Because one day in November just isn’t enough;
The Promised Feast

How About “Thanksgiving Year?”
Because one day in November just isn’t enough

Thanksgiving Day is not enough.
We need a lot days more
to count our blessings in life’s game
and tabulate the score.

Perhaps we need Thanksgiving Year
to properly declare
our gratitude to God above
with folded hands and prayer.

Thanksgiving Year. That’s quite a thought.
A constant attitude.
A daily focus on God’s gifts
that call for gratitude.

But lest you think Thanksgiving Year
means turkey every day,
don’t get your giblets in a knot.
There is a better way.

Roast beef and chicken work just fine.
And sushi, pork and fish.
You can express your thanks to God
while eating what you wish.

And for dessert the same applies.
You don’t need pumpkin pie
to train your palette to say thanks
instead of griping “why?”?

A year-round feast of gratitude
is what our nation needs
to nourish our anemic faith
and starve us of our greed.

Thanksgiving Year would call to mind
how little we deserve.
How blessed we are in spite of faults
and ways we all can serve.

The Promised Feast
A contemporary look at an ancient prophecy

“I know the plans I have for you,”
declares the Lord of Hosts.
“I aim to make your life a feast
not cold chipped beef on toast.

“My plans are good (if given time).
Be patient, don’t despair!
The future that I have in mind
is way beyond compare.

“If you’ll take time to search for Me,
I promise you will find
my fingerprints and evidence
that prove My heart is kind.

“And while it’s true that sorrow
can camp outside your front door,
You need to know it will move on
for what I have in store.

“Do not believe the things some say
that rob your heart of hope.
The summit is well worth the climb
though steep may be its slope.

“What doubters dare to claim as true
will be exposed as lies.
Just cling to what I’ve promised you
much like a treasured prize.”

* poetic reflections based on Jeremiah 29:4-14

The royal pair are wedding bound;
High Touch Security

She Said, “Yes!”
So did I.

Engagement news is in the air
for those some call a royal pair.
The speculation’s ended.
It’s official. She said, “Yes!”

But not before the young man asked
permission for her hand to grasp.
And as he blinked back tears of joy,
her father gave ascent.

Her left hand boasts a diamond ring
that makes this princess’ heart to sing.
With it her prince has promised love
that will be ever true.

As if he’d claimed his kingdom’s crown,
he beams with pride to know he’s found
the soulmate for which he has dreamed
since he was just a boy.

These two will soon stand side-by-side
in tux and gown as groom and bride
where they will vow their faithfulness
within the sight of God.

But as for now there’re plans to make,
to sample invites, wines and cake.
To dance with joy while taking time
to picture what’s to come.

* No, the above poem does not primarily refer to Prince William and Kate Middleton who announced their engagement this week. It’s really about my middle daughter who got engaged tonight (the day after this poem originally posted). I knew this announcement was forthcoming. I am the father (in the poem) blinking back tears. That happened two weeks ago when my future son-in-law asked for my daughter’s hand in marriage.

I said YES!

High Touch Security
Can’t touch that!

The TSA where I fly from
has grasped the new rules (and then some).
They’re pretty frisky when they touch.
It’s like my body’s braille.

It’s called “hands-on” security.
And that is how it feels to me.
I don’t like being touched that way.
They’ve got their moves down pat.

And there is more, you understand.
The government’s new body scan
is most revealing. Private parts
aren’t private anymore.

I hate this new “pat down” routine
Is it the only way to screen
for terrorists and fugitives?
Please tell me this will end.

A nightmare at sea;
Remembering the Voice of the Mariners

Dead in the Water
A nightmare at sea

A dream boat vacation
that never came true
became a huge nightmare
for tourists and crew.

With carnival chaos
and near mutiny,
some four thousand people
were drifting at sea.

The splendor of cruising
was anything but.
No lights. No hot water.
The power was cut.

In darkness, quite hungry
and miles from shore,
the passengers huddled
like prisoners of war.

A voyage from Hades
they won’t soon forget,
complete with a refund
and tons of regret.

And yet if they’re honest
it’s likely they’ll say
their plight on the ocean
taught them all how to pray.

Remembering the Voice of The Mariners
Seattle fans say goodbye to a hall of fame announcer

Dave Niehaus made us feel at home.
His voice was family.
His warm and mellow lilting style
made baseball fun for me.

His play-by-play was upper deck.
Dave called a polished game.
His efforts became recognized.
He’s in the hall of fame.

The Mariners know how to lose.
They’ve proved that through the years.
But now they’ve lost their heart and soul.
Dave’s death has prompted tears.

My, oh, my, this hurts real bad.
What more is there to say
except what he said for home runs…
“So long!” “Fly, fly away!”

Let’s hope that Dave was safe at home.
He could have tagged from third.
A pinch batter hit a sac fly
according to God’s Word.

That substitute was Jesus Christ.
He was our sacrifice.
His sinless life and unjust death
paid our admission price.

Accounting for the casualties of an uncivil war

What’s happened to civility?
Miss Manners, where’s our dignity?
It seems our culture’s not inclined
to mind her “P”s and “Q”s.

Those raunchy, ugly campaign ads
were just plain wrong. They made me sad.
By slinging mud and spinning lies,
the winners even lost.

We’re not polite. We’re just plain crude.
We say “That sucks!” or “You are screwed!”
Miss Manners, it’s detestable.
We’re all a bunch of jerks.

We sue instead of work things out.
On cell phones calls we tend to shout
without regard to those nearby.
We litter shamelessly.

Civility is dead it seems.
We’re downright rude and often mean.
Who opens doors for those nearby?
Who offers to go last?

Profanity is everywhere.
It seems most people just don’t care.
The F bomb’s dropped without regard.
It’s an uncivil war.

Miss Manners, can we win this war
that’s left our wealthy country poor?
Is it too late to be polite
regaining what we’ve lost?