Poetry

What’s in a Name?

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

How do you pronounce Amer-I-Can?

I love the name “American!”
I’m very proud of who I am.
But most folks mispronounce my name.
It is Amer-I-Can.

I can decide what I will be.
I can vote as I choose.
I can protest against a war
I’m quite convinced we’ll lose.

I can express my faith in God
without concern for jail.
I can succeed with boot-strap strength
or get up when I fail.

I can resist when terror strikes.
I can. I will. I must.
And all because I am a child
of God in whom I trust.

Amer-I-Can. That is my name.
My mother’s “Liberty.”
I can express my love for her.
I can because I’m free!

A Prayer for Uncle Sam

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

A Fourth of July supplication

Uncle Sam is one year older.
For his age he’s doing great.
He is free to follow where his dreams will lead.
He still stands up to the bullies
who intimidate his friends
and he’s generous to those who are in need.

Sam’s more tolerant than ever.
He’s accepting and won’t judge.
He has learned to recognize we’re all unique.
Uncle Sam is good to fam’ly.
And he’s known for being kind
to the immigrant and stranger who is weak.

Dear Old Sam is big on parties.
And he loves small town parades.
When the flag goes by,
you’ll probably see him cry.
While most birthday cakes have candles,
he’s too old for that much flame.
Still, he’s grateful for the fireworks in the sky.

God, I’m praying for my Uncle.
Bless his home and all his kids.
Give him means to be a leader in the world.
Grant him health and Your protection
from the evil plots of terror.
Help us celebrate when his flag is unfurled.

A Fathers Day Toast

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Celebrating the difference dads make in their kids’ lives

I raise my glass and make a toast
to all you dads whose children boast
about your wisdom and your wit
that shaped their lives for good.

Although not-perfect, you dads made
a difference in your kids who played
on vacant lots and backyard swings
or sitting on the floor.

You listened to their hurting hearts
when what they clung to broke apart.
You rubbed their backs as if to say,
“I hope you know I care!”

You doubted you had been enough
when they rebelled when life was tough.
But God gave you the means to give
your kids into His hands.

You gave them space to spread their wings.
And when they felt how failure stings,
you reassured them you were there
to help them fly again.

You asked forgiveness when you failed
and proved that love is what prevailed
when all was said and all was done
and all was not enough.

You helped your children picture God
as one whose shoulders are quite broad
who loves just like a father does.
Forgiving. Trusting. True.

A Prayer for Orlando

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Asking God’s help in light of a national tragedy

Lord, have mercy!
Christ, have mercy!
God, we need Your help.

As last Sunday dawned,
Orlando awakened to a nightmare
in a nightclub.

Half a hundred lives are lost.
Scores more wounded and bleeding
need Your presence, Father.

The sun shone but darkness reigns.
Morning had broken on a shattered city
fragmented by fear and anger.
Shards of pain are evidence
of the grim reality
that terror never sleeps.

In the shadow of Disney World
(the happiest place on earth),
there is a world of hurt.
Sadness has eclipsed the light of day.
The Magic Kingdom of make-believe
is no replacement for a Kingdom of peace
that only You can bring.

Even so, come Lord Jesus!
Comfort the grieving.
Envelop the fearful.
Heal the broken.
Lift the fallen.
Dry the tears of a city that weeps.

May Your Church truly be Your Body embodying…
A heart that breaks for the victims.
Eyes that see hope in the midst of despair.
Arms that carry the wounded.
Hands that hold the hurting.
Legs that stand up for justice.
Feet that run after peace.

Lord, have mercy!
Christ, have mercy!
God, we need Your help!

The Greatest is Gone

/ Greg Asimakoupoulos

Remembering Muhammad Ali

His ego was like Everest.
He claimed he was the very best.
His mouth (the size of Mammoth Cave)
was loud and proud and brash.

His fists could sting just like a bee.
His feet could dance like poetry.
And as he floated in the ring,
he was a butterfly.

Yet he was born with feet of Clay.
He was dyslexic (so they say).
But he could read injustice
down the street and round the world.

He took his fight where e’er he went.
He straightened out what hatred bent.
With trembling hand “The Champ” reached out
to help the hurting cope.

And though “The Greatest” grew quite weak
and barely had the means to speak,
Muhammad Ali fought for peace
right to the very end.

Peace to his memory!