by Rick Young | Jan 24, 2019 | Uncategorized
Imagine getting old enough to teach a grandson dice games.
Never happen.
There will be holograms programmable on your home court.
Or headset participation: you are guarding Gary Payton,
hooking over Alcindor. Athletes will become prototypes.
Arenas will be built in condo walls.
One day someone will say Jordan wasn’t real. We’ll lose the feel.
I’m so glad to have made the transition from black and white to color
to 3D quadrophonic and back to balsa.
The flight of the crumbled free.
Here we are amidst many armies, listening to steel guitars.
What honor has been bestowed upon us
with the quick disintegration of time,
watching beauty explode in its daily ministry, light to dark, red to blue.
There is no telling what to do. Just look to the woods.
by Rick Young | Jan 23, 2019 | Uncategorized
The Tsar made me do it.
I didn’t quite think through it.
Convinced me that collusion
was nothing but illusion.
I wanted a hotel
and figured what the hell.
I guessed I could get by
by acting as a spy.
So I became their mole,
their stinking commie troll.
I had a lot of debt.
It all seemed a good bet.
So I became their plant.
And I went on a rant.
Said immigrants are bad.
It drove the people mad.
I covered all the bases,
appealed to all white faces.
And when the fix was in,
the reds said I would win.
Now that I’m head of state,
I realize, too late,
I should have had more reason.
My coda could be treason.
by Rick Young | Jan 20, 2019 | Uncategorized
Bats flew like helicopters
from stadiums, sandlots and parks,
all across the sports-infected country.
It was the first protest of its kind.
Inappropriate usage of trees, they ranted.
Last year they’d ruined dear football
with their chants about saving brains.
And hockey has long been a styrofoam sport.
Next year they will focus on MMA
with a call for the incorporation
of body painting within the ring action.
Mixed Partial Arts will never fly.
The moving backboard all but killed hoops.
And the elderly-in-crosswalks
addition will be the end of NASCAR.
All this to pump up the ratings for war.
Generals want that sweet advertising money.
And the pop-up battles have, indeed,
captured the public’s attention.
Gunshots aren’t quite so scary
when it might just be a game breaking out.
by Rick Young | Nov 9, 2018 | Poetry, Posthumous Additions
This guy was Sessions’ Chief of Staff.
His resume could make one laugh.
He lost a couple statewide runs.
But he works out and has big guns.
He’s almost fifty, from Des Moines,
loved by guys who praise their groin.
He played football for the Hawkeyes
but lost in Rose Bowl game.
He coached Rick Perry’s POTUS run,
which crashed and burned, oh shame.
He jumped into the business world
with both his size twelve feet,
investing first in trailers,
then in day care, then concrete.
He got involved in marketing
but fraud charge shut that down.
So he became a talking head,
conservative news clown.
He gained Drumpf’s keen attention
dismissing all his crimes.
He thought he’d get a judgeship
and climb back to good times.
But his gestapo manner
and posture as good cop,
shot him up the justice arm
and landed him on top.
So now Attorney General’s
just another name for goon.
These con man grifters come and go.
Let’s hope this one’s gone soon.
