The spectrum of hope through a prism of change;
Two Black Men, One Holy Purpose

Color It Historic
The spectrum of hope through a prism of change

A black man in a white house
means a bright red letter day.
Blue skies abound for all who live
within the USA.

We’re in the pink as we recall
the blessings God has given.
How we survived that dark gray day
we nicknamed 9-11.

The world is green with envy as
it contemplates our fame.
Our purple mountains’ majesty
and amber waves of grain.

If only Martin King were here
to see this rainbow day.
A crown of gold could not compare
with that for which he prayed.

Yes, we’ve good cause to celebrate
and do this thing up brown.
What was George W’s D.C.
is now Obama’s town. 

Two Black Men, One Holy Purpose
An inauguration poem and prayer

On Lincoln’s steps a black man stood
and voiced a God-size dream.
With prophet-eyes he saw a day
that no one else had seen.

A day of true equality
where color doesn’t count.
Where every person has a chance.
Where trust replaces doubt.

But tragically this one who dreamed
would not see it fulfilled.
Incarnate hate took aim at hope
and Martin’s voice was stilled.

On Lincoln’s steps a black man stands
declaring hope’s alive.
The change of which another dreamed
has come and will survive.

He looks intently down the Mall
aware his time has come
to live the dream and lead the way
uniting us as one.

God, bless America
as You bless the new president
America inaugurates today.

As he pledges allegiance to Old Glory,
be glorified through his admission
that we are indeed one nation under You.

As he listens to Your servant Rick Warren
pray over the proceedings of this day,
help him hear Your heart
beating with concern
for righteousness, justice and compassion.

As he lays his hand upon Your Word
and takes an oath of faithfulness,
lay Your hand upon his life
and remind Him of Your promises to be faithful
to all who dare to honor You.

As he stands to address those
who look to him as Commander-in-Chief,
stand beside him and remind him
that he has been seated
in this place of honor and responsibility
by You alone.

As You bless Barack Hussein Obama
with a tangible sense of Your presence,
God, bless America.  Amen.

Slumdog Millionaire offers truth you can bank on;
A Prince of Peace

Treasure in Life’s Trash
Slumdog Millionaire offers truth you can bank on

There’s a movie getting rave reviews.
An indy film (quite rare)
about a kid who won big bucks.
It’s Slumdog Millionaire.

It paints an abstract picture of
a truth that’s most concrete.
The canvas of this arty flick
boasts something really neat.

Slumdog points out the rich reward
in what seems waste at best.
Misfortune’s dung and what life deals
give answers to life’s tests.

No heartache’s wasted by our God.
He uses all we face.
Rejections, breakups, loss and pain
are gifts we can embrace.

For in each hurt we’re offered hints
that help us move ahead.
Defeat’s a lifeline in disguise.
Dead ends aren’t really dead.

A treasure hides deep down inside
those things that cause despair.
I searched and found redemptive truth
in Slumdog Millionaire.

 
A Prince of Peace
Reflections on Martin Luther King’s 80th birthday
 
In the year the market fell,
well…

A king had a son
who’d be known as 
a prince of peace
in a world of hate.

He was named after 
a pastor in Germany
who has branded an enemy
over the stand he took
understood by a few.

His name was a clue
that his life
(also lived as a pastor)
would be played in a minor key.

Still, Martin Luther King
taught us how to sing
the lyrics of love.

In 1968
hate stilled his voice
but, not his song.

It is still heard
in schools and churches
and city squares and everywhere
the color of a person’s blood
matters more than
the color of their skin.

Peace be to his memory
and to the world he Nobel-y served. 

Reflections on the death of his teenage son;
A New Year’s Dance-a-thon

John Travolta’s Dance with Sorrow
Reflections on the death of his teenage son

His Jett went down
and John gave up
all hope of finding
that life would ever be
the same as it once was.

This one
(who for three decades
has been defined
by a Saturday Night Fever)
now attempts to find comfort
from a Friday morning nightmare.

The dance beat
of a Brooklyn nightclub
is a distant
(and insignificant)
memory
when contrasted to
the heartbreak
of a Bahamian bungalow.

No Bee Gees music in the background.
John Travolta’s slow dance with sorrow
has a soundtrack of silence.
Staying Alive ceased to be
a memorable melody
when it became
an unanswered prayer.

And so a grieving dad
calls out to a Father
who appears deaf.

A much-loved
special needs child is gone.
But hear his famous parent
(with special needs of his own)
vent his indescribable pain.

“God, if you only knew
what it is like
for your one and only son
to be robbed of life.
If only you could identify
with losing a part of yourself.
If only you could,
then maybe,
just maybe,
you could understand
the agony that consumes me.”

And the solitary figure
continues to turn and twist
in the shadows.

It’s a lonely dance
amid the shattered bits of light
that emanate
from a rotating mirror ball.

As if lost in a universe
of countless stars,
a middle age creature
listens for the Creator’s reply.

A New Year’s Dance-a-thon
Waltzing with the unknown

As we embrace this brand new year,
we’ll learn to dance with change
as God our Father takes the lead
with moves that may seem strange.
And still the music calls to mind
that change need not be feared
for He who knows what lies ahead
has promised to be near.

So let us waltz with gratitude
for all the Lord provides.
Our daily bread, employment too
and loved ones by our side.
Come join the new year’s dance-a-thon
with twists and turns and spins.
Let’s find our feet, kick up our heels
and leave the lead to Him.

Looking for more of Christmas after New Years Day;
A Yuletide Fix

With Childlike Wonder
Looking for more of Christmas after New Years Day

With childlike wonder we approach
the New Year’s open door.
We fantasize about the things
these twelve months hold in store.

This first month finds us wondering
why Christmas went so fast.
The child within our grownup frame
still longs for what has passed.

Just like our kids we can complain
when fun gives way to work.
Reluctantly we all return
to tasks we cannot shirk.

But even then (while on the job)
what we are hoping for
are joys we knew at Christmastime
beyond this open door.


A Yuletide Fix
Delaying the post-holiday withdrawals
 
Remind me, please, why Christmas trees
are now down at the curb.
And twinkle lights that lit the night
are gone. I’m so disturbed.

Why must we rush to end the hush
of silent holy nights?
I always thought tradition taught
twelve days made Christmas right.

I hate the squeeze. So, if you please
don’t pack up ‘til the sixth
Though New Years passed, don’t act too fast.
Enjoy the Yuletide fix.