What’s at the heart of love’s favorite day

The hallmark of this holiday
is not a card with which you say
some mushy sort of sentiment
that seems contrived or canned.

It’s sharing memories of the past
while eating slow or walking fast.
It’s silencing your selfish wants
to hear the other’s heart.

It’s taking time and finding ways
to be a friend and offer praise.
It’s holding hands or folding them
to thank the Lord for love.

Who really cares about the whereabouts of Matt Lauer?

Matt Lauer likes to roam the globe
and test our skill at guessing.
But he is not the missing one
on whom we are obsessing.

Instead of Matt, we’d rather track
the whereabouts of ‘Sama.
Who cares about Today’s old shtick?
We want Al-Qiada’s mama.

Where in the world (oh, where indeed)
is Mr. O. Bin Laden?
Let’s find that coward in his cave
just like we smoked out Saddam.*

*pronounced Sodom

An artistic reflection on the sanctity of life

With palate, paint and brush in hand,
the Artist has at his command,
the simple tools by which He will
create a masterpiece.

But at the start you’d never know
what one day will be best-of-show
is nothing more than colored globs
that seem like a mistake.

“Forget it!” one voice quickly cries.
“Don’t waste your time!” another sighs.
“There’s just no way that what He’s done
will ever be acclaimed.”

The Artist hears, but doesn’t turn.
He knows that soon who scoff might learn
that what they see as random strokes
is priceless art indeed.

But from the start there is no way
to tell what will emerge one day
and so the Artist’s infant work
is often mocked and tossed.

And when it is the Artist grieves
for what in love His mind conceived
will never be the work of art
He knew would bless a home.

And all because uncultured folks
who thought His masterpiece a joke
are free to wreck what is not theirs
and judge the Artist wrong.

Is that the freedom wars have won?
Where works of art are left undone
because it’s thought until they’re framed
they’re free to be destroyed?

May God forbid! May He paint on
without the claims that He is wrong.
For every life’s a masterpiece
the moment He begins.

How Howard Dean self-destructed

He’s caustic, cruel and downright mean.
Of course I’m meaning Howard Dean.
He’s short on height, but long on hate.
Perhaps Saddam’s his running mate.
His campaign trail is caked with mud
and all because he slings brown crud.
His words can set a Bush ablaze.
He speaks and sane folk think he’s crazed.
Although his goal is Washington,
the “mean machine” is nearly done.
Both John and John have moved ahead
and Howard’s bid is all but dead.
So what’s the moral of this tale?
By being mean, you’re bound to fail.

Bounty full

The land of the free
and the home of the brave
is also a nation
of overweight slaves.
We’re mastered by taste buds
that crave what is sweet.
We’ve been sold into slavery
by the junk that we eat.
We supersize French fries
and sugary Cokes
yet the supersize bodies we boast
are no joke.
Compared to most countries
our kids are obese.
But so are their parents
(because we love grease).
It’s fast food for breakfast
and fast food for lunch.
And guess what’s for dinner?
Do you have a hunch?
There’s burgers and pizza
and cheesy nachos.
There’s tacos, fried chicken
and boy does it shows.
Our butts are the biggest.
Our guts are our shame.
We’re leading the world
in a new kind of fame.
We’re fat and unhealthy.
We lack self-control.
And if we don’t stop it,
we’ll pay quite a toll.