by Rick Young | Sep 16, 2020 | Poem
Look, over in the corner.
It’s Daddy Longlegs.
You know, the one who
killed the Brown Recluse.
Even the Black Widow
is afraid of this bad daddy.
Who’s actually a good daddy,
guarding his eggs valiantly.
He’s only got one set of eyes,
and looks to kind humans
for good shelter,
except in Antarctica.
And he has one impressive
body segment.
He’s probably got thousands
of friends, some old as seven.
He’s an urban legend.
But be careful of his legs.
They won’t grow back.
by Rick Young | Sep 12, 2020 | Poem
Our king has built
a castle of mistakes.
On shifting sands.
And still the waves don’t reach.
Seaweed lashes walls,
snails charge
and seagulls peck the gates.
But the tide will decide.
And the moon adjusts its volume.
by Rick Young | Sep 11, 2020 | Poem
He didn’t want a panic.
He hates to see us manic.
Just die and go in peace.
Some day this thing will cease
and go away like magic.
Oh, sure, it was quite tragic.
As long as stocks do not decline,
everything will be just fine.
New rising employment figures,
boosted by need for grave diggers,
show that we will come back stronger,
even if this goes on longer.
Watch them all fight for vaccines.
Gee, I love my pharma queens.
It wasn’t so much a reach
when I told folks to drink bleach.
Saves the family getting sicker.
Culls the herd a whole lot quicker.
Next disease, I need some stats,
showing it kills Democrats.
Sure, I’ll get a lot of flack,
targeting the brown and black.
Hark back to the great wild west,
where the white man could “be best.”
No one dared threaten their guns.
If they did, they were dead ones.
U.S. can be great once more.
Just eliminate the poor.
Autocrats and working serfs.
Blue states gone, just like the Smurfs.
Ted Cruz named to Supreme Court
will make sure moms can’t abort.
Supreme General William Barr,
just awarded his tenth star,
will maintain an enforced peace.
All protest will henceforth cease.
Without all the thugs and haters,
life will be good for dictators.
People crying to be free?
They are all just dead to me.
by Rick Young | Sep 11, 2020 | Poem
An Irish bouzouki, when played by a Wookie
can be mournful, hearty or hairy.
But in a quartet with the bad Boba Fett
on his lute the results were just scary.
Yoda had to save face up on his washtub bass.
Crazy Lando went Toth-wild on skins.
But when the music ended, the Empire unfriended.
And so, a new Star Wars begins.
by Rick Young | Sep 10, 2020 | Poem
Trump just confessed everything on tape.
Bill Barr now wants us to fund Trump’s rape.
Mike Pence is going to a QAnon rally.
B&B Inferno opened, California Valley.
The land’s afire, like a worn out tire,
and Frisco’s skies are red.
Trump knew the danger, fucking liar,
now they’re HIS COVIDead.
There is not a bandage big enough to cover this.
Hold this in your mind: his off-to-prison goodbye kiss.
