A poetic profile of Mark Zuckerberg;
Yes, Virginia, There’s a God

Time’s Man, Facebook’s Face
A poetic profile of Mark Zuckerberg

The face of Facebook is on Time
and thus the subject of this rhyme.
The status of Mark Zuckerberg
is clear for all to see.

But not his skin. He’s twenty-six.
His baby-face contends with zits.
Time’s man for this year is a kid,
but smart. I kid you not.

His profile page speaks for itself
with education, fame and wealth.
This prodigy may seem a nerd,
but he has countless friends.

Mark’s made his mark (and billions too)
and made it fun for me and you
to reconnect with long-lost chums
we haven’t seen in years.

And yet I wonder, Mr. Z,
in spite of your celebrity
(behind those eyes that rarely blink)
are you alive to life?

Yes, Virginia, There’s a God
Affirming the Almighty’s Existence at Christmas

Yes, Virginia, there’s a God.
Ask Utah. She believes.
But Washington and Oregon?
They aren’t so sure it seems.

In the Bible Belt belief’s a cinch.
In New England self is king.
Where pilgrims landed faith is rare.
Reason’s the main thing.

But reason bows to mystery.
It must. We aren’t that smart.
Dear Lord, Your ways defy our grasp.
We sing “How Great Thou Art.”

We also sing “Joy to the World”
because You sent Your Son.
That silent night so long ago
Your greatest work was done.

A posthumous Christmas wish for Elizabeth Edwards;
Waiting for Easter at Christmastime

Joy to Her World!
A posthumous Christmas wish for Elizabeth Edwards

Joy to your world, Elizabeth.
Though peace on earth seemed but a myth,
I pray your final silent nights
brought some comfort and joy.

With chestnuts roasting on the fire,
I hope your one lasting desire
expressed itself in wordless looks
at loved ones gathered near.

As carols played within your home,
did you see the Christ upon His throne?
And in the bleak midwinter
did you find Immanuel?

God rest you merry, ‘lizabeth.
I pray that with your final breath
you could release regrets and hurts
that suffocated joy.

May bells we hear on Christmas Day
remind us that God made a way
to angels we have heard on high
when we face death down here.

Waiting for Easter at Christmastime
The plight of A.L.S. victims

It’s criminal. It’s thievery.
He’s bound and gagged unmercifully.
A friend of mine has been kidnapped
by his most heinous foe.

His dignity has been hijacked
as he lies helpless on his back
dependent on his family
for all his earthly needs.

It’s death by inches and so cruel.
The victim has no strength to duel.
He’s vandalized with no recourse.
He helplessly succumbs.

Yes, ALS is robbing life
from one whose nurse is his dear wife
and while he waits for Christmas Eve,
Marc dreams of Easter Day.
 
* Dedicated to The Reverend Marc Pearson of Poulsbo, WA (my friend and colleague in ministry) and to his loving wife Carol.

Questioning Starbucks decision to serve beer and wine;
The Toughest Loss of All

Baristas are Bartenders Too
Questioning Starbucks decision to serve beer and wine

A grande white. A venti red.
Not Pike Place Roast, but wine instead.
The Starbucks that helps wake me up
can help me chill at night.

You may think I am full of beans.
But even though it seems extreme
crushed grapes and grain have found their way
into the mermaid’s cup.

Baristas are bartenders, too.
To caffeine add fermented brew.
St. Arbucks loves his beer and wine
as well as passion tea.

I’m still not quite sure what to think.
Should Starbucks mix its daily drinks?
In Cana water turned to wine.
I’m not sure coffee should.

The Toughest Loss of All
Remembering the Old Cub

The Cubbies lost a lot this year,
but this loss hurts the most.
Without Ron Santo in our lives
we’ve lost our claim to boast

that even when the Cubs don’t win
they never really lose
because of what that fellow says
who sits next to Pat Hughes.

That grownup who remained a kid
made every game worthwhile.
Ron’s candid groans and uncorked cheers
refreshed just like Old Style.

His raspy voice betrayed his love
for Wrigley’s field of dreams.
Ron’s Northside pride grew year by year
and nearly burst its seams.

He lost his legs, but found the will
to stand up brave and strong.
And every seventh inning stretch,
he still could sing the song.

Ron modeled persevering grace
in life and in the game.
He found the means to look beyond
a locked-up Hall of Fame.

We’ll miss the saint who played third base
who now has slid-in home.
“Cubs win!” thanks to Ron’s legacy.
His number stands alone.

Because one day in November just isn’t enough;
The Promised Feast

How About “Thanksgiving Year?”
Because one day in November just isn’t enough

Thanksgiving Day is not enough.
We need a lot days more
to count our blessings in life’s game
and tabulate the score.

Perhaps we need Thanksgiving Year
to properly declare
our gratitude to God above
with folded hands and prayer.

Thanksgiving Year. That’s quite a thought.
A constant attitude.
A daily focus on God’s gifts
that call for gratitude.

But lest you think Thanksgiving Year
means turkey every day,
don’t get your giblets in a knot.
There is a better way.

Roast beef and chicken work just fine.
And sushi, pork and fish.
You can express your thanks to God
while eating what you wish.

And for dessert the same applies.
You don’t need pumpkin pie
to train your palette to say thanks
instead of griping “why?”?

A year-round feast of gratitude
is what our nation needs
to nourish our anemic faith
and starve us of our greed.

Thanksgiving Year would call to mind
how little we deserve.
How blessed we are in spite of faults
and ways we all can serve.

The Promised Feast
A contemporary look at an ancient prophecy

“I know the plans I have for you,”
declares the Lord of Hosts.
“I aim to make your life a feast
not cold chipped beef on toast.

“My plans are good (if given time).
Be patient, don’t despair!
The future that I have in mind
is way beyond compare.

“If you’ll take time to search for Me,
I promise you will find
my fingerprints and evidence
that prove My heart is kind.

“And while it’s true that sorrow
can camp outside your front door,
You need to know it will move on
for what I have in store.

“Do not believe the things some say
that rob your heart of hope.
The summit is well worth the climb
though steep may be its slope.

“What doubters dare to claim as true
will be exposed as lies.
Just cling to what I’ve promised you
much like a treasured prize.”

* poetic reflections based on Jeremiah 29:4-14

The royal pair are wedding bound;
High Touch Security

She Said, “Yes!”
So did I.

Engagement news is in the air
for those some call a royal pair.
The speculation’s ended.
It’s official. She said, “Yes!”

But not before the young man asked
permission for her hand to grasp.
And as he blinked back tears of joy,
her father gave ascent.

Her left hand boasts a diamond ring
that makes this princess’ heart to sing.
With it her prince has promised love
that will be ever true.

As if he’d claimed his kingdom’s crown,
he beams with pride to know he’s found
the soulmate for which he has dreamed
since he was just a boy.

These two will soon stand side-by-side
in tux and gown as groom and bride
where they will vow their faithfulness
within the sight of God.

But as for now there’re plans to make,
to sample invites, wines and cake.
To dance with joy while taking time
to picture what’s to come.

* No, the above poem does not primarily refer to Prince William and Kate Middleton who announced their engagement this week. It’s really about my middle daughter who got engaged tonight (the day after this poem originally posted). I knew this announcement was forthcoming. I am the father (in the poem) blinking back tears. That happened two weeks ago when my future son-in-law asked for my daughter’s hand in marriage.

I said YES!

High Touch Security
Can’t touch that!

The TSA where I fly from
has grasped the new rules (and then some).
They’re pretty frisky when they touch.
It’s like my body’s braille.

It’s called “hands-on” security.
And that is how it feels to me.
I don’t like being touched that way.
They’ve got their moves down pat.

And there is more, you understand.
The government’s new body scan
is most revealing. Private parts
aren’t private anymore.

I hate this new “pat down” routine
Is it the only way to screen
for terrorists and fugitives?
Please tell me this will end.