by Rick Young | Apr 22, 2021 | Poem
Evolving through decades of panic
in chariots metal, gas powered and manic.
Revolving through rotaries and underpasses,
screaming profanities out at the masses.
Paying for fuel, often waiting in lines.
Driving too fast and then paying the fines.
It’s time to rethink our means of transportation.
We get nowhere fast in our life’s destination.
We turn the sky grey and then sing of the blues.
The future’s a dead end with nothing to choose.
They talk infrastructure, of bridges and roads,
without mentioning they are outdated modes.
The obvious resort is limiting travel.
But no court in this land will handle that gavel.
We’re stuck in this fossil fuel loop ’til we die.
The future might laugh at us, wondering why.
And what, in the end, may redeem our behavior?
Alien technology. That’s our savior.
by Rick Young | Apr 1, 2021 | Poem
The fool on the hill has been sent down south.
No longer need we hear the swill from his mouth.
He still dreams of power, still rants and commands.
But, as of this hour, it’s out of his hands.
Though lackeys and leeches remain by his side,
his chances in three years are not bona fide.
Some equally vain don may relight his fire,
but we’ve had enough of these crooks and that liar.
Our country should by then be on the rebound,
and reject, outright, a damned fool or hellhound.
We suffered his curse and remain democratic.
May he grow old, broken, still growling, but static.
by Rick Young | Mar 31, 2021 | Poem
Sobriety binge will leave you unhinged.
It’ll teetotal all of your sums.
Your pals will be way out there chomping on stars,
but you’ll just be left with the crumbs.
A brain tires out by the end of the day,
all the synapses going to glue.
But as soon as you drink, it enervates think,
and just wait until you have two.
But now a buzzkill. Results go downhill
quite quickly when drinks number three.
And, by number four, you might need the door,
and the floor may be filled with debris.
Then, when you hit five, you’ll still feel alive,
but your brain cells will be in lockdown.
And, should you reach six, you’ll be in a fix.
Officially, you’re in drunk town.
So, stay on alert. Don’t drink ’til you’re hurt.
It’s a tippling matter you’ll learn.
When things start to blur, it’s time to defer.
Sobriety must have its turn.
by Rick Young | Mar 27, 2021 | Poem
I am not a mountain,
I whispered to an ant
who’d climbed my shadow.
My right arm was a drawbridge
back to nature you won’t see
on Rachel Maddow.
But ants will not be waylaid,
and in moments it was back
and with a friend.
There must be something up there.
Ants believe,
but it is seldom they pretend.
by Rick Young | Mar 27, 2021 | Poem
Mystery drones and space debris.
That stuff doesn’t interest me.
Lil Nas X coming out
is what it is all about.
Kim Jong’s missiles may concern,
until Mighty Ducks return.
New Holmes entry on Netflix
will pump many t.v. dicks.
Tornadoes ripping the south:
don’t get too down in the mouth.
In Australia, plagues of mice
makes what goes down here look nice.
Though we face a returned foe,
Georgia devil raised, Jim Crow.
GOP voter suppression
leaves a clear racist impression.
Democracy might die in shock.
Watch it streamed live on Peacock.
