Month: July 2008

It Must Be Summertime

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Threats of fire and hurricanes signal the season;
Goodbye, Dolly

It Must Be Summertime
Threats of fire and hurricanes signal the season.

Out west the fire danger’s high
and in the dark Southeastern sky
a hurricane is gaining strength.
You’re right. It’s summertime.

Each year the horror is the same.
Those killer storms and deadly flames
cause thousands to evacuate
the dreams they leave behind.

A nightmare is what they’ve become.
They come in waves. There’s never one.
Wind and fire, rain and terror.
It’s Hell right here on earth.

It’s tragic. No, it is far worse.
From coast to coast, it’s Nature’s curse.
The blackened hills and leveled homes
reveal Mom Nature’s wrath.

And they reveal how much we care.
Does news like this result in prayer?
Are we content to say “too bad”
or plead with Father God?
 

Goodbye, Dolly
Serenading a killer hurricane with a familiar tune.

Goodbye, Dolly.
Hope you die, Dolly.
Can you give me one good reason
you should live?

I hope you stall, Dolly.
Hit a wall, Dolly.
There is nothing good that
hurricanes can give.

Your’ve left the trees swaying.
and the kids praying
asking God to help them
not to be afraid. So…

Hold your breath, Dolly,
before you cause more death, Dolly.
Dolly, you windbag,
time for you to fade.

The Dark Knight with a Troubled Soul

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Not even The Joker can escape Judgement Day;
A Tale of Grieving Clydesdales

The Dark Knight with a Troubled Soul
Not even The Joker can escape Judgment Day.

Heath’s ledger proved the bottom line
is more than fame or Oscar’s shine.
The Joker knows (what soon all will)
there’s more that must add up.

The dark Knight with a troubled soul
will give account for his life’s goals.
But that is true for all of us
when we face Judgment Day.

The “good life” isn’t all that bad
and yet Heath seemed so often sad.
This Brokeback wrangler played a gay
but lack a lasting joy.

The “good life” (even with good works)
won’t compound in eternal perks.
All ledgers will be audited
with just one thing in mind.

Did you accept God’s sinless Son
before your time on earth was done?
Don’t take a chance.
Spurned grace means Hell.
And then the joke’s on you.

A Tale of Grieving Clydesdales
Why selling Budweiser to the Germans is worth crying about.

The Clydesdale team is pulling slow
as it comes into view.
Their heads are bowed recalling Auggie say
“This Bud’s for you!”

A German meister holds their reigns.
He grunts “achtung!” to them.
Missouri’s become misery.
They hear him grunt again.

The “Clydes” long for what used to be.
They dream of yesterday
when Bud was proudly brewed and owned
within the USA.

The year George Bush leaves Washington
Auggie Busch succumbs
to letting Europe add our beer
to its gin, schnapps and rum.

What’s happening America?
We can’t keep selling out.
What made us great must be restored.
We must reclaim our clout.

His Angel’s Up in Heaven

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Why Paul Harvey needs your prayers;
E-mail from Heaven

His Angel’s Up in Heaven
Why Paul Harvey needs your prayers.

There’s an angel up in heaven
and a pall upon the earth.
In the Harvey house there’s mourning.
With each dawn new tears are birthed.
 
There’s an empty chair at supper,
half a bed that’s undisturbed,
full-blown grief that won’t be silenced,
random thoughts that can’t be curbed.
 
It’s “good day” he’s used to saying,
but Paul had to say “goodbye”
to his bride, best friend and partner
who was always by his side.
 
Where’s the “rest of” to this story?
Will it have a happy end?
That’s my prayer for this newscaster
who’s as old as Billy Graham.
 
May the faith that he professes
now sustain him as he strives
to report good news each noontime
and speak truth into our lives.

* Lynne “Angel” Harvey, the wife of legendary newscaster Paul Harvey, died on May 3, 2008 at the age of 92 following a year-long battle with leukemia. Angel and her adoring husband were married for 68 years.

E-mail from Heaven
Timeless truths in an instant message.

If Heaven offered free e-mail.
what would our loved ones want to tell?

Since they now know what matters most,
I’m guessing they would write…

To view each day as if a gift.
To run t’ward peace when there’s a rift.

To see the value when we play.
To know God hears us when we pray.

To recognize there’s always time
to bend an ear or to be kind.

To smell the fragrance of a flower.
To bask beneath a summer shower.

To feel the wonder of it all
when autumn leaves begin to fall.

To taste the sweetness of a pear.
To give to God our every care.

To serve a homeless man a meal
and then to journal what we feel.

To stroke a newborn baby’s hand
in awe of God’s mysterious plans.

To watch the ocean churn and foam.
To take a sunrise walk alone.

To stand beside a dying friend
and hold their hand until the end.

To understand that life is brief
marked both by joy but also grief.

To come to terms with Jesus Christ
acknowledging His sacrifice.

To baptize Doubt as Faith’s godchild
who will (in time) believe.

A Somber Birthday Celebration

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Why America’s independence is a relative situation

My grandma and my uncle
share a birthday. It’s today.
My father’s mom died years ago,
but Sam’s alive, though gray.

I celebrate his birth each year
with fireworks and fun.
But lately I’m concerned his days on earth
may soon be done.

I fear my uncle’s health is poor.
He’s looking gaunt and thin.
He doesn’t stand for much these days.
His plight has crippled him.

Where once he claimed to trust in God,
my uncle’s waffling.
He trips a lot on tolerance.
His step has lost its spring.

His apathy’s begun to spread.
He can’t feel much these days.
He’s blind to things that moved him once.
He’s deaf to virtue’s ways.

His heart is weak. It doesn’t race
to see “Old Glory” fly.
His feeble hand can’t reach his chest
when veterans floats pass by.

He doesn’t quite know who he is.
His memory isn’t good.
He can’t recall what made him great.
Oh, how I wish he could.

He’s very sick. He just might die.
But Sam’s a tough old bird.
I’m praying for a miracle.
Do you think that absurd?

My birthday wish for Uncle Sam
is that he will survive.
At two-hundred-and-thirty-two,
he’s not too old to thrive.

* Yes, it’s true. My All-American paternal grandmother, Margaret Stradley Turley, was born on July 4, 1897 in Bland County, Virginia. She married Haralambos Asimakoupoulos, a Greek immigrant in northern Idaho, who would later change his name to Harry Smith. From what I’ve been told, Grandpa Smith wanted a new name that reflected the heritage of his new homeland. On August 13, 1969 our nuclear family asked a Chelan County judge in Wenatchee, Washington to reinstate our ancestral name. We strongly believed that America’s greatness is best observed by celebrating our cultural diversity and ethnic pride, not reducing the varied tastes of our rich backgrounds to a common flavor.
 
** The above poem was written against the backdrop of recent changes in our national identity in which the United States is no longer viewed by the rest of the world the way it once was. The poem is a personal hope that “Uncle Sam” will not succumb to the pattern described by the noted British historian Arnold Toynbee. He observed that the average age of the world’s great civilizations is only 200 years and that these nations progressed through a similar pattern.
 
“From bondage to spiritual faith. From spiritual faith to great courage. From great courage to liberty. From liberty to abundance. From abundance to selfishness. From selfishness to complacency. From complacency to apathy. From apathy to dependence and from dependence to bondage again.”
 
What a sobering cycle and timeline given the fact that our nation appears to have followed this process and this very day celebrates its 232nd birthday.