Meet the patron saint of all who persevere

Ignatius is a saint who’s loved
as is John of the Cross.
Teresa is the choice of some,
but her prayers leave me lost.

Tenacious is my patron saint,
not Ambrose or Bernhard.
He didn’t flinch, dropout or run
when trusting God got hard.

He persevered and got back up
when critics put him down.
And though at times the Lord seemed deaf,
he prayed without a frown.

Tenacious didn’t buy the lie
that says ease is our right.
Instead he found that faith grows best
within the soul’s dark night.

Tenacious planned on having days
at sixes and at sevens.
“Because,” he said, “we’re still on earth.
Perfection’s found in Heaven.”

I love this saint and yet it seems
he’s often overlooked.
You’d be hard-pressed to find his stuff
in Desert Fathers books.

And yet Tenacious speaks to those
who listen to his heart.
Tenacious Christians stay the course.
They finish what they start.

A final conversation with my dog the day that Kandi died

As I look in your trusting eyes
to say my tearful last goodbyes,
I find it hard to let you go.
You’re such a part of me.

The years we shared are now a blur
since you were but a ball of fur.
I still can see you in my mind
unleashed and running free.

But now you’re sick and not yourself.
I grieve to know you’ve lost your health.
Yet you brought boundless joy to me.
I hope somehow you know.

And as I stroke your shiny coat,
a lump grows large within my throat.
I wonder if you understand
this really is farewell.

You look at me as if to say,
“Just stay with me. Don’t go away.”
And so I will, my little one
as you lay down to sleep.

And though the time has come to part,
you’ve left your paw prints in my heart.
A heart that breaks imagining
my life when you are gone.

This poem is dedicated to the memory of Kandi Kisses Asimakoupoulos who passed away in the poet’s arms on Wednesday, June 28, 2006 one week shy of her 15th birthday. It was written a couple hours before the mobile vet arrived to facilitate the necessary procedure.

It’s what happens when world war is waged with a ball

A month of goal-kicking
now comes to an end.
As eyes from all nations
take aim on Berlin.

A fourteen-inch statue
is what the champs get.
A fourteen-pound treasure,
impressive and yet…

The World Cup is more
than a trophy. Much more.
It’s how the world gathers
to “kick butt” and score.

We call the game soccer,
though we are alone.
It’s football to billions.
That’s how it is known.

A round ball (not oval).
No pads. No uprights.
No hash marks. No first downs.
No scoring (some nights).

It’s football the way
the Lord meant it to be.
At least most the nations
on His earth agree.

It’s hardly just gaming.
It’s more like world war.
It’s bloody and brutal.
There’s mud, grit and gore.

There’s arms limitation.
Not treaties, but rules
as foot soldiers battle.
Their toes are their tools.

Though hands are off-limits,
it really is sweet
to watch each combatant
wage war with his feet.

It’s war without killing.
But that isn’t all.
The weapon is harmless.
A round leather ball.

It’s war we love watching
as nations collide.
But now one month later,
please let me confide…

I’m ready for baseball.
The World Cup’s been fun.
Yet after four-weeks-worth,
it’s time soccer’s done.

A fourth of July salute to America the beautiful

From Alaska to Nebraska,
from the tundra to the corn,
I’m amazed with wide-eyed wonder
at this land where I was born.

From the Blue Ridge to the Rockies,
from the East to way out West,
I’m convinced with every mile
that America’s the best.

From the Islands to the deserts,
from the seashore to the sand,
I’m aware of God’s creation
oceans blue and canyons grand.

From Atlantic to Pacific,
from the right to the left coast,
I am constantly reminded
why Americans can boast.

From the Bayou to the Boundaries,
from the South to points up North,
we’ve good cause to wave Old Glory
as we celebrate The Fourth

Best Wishes for a Happy 60th Birthday to our President

Sixty candles on his cake
standing tall to celebrate
three-score years this man has run
in the human race.

Soldier-like each candle stands
paying homage to a man
who has sworn allegiance to
protect our human rights.

Waxing eloquent they speak
of this one world leaders seek.
Candles, that invite his wish,
wear their blazing crowns.

And the fire on their heads
speak of grace that God has shed
on the life of he who serves
in his oval room.

Father God, for George we pray
on this most auspicious day.
Grant him wisdom, health and strength
for the years to come.

* George W. Bush will turn 60 on July 6, 2006