A father’s love is a universal longing;
The Time is Right

There is a certain someone I’ve longed for all my life.

Someone to watch me catch the ball.
Someone to help me when I fall.
Someone to say “I know you tried.”
Someone to listen to my whys.
Someone to pay when I just can’t.
Someone to see things from my slant.
Someone to hold me when I’m scared.
Someone to make sure I’m prepared.

Someone who loves me yet says “no”
and when I protest lets me go.
Someone who waits till I return
and then inquires “Whaddya learn?”
Someone who knows me totally
and overlooks the worst in me.
Someone who takes me at my word
and doesn’t judge me as absurd.

Someone whose dealings are quite fair.
He arbitrates to clear the air.
Someone whose hugs aren’t always earned.
He never hoards the things he’s learned.
Someone whose friendship is for keeps.
He prays for me before he sleeps.
Someone whose patience won’t run dry.
He aches with me each time I cry.

This certain someone has a name
and though he’ll never dance with fame,
today I’m feeling mighty glad
that God gave me this one called dad.

The Time is Right

 Bob Barker’s well-deserved retirement comes with a price.

Five decades back
(ask Senor Wences),
Bob hosted Truth
or Consequences.

And even then
(his hair much darker)
we loved to watch
Roberto Barker.

As game show barker
he was best.
So Monty Hall
and all the rest

could not compete
or make a deal
the way The Price Is Right king
wheeled.

Bob bid contestants
“Come on down!”
while standing up
for basset hounds.

A dapper dresser,
Bob looked nice
while coaxing folks
to name their price.

From home I loved
to play along,
though most the time
my bid was wrong.

Still as I watched
The Price is Right,
my daily grind
seemed less uptight.

Bob Barker’s presence
on TV
recalled the good old days
for me.

But now those days
have come and gone.
The game show barker
isn’t on.

And so I pray
God gives him grace
as Bob prepares
for Life’s Showcase.

A tribute to the poet’s mom who turned 80 this week

Robert Young starred on TV before my mom was old. He played a father who knew best. At least that’s what I’m told. Those were the days when dads were king. Like Beaver Cleaver’s dad or Ozzie Nelson… or Ben Cartwright… Their sons were lucky lads. But what about The Beaver’s mom? Or Ricky’s? Hoss’s too? While dads are great, there are some things that only moms can do. Like wipe your tears when you fall down and scrape your chubby knees or say “God bless you” meaning it each time you had to sneeze. My mother nursed me back to health whenever I was sick. She brought me juice and comic books and popsicles to lick. She told me that I was the best when I was just okay. But in her mind I really was Her praises made my day. She taught me all about the Lord and helped me understand the pressures I would feel at school. She helped me take a stand. My mom has heart, but also brains. She helped me cram for tests. And when I needed love advice, it’s true, my mom knew best. When I left home and took a wife She felt somehow replaced. I know that it was hard for her. I saw it in her face. But bless her heart, in time she saw she had no need to fear. I needed both. A wife and mom. She smiled from ear to ear. She’s one creative grandmother. My brother’s kids and mine love spending time at Nana’s house They think she’s quite divine. When Dad got sick and nearly died, my mother made me proud. She mustered courage, modeled faith and prayed for him out loud. As time went by and she slowed down, my mom refused to stop. This fashion plate can still turn heads and loves to thrift store shop. At eighty, this one who gave me birth embraces each new day. She journals what she did each night before she hits the hay. Her name is Star. Uncommon, yes? That’s fine. My mom’s unique. She sparkles like the jewels she wears while cuddled with her Greek. And so this tribute to the Star I proudly call my mom. Keep twinkling and light my night until God brings your dawn. *This poem is dedicated to my mother, Star Asimakoupoulos, who celebrated both her 80th birthday and 56th wedding anniversary this week.

The son of a preacher man introduces us to his pastor-father

There’s a man I take pride introducing.
I’m told that we look quite alike.
And the reason is simple. We’re family.
He taught me to ride my first bike.

Though I’m taller, I’m dwarfed by his stature.
I always will look up to him.
He’s the source of sage wisdom and counsel.
He’s my father, but also my friend.

I’m content to just stand in his shadow
while some seek the sunlight of fame.
I know that those rays can be toxic.
My father’s approval’s my aim.

Though he’s eighty and battling cancer,
the glint in his eye signals hope.
After all, this Marine’s a survivor.
And besides that, his faith helps him cope.

It’s a faith I’ve seen modeled for decades
on the frontlines of daily routines.
He battles temptations to worry
no matter how stressful life seems.

It’s a faith that he preached as a pastor
when my brother and I were both small.
I have witnessed his gifts in the pulpit.
He helped me discover God’s call.

And so on this day just for fathers
it gives me much pleasure to say,
“Our preacher this morning’s my hero.
May God’s grace flow through him today.”

The above poem was written by Greg as a creative way to introduce his father who is the guest preacher at Mercer Island Covenant  Church in suburban Seattle (where Greg is the senior pastor) on Fathers Day 2006.