Oprah’s popularity has become a religion;
Sunday Mourning at the Church of St. Relevancy

Goddess Worship
Oprah’s popularity has become a religion.

Her temple is in Harpoville.
Her mantra? Simply “O.”
She’s worshipped as if God-in-flesh.
She thinks she is, you know.

With wealth and power, Oprah reigns
from sea to shining sea.
Her faithful sing her praises
like she is Divinity.

This goddess loves her worshippers.
From her all blessings flow.
She gives to those in desperate need
and those who watch her show.

She’s on TV and radio.
She has a magazine.
Her profits speak a new-age truth.
Here minions have a scheme.

Her book club dictates what we read.
Her O Ambassadors
are missionaries for her cause
Her kingdom’s evermore.

 
 
Sunday Mourning at the Church of St. Relevancy
Grieving the death of two liturgical friends.

Has anyone seen Gloria?
She’s missing from my church.
Miss Patri taught me praise for God.
Please help me in my search.

“Doc” Sology is also gone.
I long to see him back.
I leaned on him when I was young.
He kept my praise on track.

But something changed. The songs got fast.
The Lord’s Prayer went away.
Responsive readings from my past
were loudly drummed away.

My Sunday mornings aren’t the same
since Gloria and “Doc”
were labeled too traditional
and forced to take a walk.

It’s mourning time here in my pew.
Can you relate to me?
I have a hunch my friends have died.
The death of liturgy.

A poet’s rationale for a new national holiday

We set aside a day each May
to honor dear old mom.
To let her know how much she’s loved
before she’s dead and gone.

We do the same each year in June
to tell our dads they’re great.
To grill a brat and drink a beer
and just plain celebrate.

Just recently it dawned on me
we need a holiday
to honor others in our lives
for what they do and say.

I’m thinking of the guys at work,
my neighbors, merchants too.
Baristas, mailmen, waitresses,
the one who heels my shoe.

Toll takers, teachers, dry cleaners,
a pastor, rabbi, priest,
those hospice workers, gardeners,
the not-well-known. The least.

You catch my drift. I’m thinking of
those people in our lives
who ease the burden of each day
who seldom get a prize.

They need to know we value them.
I think I have a way.
Why not a Sunday once a year
that’s known as Other’s Day?

Calling on Uncle Same to do something;
Water, Water Everywhere

Crying Uncle Over Gas Prices
Calling on Uncle Sam to do something.

Where’s Jed Clampett when you need him?
I am craving Texas tea.
Jed could pump black gold like water
when his fuel gauge was on E.

But when my gauge points toward empty,
tears of grief roll toward my chin
Swiping VISA through the gas pump
means I’ll lose a small fortune.

Amputation is upon us.
Fill-ups cost an arm and leg.
Limb to limb the Saudis tear us
forcing us to crawl and beg.

I give up. I’m crying uncle.
Uncle Sam, do something quick.
Find a way to lower fuel costs
Five buck gallons make me sick.
 

Water, Water Everywhere
Gas prices aren’t the only thing rising.

Water, water everywhere.
Cross your fingers. Say a prayer.
Pray the rivers soon recede
and that the forecast’s dry.

Water, water everywhere.
While this kind of flooding’s rare,
priceless treasures have been lost
and precious lives displaced.

Water, water everywhere.
Here’s a chance to serve and share.
Seek out those with broken hearts
and weep with those who mourn.

Water, water everywhere.
Find some way to show you care.
Help a neighbor. Be a friend
and show the love of Christ.