by Rick Young | Mar 5, 2020 | Poem
Word just came that Liz quit the presidential biz
to join with mister money on the sideline.
Goodbye to wealth tax thrown into the deep unknown.
Goodbye to child care and student debt guideline.
Her numbers became dire though she threw Mike in the fire,
but the dream of White House woman is on hold.
Perhaps in four more years when the smoke from this one clears
her propositions won’t be shunned but recognized as bold.
by Rick Young | Mar 4, 2020 | Poem, Uncategorized
Biden’s head is full of plugs.
Some say he needs memory drugs.
But he’s getting the black vote,
hanging on Obama’s coat.
Wait ’til Donald roasts his son,
puts him on a Hunter bun.
“Oh, Burisma!” he’ll erupt.
“So bad. So sad. So corrupt.”
Joe might call him a damned fool.
But to Trump, that’s just old school.
He’ll use all means underhanded
to make sure “Sleepy” is branded.
He’ll go after family ties,
hoping that Joe breaks and cries.
In a fight behind the gym,
Trump would cheat and probably win.
Razor wire on his belt buckles,
pepper spray and gold brass knuckles.
If they got to pulling hair,
they’d reveal that nothing’s there.
In a test of chicken eating,
Joe would take an awful beating.
Don will claim the country knows
Joe’s dressed up in Barack’s clothes.
Debate interest surely grows
if they might, indeed, trade blows.
Joe knows one place that he’s best:
in the big wind tunnel test.
by Rick Young | Mar 2, 2020 | Poem
Amy joined the race in a snowstorm.
Now she’s dropping out in a shit storm.
She joins a list of famous Minnesotans,
all of whose candidacy was verboten.
Harold Stassen, Gene McCarthy, Hubert Humphrey, all
lost but none were quite so bad as Walter Mondale’s fall.
Now she’ll throw support to Joe,
then go back into the snow,
root for Vikings, Timberwolves and Twins.
Back to Senate she will trod,
hoping against hope, by god,
that the person we have chosen wins.
by Rick Young | Mar 1, 2020 | Poem
Here comes the month-long countdown to the final four.
Good bet that Kim will be there, Don and Vlad for sure.
But who will win that final spot’s a matter of opinion,
in the final bracket that determines world dominion.
Saudi’s bin Salman gets tough when all is on the line.
He’s even chopped up journalists, dissolved in alkaline.
Turkey’s Erdogan is probably best known for his purges.
He’s an anti-semite with great autocratic urges.
Asad of Syria gets many Putin torture tips.
He’s on the edge and uses chemicals instead of whips.
Venezuela’s Maduro is an extreme long shot,
thug behavior and corruption’s about all he’s got.
All will be revealed in the final game in June.
Winner gets to go to Mars, loser gets the moon.
by Rick Young | Feb 29, 2020 | Poem
This whole year can take a flying leap.
It’s not even March and we’re neck-deep.
Neck deep in scandal, sham and scam,
a presidential flimflam man,
his appointees all unproven,
but, unto a man, behooven,
following his unhinged screed,
seeking power, moved by greed.
Perhaps we should use this extra day
meditating, praying him away.
In our country’s ashes burns an ember.
This cruel year could end in mid November.
We could celebrate a cabinet clearance,
if we can stop outside interference.
Then, again, if he is once more chosen,
all our great land’s assets will be frozen.
Things might get too horrible to mention.
Four more years is beyond comprehension.
