Remembering Walter and the way it was

We called him Walter, never Walt.
And like a drugstore chocolate malt,
he helped define “the way it was”
when we were very young.

He anchored us on stormy days
when tragedy (like frightening waves)
would threaten to capsize our hope
that all would be okay.

He first informed us of the shot
that stole our dreams of Camelot.
And it was he who shared our joy
when man walked on the moon.

He was the voice within “the eye”*
I somehow thought would never die,
for even in retirement
he spoke from time to time.

But now he’s gone and I am sad.
Just eight months since I lost my dad,
I am reminded yet again
that heroes pass away.

That’s just the way it is, I guess.
In time, death claims the very best.
And while we miss the way it was,
we treasure memories.

* The logo for the CBS television network is an eye

Spiritual reflections on a historic milestone

In July of 1969,
in the midst of a memorable summer,
(that season when reason took a vacation
as the names of Woodstock and Chappaquiddick
wormed their way into our history books),
Uncle Sam flexed his strong arm
and lifted a man higher than any man
had been lifted before.

It was a holy moment.
For Heaven’s sake,
it was unlike anything we had witnessed before.
We were moonstruck with wonder.
What occurred was out of this world.
 

It was an intersection of time and space
where JFK’s lofty dream
(nearly forgotten following the nightmare in Dallas)
was finally realized.

It was one small step for man,
a giant leap for mankind.

Folding our hands,
we knelt in grateful prayer amazed
as Neil unfolded a flag and raised it on a pole
before proceeding to moonwalk on a cratered surface
we’d previously seen only through a telescope.

Meanwhile, back on planet earth
we listened to a ten-year-old Michael Jackson
singing on the radio.
As we sang along with “I’ll Be There,”
we realized the boy-wonder
had provided us appropriate lyrics.
We imagined ourselves being there.
One day dancing on that crescent moon,
kicking up dust and looking back
at that big blue marble
suspended in an even bigger black sky.

It’s hard to believe it’s been forty years
since Apollo 11 rocketed through space
depositing one who left footprints on the moon.

Even now, all those many years later,
it’s just as hard to believe
as I look at that crescent-shaped light overhead
that members of the human race
actually visited that far-off place.

But what’s even more difficult to comprehend
is why the Creator of the cosmos
visited our third rate planet
in a second rate galaxy
a couple thousand years ago.

He didn’t plant a flag,
but He unfurled a banner
on which He announced His unconditional love
to an estranged world of aimless humans.

It was a flesh-and-blood banner
(spread eagle over wooden beams)
that became a launching pad
triggering the maiden voyage of grace
from the outer realms of eternity
to the far reaches of the planet
we call home.

And while angels watched,
Love’s eagle landed.
And onto the sun-baked soil of Palestine,
wine-colored liquid flowed
from the lifeless body
of one stapled to an old bloodied cross.

That gathering pool is what accounts
for the reddish footprints still visible
to those with eyes of faith to see.

The day Love’s eagle landed,
a holy God took a step
toward His sinful creation.
With open-arms and a welcoming smile
He spoke words of pardon
anticipated for millennia.

“All is forgiven!”

That’s one small step for God,
a giant leap for mankind!

Sobering thoughts about Air France Flight #447;
A Father’s Relentless Pursuit

Lost
Thoughts about Air France Flight #447

That Air France pilot danced with wind
between Brazil and Paris when
his plane went down and all were lost
much like that TV show.

But unlike LOST, no one survived.
Debris was found, but none alive.
Beneath the depths of that dark sea,
death claimed the lot of them.

No doubt those victims screamed in fear
as that jet violently veered
from left to right, then up and down,
before it fin’lly plunged.

And now the fam’lies that remain
are lost in grief without much aim
and without answers as to why
their lives won’t be the same.

A Father’s Relentless Pursuit
Why David Goldman won’t quit fighting for his son

Life for David Goldman sucks
for no amount of hard-earned bucks
can free his one-and-only son
from those who kidnapped him.

It is a hell that steals his peace
while waiting for young Sean’s release.
No words exist that can describe
the agony he feels.

But like the shepherd David was
(who left the ninety-nine because
one missing lamb is worth the risk),
this David will not quit.

A father’s love (like Heaven’s hound)
won’t give up till the lost is found.
It’s biblical. It’s what God did.
His love can’t let us go.

A farewell to our nation’s beloved radio newsman

Mr. Harvey,
while standing by
for the news today,
we heard sad news
that has cast a pall
over our nation.
Newscasters are reporting
that you are dead.
It’s not a good day.

All the same,
Americans’ sadness
is sweet sorrow.
It is good grief.
Our lives are wealthier
because you invested your life
in us.

Like the famous apostle
whose name you bore,
your message has impacted millions.
And as was true of Saint Paul,
your words will continue to live on.

Whether spoken or written,
your daily epistles
were missals of truth and life
sprinkled with grace and peace.
You reported on
what others failed to see
(or refused to).

You would not simply
give the headlines
related to our sin-tinged world.
To you, the top of the front page
was rarely the bottom line of truth.
There was always
“the rest of the story.”

And now, Mr. Harvey,
page five.
At long last,
you are experiencing
the rest of your story.
The ultimate rest stop
on the adventure of a lifetime.
Eternal rest.

And while we struggle
with feelings of loss this day,
you’ve gained what no one
can ever take from you.
Life after death
with the very One
who conquered death
through his post-crucifixion
resurrection.
That’s the Gospel truth.
That’s Good News.

In light of that,
we do not simply bid you
goodbye, Mr. Harvey.
Many of us will see you again.
And to that end,
employing two little words
that marked your work
for seven long decades,
we simply say
“Good Day!”

* Also check out “Hello Americans, This is Paul Harvey,” my tribute to Paul Harvey’s 89th birthday posted on The Partial Observer on September 7, 2007. You can also read my tribute to Paul’s wife Angel Harvey who died last year. It’s titled”His Angel’s Up in Heaven” and was posted on this website July 11, 2008.

An Infamous landmark turns seven years old;
A Cultural Necessity

The Misnomer of Ground Zero
A infamous landmark turns seven years old.

Ground Zero is now seven.
A birthday that recalls
a more innocent time
when terrorists robbed our nation
of its child-like trust
and assumed sense of safety.

Ground Zero IS 9/11.
A grave reminder of the day
a pair of twins collapsed
and perished
while Mother Liberty
looked on in horror.

Ground Zero is a misnomer.
It is anything but
nothing, nada, zippo.
Its blood-soaked soil
hides seeds of hatred
fertilized by memories of anguish.

Ground Zero is nonetheless
hallowed ground near a market
whose stock and trade
continues to be carried out
in the shadow of a skyline
in which two notable towers
are sadly missing.

Ground Zero remains
the face of a nation
whose ability to smile
has forever been altered,
like a seven year old missing
her two front teeth.
 

A Cultural Necessity
The timeless place of poetry in our society.

There are times you need a poem
to express the pain inside.
Words fall short as feelings lengthen
and in sorrow thoughts can lie.
 
Poets have a way of sifting
through the rubble of our grief.
In their lyrical expressions,
mourners often find relief.
 
When they sense God’s holy presence
and are silenced by His grace,
they’re amazed how poets’ brushes
can portray His unseen face.
 
And when joy exceeds description
at a wedding or a birth,
there is nothing like a poem
to convey life’s deepest mirth.
 
Ever notice just how often
someone quotes some poetry?
In an ocean of emotion
rhyming verses calm the sea.
 
So when asked if I’m a poet,
I don’t wince and hang my head.
I can’t think of a vocation
that I’d rather claim instead.