by Rick Young | May 7, 2020 | Obit
When the fellows brought their cellos,
it got mellow straight away.
All the hangers-on and horns-in-pawn
of course would have their say.
And the violins screamed violence,
while violas sweetly bloomed,
as the harp came in like silence,
when the kettle drum then boomed,
all the dockside shook like thunder,
echoing came voices, crying.
We have but one stage of wonder.
And then all the rest is dying.
by Rick Young | May 6, 2020 | Story
Betsy DeVos is like expired mental floss.
She founders in the dirt from days gone by.
Her changes to Obama title nine rules have a cost.
It makes rape much more fun if you’re a guy.
This is a “fuck you” moment for the MeToo movement, too.
That rapes go unreported is the fear.
The onus on the male shifts now, it’s on the other shoe.
Brett Cavanaugh is probably boofing beer.
Her roots are in soft money and a righteous christian god.
Her Amway founding husband is her source.
With great love for her country, she intends to bear the rod.
There might be vouchers now for intercourse.
She and her husband own a group of brain performance centers.
She thinks schools should have guns to combat bears.
Her family owns ten yachts. She lists Chris Craft and God as mentors.
Her maiden name, Prince. Hence the crown she wears.
by Rick Young | May 4, 2020 | Poem
I remember Kent State and how it changed my life.
Had a pass from G.I. training, was in Frisco with my wife.
When I saw it on t.v., I said I can’t go back.
Supposed to save our country, baby, not go on attack.
She flew east, I’d follow soon, and in the airport then,
I saw Ravi Shankar and the great Doctor Spock, Ben.
Realized these were signs of changing times and hit the road.
Slept that night at UC Berkeley, took the fork that bode.
It was June before I hit New England’s salty shores.
I was called deserter then, ranked somewhere below whores.
When I turned myself in, I was hollowed out by wrath.
Their view from a different lens was drugged sociopath.
And so I was locked in awhile with madmen and drug addicts.
Mostly I just stood and stared, didn’t cause much static.
In September, I was tossed out, next month had a son.
Yes, I remember Kent State as a soldier with no gun.
by Rick Young | May 3, 2020 | Story
(“everyone to get from the streets”)
The murder hornets are coming !
It’s just what the doctor ordered.
The honey bees are bumming.
Decapitation’s sordid.
They’re on their way from overseas.
They might give you a buzz.
They might not give you a disease.
But they will sting you, cuz.
Two-inch long and orange headed,
cloaked in shiny black.
You can see where this is headed,
if I don’t turn back.
Easy now, it’s killer hornets
who’re the present threat.
Don’t be greeting them with cornets.
They’re the big bad bet.
This time we must be prepared,
and ready for the swarm.
These things, too, will not be scared
off when the weather’s warm.
by Rick Young | May 1, 2020 | Poem
It’s hard to come to terms with germs.
They’re just so god-damned small.
It’s quite unfair to know they’re there,
yet not see them at all.
If they would just emit a glow
or make some tiny sound,
then we could wrangle them and throw
their dread souls on the ground.
We spray in their direction
and sometimes meet success,
but they have hiding spots galore.
It really is a mess.
We fight this daily battle,
a cold front pitched in hell.
And now we find, O most unkind,
they’ve moved inside as well.
