorful sands.
Sonora, her winds
life-giving,
life-taking,
of beauty and barren scape.
My homeland.
My mother.

Written July 9, 2025, while working the first page of a new sketch notebook.

Veterans Day Speech

It was my honor to be the Washington County (Indiana) Veterans Day Program guest speaker.

Read my speech here!

Today we mark the 70th anniversary of Veterans Day as designated by then president, and former 5-Star General of the Army, Dwight D. Eisenhower. In the proclamation for this day, he stated, 

“…Let us solemnly remember the sacrifices of all those who fought so valiantly, on the seas, in the air, and on foreign shores, to preserve our heritage of freedom, and let us reconsecrate ourselves to the task of promoting an enduring peace so that their efforts shall not have been in vain.” 

In honor of this day, I stand before you to recognize your service to our beloved country, and your sacrifices as burdened by you in both times of peace, and times of war. As a veteran, I served both stateside and overseas, and though not deployed in a combat zone, I did have the honor of serving our military at war. 

I joined the Marine Corps June of 1984 at the MEPs Station in El Paso, Texas, one week after turning seventeen. While my classmates were attending prom, I bivouacked in the swamps of Parris Island. And while they walked across the stage for graduation, I washed C-130s on a Cherry Point flightline. Within a year I had been on three Marine Corps installations, one Air Force, and one Navy. But at the end of my four-year hitch, I felt that my place was at home caring for my daughter, and my daughter to come. 

Yet, with each day, I knew I’d made a mistake. I was a mother, but I was also a Marine, and the Marine in me wanted to serve. Unfortunately, the Marines were heavy on C-130 aircraft mechanics and as a small force, if they didn’t need your military specialty, you didn’t get back in. So, in November of 1989, I joined the Army and retrained as a Heavy Wheel Mechanic, of course not knowing that just a few months later we’d be at war in the Persian Gulf. Yes, I retreaded and made my way back into service for my country. And while the transition wasn’t easy, being in uniform was never hard. 

I served in peacetime while in the Marines, part of the Cold War era and a year-and-a-half after the Beirut barracks bombing. The Berlin Wall fell just a couple weeks before I joined the Army, and while serving in the Army, I joined the 1st Armored Division in Germany, just after my new unit had returned from war. And while I spent more days in the field than at my duty station, I was still in training mode and not at war. 

While stationed in Germany, I began volunteering with the American Red Cross. I taught first aid and CPR classes and did HIV/AIDS presentations for units. Soon after, I found out that service related medical issues wouldn’t allow me to continue on active duty, and that’s when I dug in to my volunteering. That volunteering was what led me into a war zone as an Armed Forces Emergency Services Station Manager. 

Now, back on installations, teaching as national faculty on military bases in Europe, training at Fort Benning, and deploying with the Big Red 1 to Guilajne, Kosovo, I found again a way to serve my country by caring for its servicemembers downrange. And for the first time, I rode down streets with IEDs, slept to the sounds of mortars hitting the camp walls, listened to bullets outside my GP medium, and lent a needed ear to the stories of those seeking comfort at the end of a long day outside of the gates.

Those days and those nights downrange, and those years away from family, moving and finding new homes, taught me only a small amount of the sacrifices servicemembers have made for our freedoms. But also, those lifelong memories, the friends and experiences, could never be replaced. 

At every veteran funeral, there are battle buddies with the best stories about that man or woman. With every new enlistment, there is a promise of opportunity and honor for those willing to sacrifice the comforts of the status quo. And with every DD-214, there is a veteran who gave their oath to the protection of our constitution. 

Today, I can assure President Eisenhower that our efforts were not in vain. And while troops and generals and politicians and citizens may not agree on actions we as veterans were ordered to conduct, we as veterans can stand proud knowing that we were the ones who were willing to be called in the defense of our nation.

Today we honor all who gave that oath, all who wore the uniform of our nation, and to those still serving, because as veterans, we are all one family. And today, we continue the tradition of those who served before us by preparing for war while still praying for peace.

Dusty Lynn Baker
U.S. Marine Corps/U.S. Army
November 11, 2024
Salem (Washington) Indiana

Awaiting the Majestic

Mortals lined up as time climbs slowly,
reconciling lives past and future,
awaiting the majestic.

Science against the wills of gods
as the Moon traverses its
dangerous route to totality.

Unfettered by the Sun's anger,
Moon hiding its glory, Sun determined
to burn away the dark.

In a moment -- the sacred cycle arrives,
gnawed by squirrel, bitten by bear,
as the Sun clumsily drops its torch.

Flaming arrows attempt to restart its fire,
flung into the darkness of midday,
rekindling the Sun's power o'er Earth.

Our ancestors--they knew this time,
a moment feared, a moment awed,
souls mystified
at the glory of our Milky Way.

*Written immediately before and after the total eclipse as viewed from my home in Southern Indiana, April 8, 2024. (Totality at 1509 hours EST.)

What is a day?

What is a day?
When does tomorrow begin,
     by clock, by hour,
     by sunlight at rise,
     by song of bird,
     or crow of rooster?

And what of storms that cloud the skies,
     does day not come without the sun?

What of a week, a year, a lifetime?
Scant second on earth we spend,
     even for those at one-hundred.

Will the sun set on the day I die?
Will the ocean waves drive the sand,
     a flower grow, a tree rise new,
     or will it end with my reality?

What is a day, 
     but the passing of a life?

Words With Artists

My long awaited podcast, Words With Artists, just published today with a double launch of artists Judy Quinlin and Rosanne Quatroke! You can even watch the interview with Judy on my YouTube channel @dustylynnbaker

Join me in entertaining the ghosts of our pasts, sipping tea, and sharing words with artists!

A Song Unfurled

Poetry is the song of the spoken word
   gliding gleefully, playfully
      sliding smooth as the devil's tongue.

The true sound is not of a novel told
   in long form, in paragraph,
      broken to imitate a mold.

It speaks, it cries, it screams
   to be read, a melody as
      interpretation unfolds.

The flowery tale it need not contain
   but the rhyme must remain
      if only as a song unfurled.


* My attempt at a quaint and simple ode to John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn. A favorite poem of mine since high school. I wrote a paper on it in undergrad and found it again in graduate school. It likes to visit my mind when changes come to my life.

Read it here: Poetry Foundation, Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats

Sensual Kitchen

Squirming among the grains of paradise,
     lost in the mystical feeling
     of a soft blanch, just enough to
     feel the pulpy softness of breast.

Sautéing the flesh in the rarest
     of saffron, colored in red
     and the gold of turmeric, 
     rich in thoughts and desires.

A spiritual sensation, 
     a sensual kitchen, 
     where heat of anise on fire, 
     flambeed with grains of alcohol, 
burning within,
bursting out
     of the depths of her soul.

Warrior’s Soul

Waking to a dog barking,
   mother calling her name,
      sounds of air whizzing by.

Lost in a world of conflict,
   father gone to his grave,
      younger brother hiding in the crawlspace.

A pang pulls at her stomach,
   dry lips reach for the sky,
      tears as her mother looks her way.

Safety is nothing to a girl
   who is already starving,
      already ill from the war filled waters.

One day she'll leave her home,
   as she stands holding her father's rifle,
      a warrior's soul forced upon her.


~ Written in memory of my Red Cross service in Kosovo, 1999-2000