Poetry

Another Great is Gone

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Remembering the mosaic-like life of Charton Heston

The one who brought Ben Hur to life
(and Michelangelo),
the Moses of the NRA
has reached his Mount Nebo

Convincingly this actor dashed
God’s chiseled ten commands.
We watched as tablets made of stone
fell from his “cold dead hands.”

He had one wife for six decades.
His life was quite a tale.
He marched with Martin, brunched with Bush,
then watched his memory fail.

Like Ronald Reagan, Heston was
an actor/activist.
A complex life with warts and quirks
whose talents will be missed.

Peace to his memory!

Memphis Memories

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Another date that will live in infamy;
Jeremiah’s Lamentations;
God Has a Dream, Too!

Memphis Memories
Another date that will live in infamy.

There’s a motel down in Memphis
that was Martin’s Waterloo
where Lorraine could not protect him
from men’s hate.
Even after forty years (it seems)
the 4th of April stands
as a self-demeaning anniversary date.

Mr. Ray was dubbed a racist
and he proved it with his aim,
but it’s clear that Jimmy Earl was not alone.
Whites AND blacks alike store hatred
in the basements of their hearts
judging others quite unfairly
when at home.


Jeremiah’s Lamentations
What Obama now laments about his pastor.

Jeremiah Wright is neither
prophet nor right on.
His prayer that God would damn our nation
went on much too long,

The Reverend Dr. Wright is left
about as left can be.
His sermons are political.
It’s very plain to see

he hollers about Hillary.
He rails against the rich.
His altar calls are calls to alter
what the right has pitched.

And this Chicago clergyman
has shaped his friend Barack.
No wonder he keeps saying that
our boys should leave Iraq.

This Jeremiah’s played a role
in what Obama says.
And knowing that, do you still want
Barack to be our Prez?


God Has a Dream, Too!
Martin Luther King wasn’t the only dreamer.

Selma, Memphis, Birmingham,
Atlanta and D.C.
These cities are synonymous
with dreams God has for me.

To take a stand for those who can’t.
To be an advocate
for those oppressed by prejudice
and victims of neglect.

God hopes that I will serve the poor,
the widows and bereaved.
That I will be the arms of Christ
to anyone in need.

The message preached by Martin King
(like Matthew, Luke and John)
is what God dreams will mark my life
til what He hates is gone.

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!”

Death of Another Kind

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

The sad saga of Eliot Spitzer;
A Good Friday Lesson at St. Arbucks

Death of Another Kind
The sad saga of Eliot Spitzer

He stood for truth and decency.
New Yorkers sang his praise.
But Spitzer led a double life
that’s left us all amazed.

He cheated on his faithful wife
on Valentine’s Day Eve
(and with a prostitute no less).
It makes me want to heave.

Yes, Eliot’s an idiot.
He needlessly got screwed.
He got the outcome he deserved
for lawless acts quite lewd.

He joins a cast of other jerks
who gave in to their lust
and in the process lost their jobs,
and all their loved ones’ trust.

Perhaps we don’t appreciate
the power lust can wield.
When we don’t realize its pull,
our doom can well be sealed.
 

A Good Friday Lesson at St. Arbucks
How a Tacoma barista showed Christ’s love

Baristas are a giving breed.
They look for ways to meet a need.
Most slake our thirst for coffee drinks.
But Sandie did much more.

She gave the gift of life to one
whose transplant hopes were slim to none.
And when reporters asked her why,
she smiled and said, “Why not?”

St. Arbucks proudly claims Sandie
who gave her kidney selflessly
to save this “short drip double-cup”
because she was her type.

Baristas come. Baristas go.
And yet it’s clear, I hope you know,
that there’s a Christ-like show of love
in what this woman did.

She took a risk and shed her blood
(more precious than a cup of mud).
She bore her cross in surgery
and put another first.

* On March 11, 2008 barista Sandie Andersen was wheeled into surgery to give one of her kidneys to Annamarie Ausnes, one of her regular customers at a Tacoma Washington Starbucks, who needed a new kidney to survive.