by Rick Young | Oct 8, 2020 | Poem, Uncategorized
There wasn’t much suspense
in Harris versus Pence.
She had the upper hand.
He’s going to be shit canned.
And yet, he rambled on,
as if she’d up and gone.
She did a great slow burn
while waiting for her turn.
He flaunted debate rules,
treated the ‘girls’ like fools,
defended his great fascist boss,
played down the virus and the loss.
He piled them up, lie after lie.
But then, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.
by Rick Young | Jun 4, 2020 | Uncategorized
So, he went to the bunker, but just to inspect.
If he’d gone there to cower, his base would object.
He sees his command as to serve and protect
all the good white civilians, as you would expect.
He just wanted to see the provisions set in.
Eric needs toys, Melania gin.
He hopes that Ivanka brings stunning sleepwear.
And then there’s the huge case of stuff for his hair.
Junior’s decided he must bring his gun.
He thinks hunting looters could be some great fun.
As for him, he just stocked in a few magazines,
the ones with the centerfolds of torture scenes.
He was not in the bunker to hide, no siree.
He probably won’t go there until World War III.
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 | May 11, 2019 | Uncategorized
Hibernation ends with spring,
rousing every living thing.
Tracks in snow quite near deck stairs
could be dog’s or could be bear’s.
It’s been shown that our bird treats
suffice for a bear’s first eats.
Take in feeders, calm the pooch,
nothing left Yogi can mooch.
Snow will melt, the rills will eddy.
Somewhere there’s a hungry teddy.
Sun will make the forest green.
Wildlife will enhance the scene.
Spring will lift us all again,
releasing the bear within.
by Rick Young | May 7, 2019 | Uncategorized
When April’s rains make ground a bog,
some wet enough to float a log,
the peeking flowers give us hope,
we search the sky for sun, but, nope,
the clouds still need a bit more time;
from winter up to spring’s a climb.
The branches waving in the breeze
are summoning the leaves to trees.
Each day we wait for color’s bloom
to wash away grey season’s gloom.
We know one morning after dark
we’ll see the buds amongst the bark.
Soon trees will wear their fine green skirts,
and even some Hawaiian shirts.
by Rick Young | Feb 14, 2019 | Uncategorized
I’m not a man of grace. In fact, I can be mean.
I don’t respect the president, the papacy or queen.
There is only one thing that I love, and this is true.
There’s one face on my totem, dear, and that belongs to you.
I drink too much and sleep all day, then party through the night.
I don’t help to support the left although I hate the right.
I don’t take part in races ’cause I always throw a shoe.
My heart’s a silver locket and the face inside is you.
The road not taken’s long behind and up ahead’s a wall.
My life is in its winter phase. I’m ready for the fall.
I’ll climb that ladder in the sky up to the castle blue.
The one face on the parapet I’m looking for is you.
I’m a cold brother trucker never got off that dirt road.
I’ve thrown aside some friends, it’s true, to lighten up my load.
But when I break out of the cage, escape the human zoo,
my sidekick on the trip to come eternally is you.
