Why Casey Anthony’s acquittal seems like a visit to Fantasyland

Twas just down the road from the Shrine of the Mouse
that a jury returned to Judge Perry’s courthouse
and rendered a Mickey Mouse verdict that shocked
a nation convinced they knew best.

Were Goofy and Daffy among those who said
that even though Casey’s young daughter was dead
she wasn’t the cause of this most heinous crime
and was falsely charged from the start?

Was justice the victim of Fantasyland?
Did Tinkerbell play a mischievous hand
by blinding the jurors from seeing the truth
with pixie dust bursts from her wand?

I ache for the child whose life was snuffed out.
Though Casey got off from some reasonable doubt,
that poor helpless baby remains without voice.
Should not someone pay for this crime?

Why we’ll plead the Fifth on the Fourth

I’m wondering if Honest Abe
is turning over in his grave
as two successive governors
are jailed in Illinois.

And what about in New York state
where same-sex couples celebrate
that “marriage” has been redefined.
My God, what’s going on?

And did you know in Albany
the governor’s morality
permits his girlfriend act as wife
without exchanging vows?

And what about those we ordain
to serve God’s flock in Jesus’ name?
Have we ignored what He requires
insisting we know best?

What’s with our nation’s highest court
whose recent ruling came up short
suggesting violent X-Box games
are safe for little kids?

Our once-blessed nation stands condemned
because of ways we’ve boldly sinned.
And so this Fourth we’ll plead the fifth
and try to dodge our guilt.

America the beautiful?
Since tolerance became so cool
we’ve lost the beauty we once claimed.
The light’s gone from our eyes!

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