Why I’m crazy about March Madness;
The Worm of the Big Apple and The Death of a Newspaper

Full-Court TV
Why I’m crazy about March Madness

While on Wall Street they march madly
in their own Doomsday parade,
there’s another kind of crazy
for which I would rather trade.

It’s a lunacy I bank on
in this grim economy.
It’s a March that’s been coined madness.
Also called full-Court TV.

It’s collegiate Deal or No-Deal
played with balls like Howie’s head.
It’s a mental health diversion,
an emotional retread.

Somehow workspace walls with brackets
serve as windows for the soul.
Office pools are so refreshing
Winter blahs can take a toll.

It’s TV that’s worth the effort
(unlike 24 or Lost).
When I watch I know what’s happ’ning
from the op’ning midcourt toss.

So let’s hear it for March Madness.
Go ahead. Call me insane.
Sneakers squeaking on the hardwoods?
Love that sound. I love this game.

The Worm of the Big Apple
Lessons from Bernie Madoff’s lust for more

He made off with a ton of bucks
and now his future really sucks.
Old Bernie’s hoping prison fare
is better than he’s heard.

From Penthouse rich to big house poor,
this scoundrel’s rotten to the core.
The great big apple found its worm
and Bernie was his name.

And now that greedy slimy worm
won’t do much more than crawl and squirm.
Who duped the trusting now will pay,
but not the ones he owes.

So, what’s to learn from one like him?
Primarily that greed is sin.
A lust for more results in less
than that for which we long.

The Death of a Newspaper *
Is the P-I’s Demise a Sign of the Times?

Yes it’s true. The P-I’s folded.
It’s a sign too of the Times.
As that giant globe stops spinning,
we’d best read between the lines.

Journalism as we’ve known it
(home delivery and newsstands)
can’t survive the online revol.
Ink on newsprint has few fans.

Hearst is hurting. So’s the Tribune.
What was king is now a page.
Soon that page will be a jester.
That’s the bad news of our age.

P-I paper? Morning coffee?
Sad to say the first has died.
Once a marriage made in heaven.
Now it’s over. Have you cried?

• Having grown up in the Seattle area, I was exposed to both the morning Seattle Post-Intelligencer and the afternoon Seattle Times. The shut down of the P – I is like the death of a family member. From the time I was in elementary school, I remember paperboys on street corners and at sporting events shouting out “P – I paper!” But, alas, after more than 140 years of publishing a morning newspaper, the Post-Intelligencer is no more.

Why’s answers to a senseless tragedy in Maryville;
Babies in the Wings (Clipped)

Winter’s Gone, But Spring is Coming
Why’s answers to a senseless tragedy in Maryville

Mary’s Son
weeps with the grief-struck
who in Maryville
ask why
should a much-loved pastor perish.
Why did
Pastor Winters die?

Why a gunman?
Why on Sunday?
Why would God allow
this crime?
For what purpose
was Fred taken?
What’s the reason
for this rhyme?

Even as we wait
for answers,
(even as we
question God),
we are forced to
look down deeper
than six feet
beneath the sod.

Winter’s gone
but Spring is coming.
Easter’s tulips
trumpet hope.
While the bagpipes
drone in sorrow,
God’s Word gives us
cause to cope.

Death’s defeated.
Christ is risen!
The grave has lost
its painful sting.
Bulbs once buried,
soon will flower.
In our sorrow
we can sing….

“Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.”

Babies in the Wings (Clipped)
Grieving a pro-life setback

What stemmed the tide has been reversed.
Those embryos-on-ice are cursed.
Our president has sealed the doom
of babies in the wings.

This is a moral slippery slope.
A slipknot in the cosmic rope.
Just like a snowball’s plight in Hell,
those frozen zygotes die.

Because their wings will soon be clipped,
they’ll never fly. God’s sacred gift
has been reduced to Lincoln logs
with which researchers play.

The sanctity of DNA
may seem to some a sort of gray.
But when it comes to human life,
the truth IS black and white.

I grieve for babies in the wings
who’ll never have the chance to sing…
“Little ones to Him belong.
The Bible tells me so.”

The midlife crisis surrounding America’s most famous doll;
God Remains

Barbie at 50
The midlife crisis surrounding America’s most famous doll

Twas fifty years ago this week
a full-grown doll was born quite sleek.
She was the shape of things to come.
Yes, Barbie rocked our world.

With features most men idolize,
this doll helped young girls fantasize
about the day they’d come of age
and wear what Barbie wore.

This plastic toy devoid of fat
(whose chest was never ever flat)
became the standard for young girls
of what was beautiful.

They hoped and prayed they’d measure up
to what filled Barbie’s size D cup.
And though they giggled while they played,
their self-worth was destroyed.

And as they reached their teenage years,
they faced the mirror with countless tears.
Compared to Barbie, they weren’t much.
At least that’s how it seemed.

And all because a little doll
(that’s just about twelve inches tall)
has challenged what God says is true…
“We all are beautiful!”

It’s time that we expose the lie.
She isn’t real. She’ll never die.
At fifty, Barbie should at least
have wrinkles and some gray.

* This week’s poem is dedicated to Dr. James Dobson, founder of Focus on the Family, who resigned as leader of the ministry last month. For years Dr. Dobson cautioned young parents about the self-image issues young girls face when they play with Barbie dolls.
 

God Remains
An anthem for a fearful nation

God remains our source of courage
when we’re traumatized by fear.
When we’re haunted by the headlines
and the stock reports we hear.
Yet God whispers in the silence,
“Don’t despair, I’m in control.
Hurting hearts and broken cities
will at last one day be whole.”

God remains our source of comfort
in this bleak economy.
When predictions voiced from Wall Street
pry away our inner peace.
Still God whispers in the silence,
“When banks fail and markets fall,
I won’t leave you or forsake you.
I’ll sustain you through it all.”

God invites us to be trusting
when we find that faith is hard.
When we’re  fearful for the future
and our nerves are frayed or jarred.
Hear God whisper in the silence,
“Even when your faith is weak,
I will keep your feet from stumbling
though your way is dark and bleak.”

Celebrating the legacy of the Iditarod sled dog race

And they’re off. The dogs of winter
leave Wasilla bound for Nome.
It’s “The Last Great Race” for sled dogs
on a trail as hard as stone.

You can see their hot breath’s vapor
in the frigid arctic air.
Each team’s musher guides and feeds them
demonstrating love quite rare.

It’s amazing. It’s quite moving.
It’s the famed Iditarod.
And the history that precedes it
shows how dogs were used by God.

When a plague was killing children
back in 1925
all the folks in “Gold Rush City”
prayed their younggins would survive.

There was serum that could cure ’em.
But just how to get it there?
Living near the Arctic Circle
meant they only had a prayer.

Forget boats. The sea was frozen.
And the planes could not be flown.
Model Ts were not an option
for all roads don’t lead to Nome.

So the sled dogs carried serum
in a relay race of speed.
Man’s best friends were hailed as heroes.
What a most amazing breed!

God used canines to bring healing.
Yes, they were a means of grace.
And to keep us from forgetting,
every March the dogs still race.