Remembering when Sundays were unlike weekdays;
Reflections from Poets’ Cove

Another Father’s Day
Remembering when Sundays were unlike weekdays

Remember when a Sunday
was unique from all the rest?
We dressed and acted differently.
It was a Day of Rest.

The Lord’s Day was its formal name.
The first day of the week
was set aside for finding strength
since faith can grow quite weak.

We went to Sunday school and church.
We’d pray and sing a hymn,
then hear the preacher talk of God
and how we needed Him.

We wouldn’t work. We’d take a nap.
No shopping at a store.
We didn’t need to plan the week
or ponder what’s in store.

Those Sundays were much simpler.
We’d play catch with a ball.
We’d read a book and pop some corn.
Such fun! We had a ball!

We welcomed neighbors from next door
who’d saunter up our walk.
And often we would say, “Come on!
Let’s take a little walk!”

In short, I long for Sundays past.
They were our Father’s days.
They helped us focus and reboot
when we were in a daze.

Reflections from Poets’ Cove
Sunday thoughts on a Thursday

The calendar says it’s Thursday,
but my soul insists it’s Sunday.
A day of rest (of quietude)
at Poets’ Cove, B.C.
And I’m worshiping without benefit
of a church building.

A choir of countless evergreens
(boasting perfect posture)
stands at attention
in their forest-green robes.
Their wordless anthems
call me to worship.

So, too, the baby otters
whose black, wet faces
bob up and down
in the blue sheltered bay
as if to say,
“All creatures of our God and King
lift up their voices as they sing Alleluia.”

The masts of anchored yachts
sway rhythmically (marking time)
in the cool Canadian breeze.
These gigantic metronomes
slow our tendency to rush through the week
without hushing our hearts.

And I cannot fail to mention
the ever-present seagulls
that scree their praise of God
all the while bald eagles
soar effortlessly near Heaven
(silently saluting their Creator).

What surrounds me today,
speaks to me
all because I will willing
to be still and know that
this is the day the Lord has made
for me (and you).
Let us rejoice and be glad in it! * The above verse was composed at Poets’ Cove Resort on Pender Island, British Columbia 

If only it were just a nursery rhyme

This little Weiner went to Congress.
Then this little Weiner lost his seat,
for this little Weiner proved disgusting.
An Oscar Mayer reject — rotten meat!

He tweeted his repulsive ways on Twitter
revealing he is not fit for the House.
And then he covered up his lewd behavior
with courage most becoming of a mouse.

Do you think a hotdog Congressman like Weiner
is deserving such a beauty for a bride?
She’s entitled to a man who is trustworthy,
not an exhibitionist who tweets and lies.

What is sad’s the fact that Weiner’s wife’s expecting.
A little pig-in-blanket’s on its way.
And tragically his father’s indiscretions
will dog the little Weiner all his days.

God, help these hormone-driven politicians
who make laws but cannot govern what they do,
for in spite of grasping power, fame and fortune,
they have lost their grip on what is right and true.

Pondering the tragic death of a negligent mother’s little girl

So was it Casey at the bad
or did young Caylee drown?
I wonder if the jury can decide.
Was George a “loving father”
in the worst use of the term?
Or is that one more way that Casey’s lied?

I’m grieving for that sweet young girl
and how (it’s thought) she died.
I’m angry that the cops were led astray.
You can bet that God is weeping
as He watches from above
and observes depraved behavior on display.

Jesus said all little children
claim a place inside His heart.
such that judgment waits for those who cause offense.
Those who victimize the helpless
incite God’s most righteous wrath
and will be the object of His recompense.

Kids are God’s most precious treasure
for to Him they represent
unself-consciousness along with simple trust.
Heaven’s Kingdom is reserved for
those who claim a child’s heart
and are innocent in terms of greed and lust.