Music

Remembering Private Presley

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

What Elvis was doing fifty years ago this week;
DB or Not DB?;
A Sobering Milestone in Iraq

Remembering Private Presley
What Elvis was doing fifty years ago this week.

Half a hundred years ago
the blue suede kid from Tupelo
became a Private, lost his hair
and gained a new ID.

His dog tags barked it silently.
His numbers started 5-3-3
and then came 1-0-7-6
before a final 1.

His service to his Uncle Sam
began in Heartbreak Hotel Land.
A few months after being shaved,
his mother Gladys died.

To Germany the King was sent.
Twas not your common deployment.
In spite of wearing Army duds,
His Majesty was known.

And when at last the King came home
we learned he wasn’t all alone.
His Queen was only princess age,
too young to even drive.

And now she’s dancing with the stars.
Priscilla hasn’t come that far.
She’s still defined by her ex-mate.
Ain’t that a tragic waltz?
 

DB or Not DB?
That is still the question 37 years later.

Is the fabric that was found
in a field beneath the ground
D B Cooper’s missing parachute?
“D B Cooper who?” you ask.

Oh, my gosh, do you not know?
Was it all that long ago
when a crazy man jumped from a Northwest jet
that he hijacked?

With a briefcase of marked bills,
Cooper ‘chuted. Was he killed?
That remains an unsolved myst?ry
after nearly forty years.

If he lived, where is he now?
If he spent the money, how?
Chances are he never did survive
and next we’ll find his bones.

And the lesson of this crime?
In the end we all will find
that a suitcase filled with money
matters little when we die.
 

A Sobering Milestone in Iraq
Counting the cost of the lost (and freedom).Five years there.
Four thousand dead.
And I knew one of those.
(His name was Jack.)

But as the number grows
I can’t help wondering
if the critics of this ongoing conflict
know jack.

Is not war (by definition)
an enemy we must abhor
and embrace
simultaneously?

Is it not (at times)
a necessary evil
that we are called to employ
in the business of doing good?

Sadly, when it comes to
making a case for
liberty and justice for all,
the insurgents in Iraq
aren’t the only foes we face.

Easter Jazz

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

A timeless tune with a new twist;
Easter in Disguise

Easter Jazz
A timeless tune with a new twist

A blue note heard on Friday
had been coaxed from sorrow’s horn.
Clarinets, trumpets and saxes
moaned in time ’til Sunday morn.

And then (oh my) such music!
With the sunrise (saints alive!)
there were flutes, French horns and cellos
making melodies that jibed.

Add some trombones. Cue the tubas,
violins, guitars and drums.
There was all that jazz (and then some)
praising God for Kingdom come.

Women mourning started dancing
to the herd of thundering notes
as the Prince of Joy (now risen)
donned His resurrection coat.

O my Lord, it was some morning.
Bourbon Street could ne’er compare
to the music born that Easter
and the song that filled the air.
 

Easter in Disguise
The Son’s victory is revealed in Mother Nature

Disaster loomed. The end seemed sure.
The Lord of life was dead.
Good Friday was a bad nightmare.
The robins chirped their dread.

But like the boy who plugged the dike
to keep a flood at bay,
the Son of God stood up to death
on resurrection day.

An empty grave means we don’t mourn
as those who have no hope.
What Jesus did so long ago
gives us the means to cope.

The nature of this mystery
breaks forth from neath the ground.
Creation’s rhythm witnesses
to truth Christ’s followers found.

The tulips soon will lift their heads
to trumpet Easter’s song.
The bulbs we buried in the earth
still live though they seem gone.

In Mother Nature, winter’s grief
gives way to joyful spring.
It’s Easter’s message in disguise.
No wonder millions sing…

“Christ the Lord is risen today!
Alleluia!”

Jose, Can’t You See?

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

New lyrics to our national anthem (in English)

Jose, can’t you see
what you’re asking is wrong
since you live in our land
and enjoy all that’s free?

Why should we change the words
to our national song?
After all what we sing’s
deeply rooted in history.

It is wrong to insist
(while you’re raising your fist)
that this anthem of ours
isn’t high on your list.

Jose, leave our Star Spangled Banner alone.
Sing its words as they are
or pack up and go home.

The above poem can be sung to the tune of The Star Spangled Banner.

Post-Christmas Reflections on a World Deprived of Joy

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Two special edition poems in memory of the tsunami victims and Reggie White

The Conundrum of Christmas Carols
How can we sing when the world is weeping?

From silent night to deafening roar
as waves of terror washed ashore.
The product of a monstrous quake
left countless lifeless in its wake.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
but soon those soft sounds went away.
Instead I heard loud screams of fear
that all around the globe could hear.

O little town of Bethlehem,
please weep for those who’ve lost their lambs
for once you knew such wordless grief
when death prowled like a heartless thief.

Joy to the World seems out of place.
Our planet’s stunned and tries to brace
for untold sorrow still to come
as graves are filled in one by one.

Georg Friderik Handel’s Comfort Ye
makes better sense to you and me.
It is a lyric forged in pain
in which Emmanuel speaks our name.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel
be near to those who feel like Hell
has found its way to where they live.
Give hope as only You can give.

Remembering Reggie
A tribute to one of the NFL’s greatest players.

They called him the Minister of Defense.
And it made sense.
Whether an Eagle, Packer or Panther,
he led his congregation of defenders
with an inspired word, articulate grace
and an upfront commitment
others attempted to follow.
His name was White
His skin was black.
But race was not his game.
Football was his calling.
It’s what his life was about.
But there’s no doubt
the gridiron was more than just sport for Reggie.
It was his ministry.
It was where his God-given talent was invested
and where life’s ultimate issues were tackled.
On the field he brought his faith to bear
scrimmaging against ego, anger and greed
as well as mediocrity, pain and materialism.
As iron sharpens iron, so his life touched others
both on and off the turf.
It’s why he suited up each Sunday
Still he refused to wear his religion on his sleeve.
It’s why he let down during the week
insisting to show his approachability to kids
who sought his autograph or the click of a Kodak.
Whether winning or losing,
choosing to serve others by serving Christ
was Reggie’s overriding concern.
It’s what has earned him an irreplaceable place
among his teammates, in the entire NFL
and in the hearts of fans the world over.
Peace be to his memory!

Morning’s Still Broken

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Why U.S. authorities must dog the likes of Cat Stevens

Boomers remember
Cat Stevens’ records
back when our world was crazy yet sane.
Vietnam soldiers
recall cold shoulders
when they returned home bloodied and maimed.

Morning’s still broken,
moon shadows faded.
Oh, very young, our world’s still at war.
There is no peace train.
Terror on airplanes
means Yusuf Islam is welcomed no more.

Crescent moon shadows
all Muslim converts,
still not all converts play terror’s game.
But those on watch lists
really are high risks
and must be de-clawed if not deplaned.

Old Carl Sandburg
pictured the night fog
like cat feet stalking those it deems prey.
So without warning
terror comes storming
quietly cloaking those in its way.

We must be leery
of those who follow
extremist leaders bent on our doom.
Sometimes we error
battling terror
but that’s the cost of forestalling gloom.

* the above lyrics can be sung to the tune for “Morning Has Broken”