Somber reflections on the Supreme Court ruling
Holy marriage, full of grace
(sealed by vows and Your embrace)
has been trampled underfoot
by five justices.
Lord, have mercy on our land
as we nullify Your plan
redefining what is right
in the name of love.
Jesus, Joseph, Mary please
bring our nation to its knees
lest we fall beneath the judgment
of Your righteous hand.
It’s the godfather of all grief
You have heard Tony Soprano
is no longer in the choir.
His voice has unexpectedly been stilled.
All his stunned fans can’t believe it
as they start to sing the blues.
Tony leaves behind big shoes that can’t be filled.
Yes, when death blindsides a loved one
who seemed healthy and so young,
it derails our peace of mind and feels so wrong.
Like a mafioso hit man,
grief is brutal and unkind
as it strangles joy and silences our song.
Unexpected death’s a killer
for it rocks you to the core.
There’s no bracing for the heartbreak that it brings.
Still, faith dulls the sting of sorrow
as it drills down deep for hope
where the peace and grace of God forever springs.
The Mr. Hollands in our lives deserve an opus
With your music stand a pulpit,
your baton a shepherd’s staff,
you led your students daily
with stern words and belly laughs.
Yes, you modeled truth through music
by the way you loved the kids
as they looked to you for answers
lest they end up on the skids.
With marching band your metaphor
you helped each section see
just how to work together
and to be a family.
Like Richard Dreyfus’ Holland
you invested in the young
and the dividends you’re earning
is success’s highest rung.
Mr. A, you’re most successful
for the music you have made
echoes far beyond the band room.
It’s an ongoing parade.
Marking time or earning millions,
those you taught (now fully grown)
march through life most confidently
making “music” of their own.
* This tribute was written for Steve Accatino. I first met “Mr. A” exactly 30 years ago when our family moved to the Bay Area. Last week Steve retired from Ygnacio Valley High School where he has been the band director for thirty-three years. High school band directors are a much-loved breed. I kept in touch with mine for thirty years until Mr. Huber prematurely died of a brain tumor. (If you never play in a high school band, you need to watch “Mr. Holland’s Opus.” That inspirational movie will clue you in!)
Michael Jackson’s little girl is in big trouble
Transparent eyes cannot disguise
young Paris’ inner ache.
When Michael died his princess cried.
She thought her heart would break.
For four long years she hid her tears
while flashing us a smile.
But masks can’t hide what bleeds inside
or cover up its guile.
Grief’s haunting ghosts if left to boast
can lead to suicide.
But gratefully she lived to see
she failed (although she tried).
Lord, save this child by life defiled
and drown her wish to die.
May Paris find Your heart is kind
with love that never lies.
My Rhymes and Reasons 