Has the American dream become a nightmare?; Speed Kills

Road Rage on Wall Street
Has the American dream become a nightmare?

There’s road rage on Wall Street.
It seems no end’s in sight.
And often what’s so ugly is in tents.
What is worse, good Lord, it’s spreading.
There’s a road rage in my town.
Yes, the drivers of these protests are incensed.

But their longed-for destination?
It is all over the map.
The anger’s more apparent than the cause.
They’re upset by corporate bailouts
and the stalled economy
and a feuding Congress that cannot pass laws.

What began back there on Wall Street
is a snapshot of our times.
It’s a picture of our strained democracy.
Nerves are frayed and rage is brewing
on the left and on the right.
There’s the stock-car party and the one for tea.

Speed Kills
A call to slow down on the race track of life

There is danger when we speed around
the race track known as life.
And when we do we often lose control.
When we grip the wheel too tightly
and the landscape’s just a blur,
what is most at risk is peril to our soul.

When the pedal’s to the metal
and we blow-by pit stop cues,
we’re deprived of what we need to reach the end.
Plus, the joy is in the journey
(not the fabled checkered flag).
We’d do well to smell the roses, racing friends.

It’s more than just a feel-good movie; Poets Paint with Words

Dolphin Tale
It’s more than just a feel-good movie

In case your flipper doesn’t flip
or you’ve lost legs to war,
resist the lie that says you’re through.
You’re not! There’s so much more.

There’re endless possibilities
and options you don’t know.
So doubt your doubts and feed your faith
until it starts to grow.

The pain of loss can paralyze.
But in your helplessness,
you have the chance to watch God work
amid your grueling tests.

So why not make a date to see
the movie Dolphin Tale?
It offers hope to those who hurt.
It is a parable!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolphin_Tale

Poets Paint with Words
A poem for National Poetry Day

There is a time for everything.
Our lives are marked by seasons.
And poets capture these with rhymes.
Their rhymings each have reasons

that prompt the pictures that they paint
from palates blurred with words.
With broad strokes and with narrow ones,
they brush the truth they’ve heard.

And yet their winsome works of art
can be misunderstood
by critics who are blinded to
what makes their paintings good.

But unsung poets can’t be stopped.
Their canvases are framed
by knowledge they’ve been called to paint
in spite of how they’re shamed.

* October 15th is National Poetry Day

Remembering Steve Jobs and his amazing apple crop

In the orchard of technology,
an orchardist named Steve
would cultivate an envied crop
most found hard to believe.

The world-class apple he devised
was pleasing to the eye.
The Macintosh that he produced
we couldn’t wait to try.

Unlike the apple Adam ate
(too quickly picked by Eve),
this apple changed the way we’d work.
We owe our bite to Steve.

That byte would prove a big-league chomp
and make his critics choke.
The jobs his orchard would brought about
were hardly just a joke.

Beyond the windows, what a sight!
‘Twas very plain to see.
What Steve created shaped our world
though it was not PC.

A genius, that’s what he was.
iPod. iPhone. iPad
were fruit of his amazing mind.
And that’s why we’re so sad.

My iPhone buzzed with breaking news.
The orchardist had died.
“How weird (yet how appropriate)
to learn this way,” I sighed.

“The jobs report won’t be the same.
Technology’s bereft,
because the apple grower’s gone
in spite of all he left.”

Amanda’s loyal family celebrates her release

This Fort Knox has been defended
by a family’s loyal love
that proved worth its weight in gold. But, we all know…
Blood flows thicker than does water.
Thus, Amanda’s folks believed
you must wait for justice though it may be slow.

Now at last their hoped-for justice
has arrived in Italy
as Fort Knox withstood a four-year-long assault.
Curt and Edda (and their daughters)
forged a fortress-like appeal
quite convinced the crime was not Amanda’s fault.

God in Heaven, we are grateful
that this co-ed has been freed.
Help her find the freedom You alone can give.
Overwhelm her with a knowledge
of Your grace beyond degree
so to face what’s still to come and freely live.

A call to let God lead in the midst of loss

You waltzed with cancer many years
and watched it claim your mate.
The blackness of your sorrow draped the stars.
And though the drape has lifted
and the nights are beautiful,
you’re still grieving ’cause you’re dancing with the scars.

You tangoed with your boss at work
and he showed you the door.
Your pride’s been pummeled and you’re seeing stars.
Though you’ve reason to hold up your head,
your posture finds you bent.
Understandably! You’re dancing with the scars.

You cha-cha-ed with a toxic church
and fell flat on your face
convinced that grace is more apt found in bars.
What tripped you up was painful
and it’s so hard to forgive.
After all, you still are dancing with the scars.

You polkaed with a treasured friend
with whom you’d trust your life,
but now it seems their friendship was a farce.
Betrayal is a robber.
It will steal your joy and more.
In your poverty, you’re dancing with the scars.

Like dancing on that TV show,
the judges can be cruel.
Your critics act as though you came from Mars.
If God would only show up
and remind you you’re okay.
But you limp along alone dancing with scars.

Still one day He’ll tap your shoulder
and request “May I cut in?
May I have this dance? I love you as you are.
I will lead. You just need follow.
Leave the footsteps up to me
as together we will dance in spite of scars.”