Month: March 2008

Remembering Private Presley

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

What Elvis was doing fifty years ago this week;
DB or Not DB?;
A Sobering Milestone in Iraq

Remembering Private Presley
What Elvis was doing fifty years ago this week.

Half a hundred years ago
the blue suede kid from Tupelo
became a Private, lost his hair
and gained a new ID.

His dog tags barked it silently.
His numbers started 5-3-3
and then came 1-0-7-6
before a final 1.

His service to his Uncle Sam
began in Heartbreak Hotel Land.
A few months after being shaved,
his mother Gladys died.

To Germany the King was sent.
Twas not your common deployment.
In spite of wearing Army duds,
His Majesty was known.

And when at last the King came home
we learned he wasn’t all alone.
His Queen was only princess age,
too young to even drive.

And now she’s dancing with the stars.
Priscilla hasn’t come that far.
She’s still defined by her ex-mate.
Ain’t that a tragic waltz?
 

DB or Not DB?
That is still the question 37 years later.

Is the fabric that was found
in a field beneath the ground
D B Cooper’s missing parachute?
“D B Cooper who?” you ask.

Oh, my gosh, do you not know?
Was it all that long ago
when a crazy man jumped from a Northwest jet
that he hijacked?

With a briefcase of marked bills,
Cooper ‘chuted. Was he killed?
That remains an unsolved myst?ry
after nearly forty years.

If he lived, where is he now?
If he spent the money, how?
Chances are he never did survive
and next we’ll find his bones.

And the lesson of this crime?
In the end we all will find
that a suitcase filled with money
matters little when we die.
 

A Sobering Milestone in Iraq
Counting the cost of the lost (and freedom).Five years there.
Four thousand dead.
And I knew one of those.
(His name was Jack.)

But as the number grows
I can’t help wondering
if the critics of this ongoing conflict
know jack.

Is not war (by definition)
an enemy we must abhor
and embrace
simultaneously?

Is it not (at times)
a necessary evil
that we are called to employ
in the business of doing good?

Sadly, when it comes to
making a case for
liberty and justice for all,
the insurgents in Iraq
aren’t the only foes we face.

Easter Jazz

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

A timeless tune with a new twist;
Easter in Disguise

Easter Jazz
A timeless tune with a new twist

A blue note heard on Friday
had been coaxed from sorrow’s horn.
Clarinets, trumpets and saxes
moaned in time ’til Sunday morn.

And then (oh my) such music!
With the sunrise (saints alive!)
there were flutes, French horns and cellos
making melodies that jibed.

Add some trombones. Cue the tubas,
violins, guitars and drums.
There was all that jazz (and then some)
praising God for Kingdom come.

Women mourning started dancing
to the herd of thundering notes
as the Prince of Joy (now risen)
donned His resurrection coat.

O my Lord, it was some morning.
Bourbon Street could ne’er compare
to the music born that Easter
and the song that filled the air.
 

Easter in Disguise
The Son’s victory is revealed in Mother Nature

Disaster loomed. The end seemed sure.
The Lord of life was dead.
Good Friday was a bad nightmare.
The robins chirped their dread.

But like the boy who plugged the dike
to keep a flood at bay,
the Son of God stood up to death
on resurrection day.

An empty grave means we don’t mourn
as those who have no hope.
What Jesus did so long ago
gives us the means to cope.

The nature of this mystery
breaks forth from neath the ground.
Creation’s rhythm witnesses
to truth Christ’s followers found.

The tulips soon will lift their heads
to trumpet Easter’s song.
The bulbs we buried in the earth
still live though they seem gone.

In Mother Nature, winter’s grief
gives way to joyful spring.
It’s Easter’s message in disguise.
No wonder millions sing…

“Christ the Lord is risen today!
Alleluia!”

Death of Another Kind

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

The sad saga of Eliot Spitzer;
A Good Friday Lesson at St. Arbucks

Death of Another Kind
The sad saga of Eliot Spitzer

He stood for truth and decency.
New Yorkers sang his praise.
But Spitzer led a double life
that’s left us all amazed.

He cheated on his faithful wife
on Valentine’s Day Eve
(and with a prostitute no less).
It makes me want to heave.

Yes, Eliot’s an idiot.
He needlessly got screwed.
He got the outcome he deserved
for lawless acts quite lewd.

He joins a cast of other jerks
who gave in to their lust
and in the process lost their jobs,
and all their loved ones’ trust.

Perhaps we don’t appreciate
the power lust can wield.
When we don’t realize its pull,
our doom can well be sealed.
 

A Good Friday Lesson at St. Arbucks
How a Tacoma barista showed Christ’s love

Baristas are a giving breed.
They look for ways to meet a need.
Most slake our thirst for coffee drinks.
But Sandie did much more.

She gave the gift of life to one
whose transplant hopes were slim to none.
And when reporters asked her why,
she smiled and said, “Why not?”

St. Arbucks proudly claims Sandie
who gave her kidney selflessly
to save this “short drip double-cup”
because she was her type.

Baristas come. Baristas go.
And yet it’s clear, I hope you know,
that there’s a Christ-like show of love
in what this woman did.

She took a risk and shed her blood
(more precious than a cup of mud).
She bore her cross in surgery
and put another first.

* On March 11, 2008 barista Sandie Andersen was wheeled into surgery to give one of her kidneys to Annamarie Ausnes, one of her regular customers at a Tacoma Washington Starbucks, who needed a new kidney to survive.

A Final Birthday Wish

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

What do you give a dying dad?

Today’s my father’s last birthday
before he passes on.
The cancer’s traveled through his bones.
I know he’ll soon be gone.

His face is gaunt. His body’s frail.
Yet in his tired eyes
I still can see a gleam of hope
his shriveled frame denies.

He doesn’t want a piece of cake.
He has no need for gifts.
Our presence is what he wants most.
That’s what gives him a lift.

Surrounded by the ones he loves,
my dad flashes a smile.
That boyish grin I’ve cherished since
I was a chubby child.

He smiled when I learned to walk.
When I first rode a bike.
He beamed with pride to see me preach
behind a pulpit mike.

He smiled at my firstborn’s birth.
He grinned when I went gray.
His knowing smile eased the pain
when our pet passed passed away.

Today he’s 82 years old.
The age at which he’ll die.
The thought of it knots up my gut.
I breathe a heavy sigh.

I also breathe a whispered prayer
of gratitude and praise.
My father’s impact on my life
will last beyond his days.

A Tap Dance

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Why common water can cure Saturday Night Fever and endless other ills

The water in your kitchen tap
has started getting a bad rap.
It seems there’s more than H2O
that dances down your drain.

But lest you let it get your goat,
be grateful that what clears your throat
contains a trace of substances
you don’t pay extra for.

Our household water has the means
to fuel an aging couple’s dreams.
A sip before they crawl in bed
might cause them both to smile.

And Starbucks stock may start to fall.
The water cooler down the hall
has caffeine in those big clear jugs.
They more than quench your thirst.

The common water that we drink
does way more stuff than you might think.
It staves off seizures, eases pain
and stabilizes moods.

The critics dance around the facts,
but I’m inclined to just relax
and hoist a pint of H2O
and let it do its thing.