Reflections on a famous American landmark;
Profiles in Courage (and Humanity)

Facing America’s Moral Erosion
Reflections on a famous American landmark

George and Tom and Abe and Ted
look at us, though they are dead.
These Presidents carved into rock
must blush at what they see.

Gazing back towards our past,
these four heads of state en masse
warn us of erosive trends
that undermine our dreams.

They can see with eyes of stone
how we’ve reaped what we have sown,
how we’ve gained prosperity
while losing what meant more.

Gratefully, it’s not too late.
Our nation’s plight is not its fate.
If we repent and turn to God,
He’ll chisel down our flaws.

* While driving our daughter to college in Illinois last week, we stopped at Mt. Rushmore. Our minivan overheated in the visitor center parking lot and blew out the radiator. Our trip was delayed and our bank account drained while the vehicle was fixed in nearby Hill City, South Dakota. If you had seen a close-up view of Mt. Rushmore last week, you may have seen tears cascading down the Presidents’ faces as they looked upon our sad scenario.

Profiles in Courage (and Humanity)
Facing the four Kennedy brothers head-on

Four profiles in courage
now are carved on history’s hill.
Four sons of Joseph Kennedy
who had their father’s will.

Each willed to make their family proud
obeying duty’s call.
Each learned to pray the rosary
when they were three feet tall.

Each faced great fear, but didn’t blink
while looking to the left.
Each died much younger than was hoped
and left their clan bereft.

Each countenance has blemishes
betraying secret sins
and yet we chose to overlook
the clay-feet of these men.

Much like the Brits across the pond,
we want our royalty.
We crowned these four with grace to fail.
We hailed them constantly.

The Brothers K were hardly saints,
but in their fallen state
they served us most courageously
and made our nation great.

A tribute to Ted Kennedy: the prince who never would be king

The lion sleeps.
The den is dark.
The pride has lost its prince.
The liberal’s mane
(snow-white by age)
now frames a face that winced.

And though he dreamed
of being king,
he was a prince for life.
The missteps
that had marked his youth,
stole more than
just his wife.

A son of privilege,
Teddy grieved
his family’s endless pain.
The tragedies
that marked this clan
were equal
to their fame.

But Edward held
them in his arms.
He was their patriarch.
Though flawed
and scarred
by scandal’s wounds,
he had a lion’s heart.

But now that heart
is stilled by death,
the lion sleeps tonight.
And those who mourn
this Lion Prince,
aren’t labeled
left or right.

A road trip to college with daughter number three

There’s a trip I’ve just completed
with my daughter and my wife
that has driven me to ponder
major changes in my life.

It’s a trip that I have taken
twice before, but I confess
how I hate the destination.
It’s a parent thing, I guess.

Twas a journey to a dorm room
where I left my high school grad.
And though Wheaton College thrills me,
I am feeling kinda sad.

It was far more than the miles.
Countless memories sped by
as I found myself reliving
yesterdays that made me cry.

I can visualize my princess
with her binkie and her doll.
I can see her playing Barbies
in a corner of the hall.

I remember kindergarten
and that backpack big as she.
And that time (when on the playground)
she fell down and skinned her knee.

I can still recall her struggle
as she started middle school,
how she prayed she’d be accepted,
that the kids would think her cool.

I have memories of that summer
when her faith took root and grew
and the way she brought down Heaven
as into her flute she blew.

As we drove East from Seattle,
I thanked God for Lauren Star
and for what she’ll learn in college
that will help her to go far.

All too soon the trip was over
when we reached her college dorm.
But the memories kept coming
like those Midwest August storms.

And like raindrops in the summer,
those warm tears that stain my face
are reminders of life’s blessings
Father Time cannot erase.

* The above poem documents a four-day drive from Mercer Island, Washington to Wheaton, Illinois to deposit our third-born daughter at Wheaton College Conservatory of Music (where Lauren Star will major in flute performance). Having been through this “leaving ritual” twice before, I braced myself for the emotions of a life-transition that is far more than a tearful goodbye. As my wife and I go home, we have a major life transition of our own to anticipate. Like college to a freshman, there is cause for excitement, questions, anxiety and wonder. But, fear not faithful readers. The proverbial “empty nest” to which Wendy and I return will no doubt inspire yet another poem in the near future.

How that concert forty years ago impacted society;
My Big Fat Greek Name

Taking Stock of WoodstockHow that concert forty years ago impacted society When the Beatles crossed that London road,Dear Abby, what did you supposewas happening in rural New Yorkthis week in ’69? Could you have known that music festwould make such news? Could you have guessedthat Woodstock would prove just as bigas landing on the moon? Dear Abby, it was bigger yet!As I look back and recollect,it seems those days of rock and rollwould bruise our culture’s soul. It celebrated booze and drugsand unclad couples locked in hugs.The lyrics and the atmosphererebuffed authority.  That weekend concert would portenda values shift that would not end.Since then, we are less civilized.Our stock is wood not gold. We are less cultured than beforeand (though more wealthy) we are poor.Free love has proved much costlierthan any could have guessed.

My Big Fat Greek Name
There’s more to it than meets the eye

“It must be Greek!” I hear it said
when I pronounce my name.
“It is indeed!” I say with pride.
“Like the Olympic flame!”

A fourteen letter curtain call
all lined up in a row.
Somebody bought too many vowels
from Vanna long ago.

But Wheel of Fortune jokes aside,
I love my Grecian name.
It calls to mind my loving clan
when life can leave me drained.

I say it slowly and it helps.
Awesome-ah-COPE-ah-less.
This awesome mantra helps me cope
with major stress (or less).

My neighbors are the Crowes and Bones,
the Beattys and the Browns.
In short I claim a treasured gift;
the longest name in town.

But did you know the following?
I used to be a Smith.
My Papou took an alias.
It’s true! That’s not a myth.

Haralambos chose Harry K.
to be his new first name.
And Smith instead of Asima…
Good grief. Had he no shame?

But gratefully that all got fixed.
In Nineteen-sixty-nine
a judge’s gavel gave us back
the name that now is mine.

* on August 13, 1969 the Edwin Smith Family of Wenatchee, Washington became the Edwin Asimakoupoulos Family. This week marks the 40th anniversary of a change of name that literally changed my life. And now you know “the rest of the story.”

 Check out http://wenatcheeworld.com/article/20090813/NEIGHBORS/708139948

Celebrating the phenomenon of Facebook;
A Tribute to the One-Armed Organist

A Book Club Extraordinaire
Celebrating the phenomenon of Facebook

It’s a phenom known as Facebook
where lost friends are found
and parallel paths cross again.
It’s a treasure hunt unlike
I’ve ever been on
where I’m digging up names from back when.

It’s like I’m a detective.
I am sleuthing online
for a classmate I knew in high school.
And like magic they surface
on my PC screen.
It’s a treasure more costly than jewels.

It’s amazing, addictive.
It gives you a rush.
One click of the mouse and you see
what old chums are doing,
have planned or regret
or what, with the Lord’s help, they’ll be.

It’s a book club of members
who are writing the book
that keeps growing in length day by day.
And while not a bestseller
(much better, it’s free),
it has content for which gladly you’d pay.

It’s an online reunion
without leaving home.
You share pictures, advice, recipes.
There’s no need to be lonely
with Facebook around.
Just log on and have fun.
It’s a breeze.

A Tribute to the One-Armed Organist
Remembering Mark Thallander’s near-fatal accident six years later

You never will forget that day
life as you knew it passed away.
But in the wreckage of what died
a new life came to be.

As friends and families got the word
of what had happened August 3rd.
They prayed that God would let you live
and then that you would thrive.

Concerts of prayer, that’s what took place
as thousands stormed the throne of grace.
With fingers flying on the keys,
we pulled out all the stops

We asked the Lord that what was left
would give way to the upper cleft
so melodies with your right hand
could swell with praise to Him.

And what we asked the Father for
has come to pass. You know the score.
The minor key of tragedy
resolved in wondrous ways.

It’s all about God’s faithfulness
where sorrow and unhappiness
become the means to bring about
the music of His heart.

* Six years ago while vacationing in Southern California, I received an email from Peggie Bohahnon. This writing colleague in Springfield, MO alerted me to a tragic accident in New England (on August 3, 2003) involving a world-renown organist. Peggie asked me to join thousands who were praying that Mark would survive. I did. I also wrote a poem especially for Mark hoping to encourage him in his struggle. On going correspondence and a personal friendship began that week that continues to this day.

As it turned out, Mark did survive, but his left arm didn’t. It had to be amputated. His life as he’d known it was over. What could be worse to a concert organist than to be deprived of his left arm? To add to his grief, while Mark was hospitalized his father died. Mark was unable to attend the funeral service. He listened to it on a portable phone placed near his bed.

Subsequently, Mark has defied the odds and continued to make a career of concert performances and church appearances. Having been fitted with a prosthesis, he can use his left hand to chord. It’s an amazing story of courage, determination, faith and God’s faithfulness. Yes, faithfulness is the word for the day.

You can learn more about Mark’s amazing story by going to www.markthallander.com