History

Liberty Never Blinks

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Reflections on the third anniversary of 9/11

With big sad eyes that never close
she watched those black clouds as they rose
eclipsing New York’s brilliant sun
as shadows signaled doom.

Unflinchingly she stared and wept
as towers fell and terror swept
across a city unaware
that held its breath and prayed.

With torch in hand she offered light
to those who searched both day and night
for missing loved ones lost beneath
a mountain of debris.

She stood for hope when hope seemed lost
as rescue workers paid the cost
of burying our broken dreams
that died that dreadful day.

She stood by guarding while we grieved
and heard us say why we believed
that we must seek out terrorists
before they strike again.

And still she stands defiant, strong
unfazed by those who’ve done us wrong.
And those who try to stare her down
will find she never blinks.

The Proud Prisoner

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

A close look at the world’s most infamous convict

Although he’s a prisoner,
Saddam remains proud
refusing to say he’s done wrong.
The Butcher of Baghdad
still has loyal friends
and that’s why this war is so long.

An arrogant tyrant,
Hussein remains rude
contesting a judge’s request.
He’s most unrepentant
and bent on revenge
toward those who have captured his best.

Let’s pray no one springs him.
That’s surely a threat.
There are those who want Saddam freed.
In spite of the ways that he plundered Iraq,
his victims resist liberty.

And yet we’re committed
to do what we can
to give those Iraqis new hope.
The mad man who led them
and still thinks he does
might just as soon think he’s the Pope.

The Long Goodbye

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Our mourning for Mr. Reagan didn’t begin this week

Ten years ago,
removing a cloak of suspicion,
Ron donned a vest of vulnerability
and admitted what many had feared.

The rumored vandalism was true.
Without invitation or welcome,
Mr. Alzheimer’s disease had broken into his mind
and begun to rob Mr. Reagan
of that brilliant sense of reason, wit and recall
we all had come to love.

Back then we began our goodbyes.
It was as if Nancy’s Ronnie
had mounted one of his much-loved horses
and slowly rode beyond his ability to hear us.
So we waved so long
and mused how short
eight decades of life really is
(and how cruel it can be sometimes).

Out of sight (and out of mind),
it seemed our 40th President left us then.
But he hadn’t really.
His slow private ride into a mind-blinding sunset
provided us plenty of time to make peace with
what has become the dreadful destination of too many.

And so it seems appropriate that we would mourn
a good long time this week.
It seems only right that his corpse be carried
from one coast to the other and then back again.
This one for whom America was truly beautiful
had to go from sea to shining sea one last time
before his pastor could pronounce
“ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
It was a must.
After all, the boy from the Midwest
left his mark in the west and the east
and not least of all in our hearts.

Filled with heads of state who respected him
and tales of a great leader who proved himself,
the National Cathedral is an appropriate sanctuary
to honor God and acknowledge a man of humble origins
known for both his patriotism and faith.

The church perched high above the city of monuments
is the perfect place to memorialize a leader
too many (sadly) took for granted.
And so a House of God
not far from what was once his House of White
shelters his flag-draped earthly dwelling
while a grateful grieving nation watches.

But we would do well to remember
it is his earthly dwelling only.
While we are left to contemplate our own
forthcoming journey through Death’s Valley,
the man we mourn is quite alive
and at long last
clothed in his right mind.

A Day at the Beach

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Remembering D-Day six decades later

Forget for a moment
the price of gas
and contemplate a war long passed.
Consider the cost
for a day at the beach
that turned the tide toward peace.

The 6th month
The 6th day
60 years ago
11,000 airplanes
5,000 ships
150,000 troops
(mostly men less than 20 years old
carrying 80 pounds of equipment
toward a destination 200 yards through the sand)
10,000 casualties
4,000 dead
Millions abroad hoping
Millions at home praying
that the moustached-monster in Berlin
would finally meet his match.

11 months and 2 days later
those hopes were realized
and those prayers were answered.
But not without a hefty price tag.
The bottom line was more than a thin red one.
The cost was incalculable.

A New Haunt for Old Heroes

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

The greatest generation finally gets their just desserts

The World War II Memorial
at last is finally done.
It calls to mind all those who fought
that freedom might be won.

Between the throne of Abraham
and George’s monument,
the green-wreathed markers represent
the red blood that was spent.

They speak of battles long since waged
on foreign lands and seas
where adolescents came of age
while fighting on their knees.

Those posts of limestone fence the past
and block out needless noise.
In silence grandpas contemplate
the fears they felt as boys.

This ground is holy, temple-like.
It speaks of sacrifice.
It whispers “Peace must be maintained
no matter what the price.”

And so with walkers, canes and limps
old veterans make their way
to reminisce, regroup and count
the cost they had to pay.

They say a prayer and wipe their tears.
Though stooped, they stand up tall.
Within a park that honors them,
they’re heroes one and all. 

Most holy God, I pray for these
now old and weak and tired.
Remind them that our nation’s strong
by what they have inspired.

And for those who have long since died,
we think of them today.
May what they modeled live in us
as we clear freedom’s way.