by Rick Young | Aug 17, 2022 | Poem
Electronics have no feeling.
Oftentimes they leave you reeling.
One day, just as you had feared,
your password has disappeared.
All your work’s gone into hiding,
with so much upon it riding.
Reestablishing contact
isn’t just a simple act.
Jump through hoops to hit dead end.
Electronics aren’t your friend.
You can’t find some help online.
Your machine can’t hear you whine.
Google tells you, try again.
Welcome to the looney bin.
Fall into a thousand traps,
increase harder keyboard taps,
’til you’re pounding on ‘escape,’
your face purple as a grape.
If electronics could laugh,
you’d break your keyboard in half.
Silently, you hit reboot.
Then you go off on a toot.
Electronics? Just a vapor.
Not your friend like pen and paper.
by Rick Young | Aug 13, 2022 | Poem
His castle in Palm Beach,
called ‘Mar-a-Lago,’ (Sea to Lake),
was home to secret documents
he had no right to take.
Some with top priority,
like info about nukes,
were hidden in a basement
club accessible to kooks.
When asked to give them back,
he didn’t even offer half.
To him, the notion ‘classified’
was nothing but a laugh.
Confronted with an FBI raid
taking back the haul,
he gave the following excuse
(the man has lots of gall):
“Every President steals things
when forced to leave their post.
So what if I stole a few things.
Obama took the most.”
The man has no conception
of the notion of the law.
One hopes this proof of treason
just might be his final flaw.
by Rick Young | Aug 8, 2022 | Poem
A church full of rats in elegant hats
were ready to pray to their lord.
The high priest of vermin always gave his sermon
from inside a hollowed-out gourd.
They sang of great scraps and afternoon naps
and filled every one of the pews.
The high priest did squeak, with food in his cheek,
and said, “Vermin, I have some good news.”
It seems the pizza rat, who’d stirred up human chat,
was going to be the guest at next week’s meeting.
He’d bring a map of spill zones and discarded food locales.
The congregation dreamed of better eating.
“He’ll show you a cafe down one dark alleyway
which has amazing food but not much seating.”
The service ended with tails intertwined.
Aside from cats, food preys on a rat’s mind.
by Rick Young | Jul 21, 2022 | Poem
I’ve suffered through the Ukraine war,
pandemic and inflation.
The world’s in such a fragile state,
we all need a vacation.
So, wrap me up in shower curtains.
Seal me in a box.
I didn’t come all this long way
to die of monkeypox.
by Rick Young | Jul 13, 2022 | Poem
Could only take ten minutes in the sun.
I’m old enough to know when my skin’s done.
And then, there were the ants,
and me, out in short pants.
All I could do was sing the blues,
and shoo them with my flip-flop shoes.
The outdoors is driving me inside.
Indoors, with cats, I easily abide.
It takes one bad burn to wake.
And I know my skin won’t flake.
The steeper the grade,
the more one needs shade.
Those little round age spots
are all solar made.
Go inside and dream a lake.
Read, write, rest and maybe bake.
