Month: July 2009

Mr. Gates, Help Me Open Windows

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Exposing the real crime in Cambridge (and elsewhere);
The Heat is On

Mr. Gates, Help Me Open Windows
Exposing the real crime in Cambridge (and elsewhere)

Yes, he tried to open windows,
but that proved a big mistake.
You’d think that not a problem
for a man whose name is Gates.

What happened back in Cambridge
near that town best known for tea
was an operating system
that could not be called PC.

It exposed the unveiled vista
we pretend does not exist
of a nation where black people
top the “can’t be trusted” list.

What if after your vacation
you returned home without keys
and you tried the doors and windows
while your neighbors called police?

Wouldn’t you be pretty angry
and the source of endless grief
if they branded you a burglar
and then cuffed you as a thief?

Would the same thing Gates encountered
have occurred to one less tan?
I would bet a different outcome
for a paler key-less man.

Sad to say the door marked EQUAL
still remains most often locked.
It is time we force it open.
The real crime is simply talk.

  • Henry Louis Gates, Jr. is the black Harvard professor who was arrested after entering his own home without a key when a neighbor called authorities assuming it was a break-in.
  • The above poem has been updated since it was originally published. In the original post I implied that the neighbor who called the police on Mr. Gates knew the “alleged intruder” was black. Subsequent to posting the poem I read a transcript of the 911 call that indicated the neighbor did not know the skin color of the person.

The Heat is On
Sounding off about Seattle’s Heat Wave

I don’t know ’bout global warming.
I just know I cannot sleep.
It’s an oven in my bedroom,
much too hot for counting sheep.

Though they call this season summer,
I think simmer’s more correct.
Since we have no air conditioning,
I’m a sleepless nervous wreck.

Yesterday we broke a record
1-0-3 humid degrees.
In Seattle that’s unheard of.
It is known for seventies.

But perhaps God sent this heat wave
to convert our pagan state.
When the temperature’s like Hades,
some might move t’ward Heaven’s gate.

Where Have All the Newsmen Gone?

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

A tribute to a trio of beloved broadcasters

Peter, Paul and Mary
are still hammering their song.
They’re pondering the blowing wind
and where have flowers gone.

But Peter, Paul and Walter
are now dead and gone from sight.
I speak of Mr. Jennings,
Mr. Harvey and Cronkite.

That former trio challenges
injustice through their songs.
The latter three remained content
reporting social wrongs.

Their voices were melodic,
most familiar and unique.
Their newscasts were a work of art.
We loved to hear them speak.

But now those voices have been stilled.
We grieve beside their graves.
Like Puff the Magic Dragon,
they have slipped into their caves.

Without those three, it seems to me
the news has lost its fizz.
The greats are gone just like old blooms.
That’s just the way it is.

And That’s the Way It Is!

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Remembering Walter and the way it was

We called him Walter, never Walt.
And like a drugstore chocolate malt,
he helped define “the way it was”
when we were very young.

He anchored us on stormy days
when tragedy (like frightening waves)
would threaten to capsize our hope
that all would be okay.

He first informed us of the shot
that stole our dreams of Camelot.
And it was he who shared our joy
when man walked on the moon.

He was the voice within “the eye”*
I somehow thought would never die,
for even in retirement
he spoke from time to time.

But now he’s gone and I am sad.
Just eight months since I lost my dad,
I am reminded yet again
that heroes pass away.

That’s just the way it is, I guess.
In time, death claims the very best.
And while we miss the way it was,
we treasure memories.

* The logo for the CBS television network is an eye

Love’s Eagle Has Landed

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Spiritual reflections on a historic milestone

In July of 1969,
in the midst of a memorable summer,
(that season when reason took a vacation
as the names of Woodstock and Chappaquiddick
wormed their way into our history books),
Uncle Sam flexed his strong arm
and lifted a man higher than any man
had been lifted before.

It was a holy moment.
For Heaven’s sake,
it was unlike anything we had witnessed before.
We were moonstruck with wonder.
What occurred was out of this world.
 

It was an intersection of time and space
where JFK’s lofty dream
(nearly forgotten following the nightmare in Dallas)
was finally realized.

It was one small step for man,
a giant leap for mankind.

Folding our hands,
we knelt in grateful prayer amazed
as Neil unfolded a flag and raised it on a pole
before proceeding to moonwalk on a cratered surface
we’d previously seen only through a telescope.

Meanwhile, back on planet earth
we listened to a ten-year-old Michael Jackson
singing on the radio.
As we sang along with “I’ll Be There,”
we realized the boy-wonder
had provided us appropriate lyrics.
We imagined ourselves being there.
One day dancing on that crescent moon,
kicking up dust and looking back
at that big blue marble
suspended in an even bigger black sky.

It’s hard to believe it’s been forty years
since Apollo 11 rocketed through space
depositing one who left footprints on the moon.

Even now, all those many years later,
it’s just as hard to believe
as I look at that crescent-shaped light overhead
that members of the human race
actually visited that far-off place.

But what’s even more difficult to comprehend
is why the Creator of the cosmos
visited our third rate planet
in a second rate galaxy
a couple thousand years ago.

He didn’t plant a flag,
but He unfurled a banner
on which He announced His unconditional love
to an estranged world of aimless humans.

It was a flesh-and-blood banner
(spread eagle over wooden beams)
that became a launching pad
triggering the maiden voyage of grace
from the outer realms of eternity
to the far reaches of the planet
we call home.

And while angels watched,
Love’s eagle landed.
And onto the sun-baked soil of Palestine,
wine-colored liquid flowed
from the lifeless body
of one stapled to an old bloodied cross.

That gathering pool is what accounts
for the reddish footprints still visible
to those with eyes of faith to see.

The day Love’s eagle landed,
a holy God took a step
toward His sinful creation.
With open-arms and a welcoming smile
He spoke words of pardon
anticipated for millennia.

“All is forgiven!”

That’s one small step for God,
a giant leap for mankind!

The King of Pop and The King of Kings

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Will the real monarch please stand up?

That love fest for Michael
was quite the phenom
with tributes and music
that went on and on.

A song from Mariah.
A Magic review.
Both Smokey and Usher
gave heart-shards some glue.

A poem from Maya.
A sermon by Al.
And words from Mike’s brothers
and his little gal.

I loved hearing “Soon”
by the Crouch Gospel Choir.
And that wee lad from England?
His voice sure inspired!

But what really moved me
were Pastor Smith’s words
that some probably countered
as wrong or absurd.

He said, “Even Michael,
the beloved King of Pop,
must bow to King Jesus
now that his life has stopped.”

No matter our color,
our status or fame,
when death comes to claim us
there’s only one name

we all will acknowledge
as Lord and as King.
And it’s not Mohammad
or Buddha or Ming.

Yes, billions heard Lucius
declare what is true.
But will they serve Jesus
before death? Will you?

* based on Philippians 2: 9-11
 
9Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
      and gave him the name that is above every name,
 10that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
      in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
 11and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
      to the glory of God the Father.