by Rick Young | Sep 3, 2021 | Poem
Texas got things all out of proportion.
Need a person swing for an abortion?
Bounty hunting fetus crime?
They are going back in time,
Christians stalking med providers
as if they were freedom riders,
shutting off all women’s rights
as if they were dimming lights.
They would better judicate
men’s rights to ejaculate.
Ovaries are not men’s biz.
Take care of your own damn jizz!
Texas, this is not a joke.
Free your women from this yoke.
Call off this sick bounty hunt.
You will not control my cunt.
by Rick Young | Aug 30, 2021 | Poem
Unnecessary complication
That’s my occupation
I take a situation
And offer it striation
It’s better than stagnation
In some ways a vacation
Above all confirmation
Of the pattern of this nation
Celebrating ostentation
With a dog-eat-dog vibration
And the fast track to elation
Driven now by automation
We humans were just a station
For too long a real sensation
But we stayed on the plantation
And worked hard toward damnation
Though you still could find salvation
It may need some new creation
Make solutions your vocation
Good luck/ Watch for radiation
by Rick Young | Aug 22, 2021 | Poem
The unfinished poet never learned to cross his tees.
One never knew if they were ells or was it meant to tease.
Sometimes subbed stars for vowels or used periods as names.
His sentences only made sense if registered as games.
He’d run awhile with sections vastly overrun with rhyme,
then switch to haiku or blank verse without regard for time.
He’ll quote from Poe or Doctor No without a sense of guilt.
His poems are the oddest structures writers ever built.
A leading critic once said were they gathered in a book,
they could become a danger that was hard to overlook.
A poet has an urge for words when stepped up to the bar,
but this unfinished poet’s simply taken things too far.
by Rick Young | Aug 17, 2021 | Poem
I’m spending all my coin on protein drinks.
If you haven’t got your energy, for sure this hard life stinks.
You gotta get up early and then make your scheduled rounds.
Feed the cat, walk the dog, toss the coffee grounds.
Nine gram shots of protein taken three, four times a day
should give you all the energy you need to work and play.
But should you feel it start to wane before your day is full,
a supplement should help you: just drink one can of Red Bull.
At night, you won’t need alcohol to float you off to sleep.
A day of action acts like traction, pulls you under, deep.
And in the morning, there’ll await there for you when you wake
the guiding light of your new life, that eight ounce protein shake.
by Rick Young | Jul 24, 2021 | Poem
I had them Day After Funeral Blues.
Dressed up in cold black shoes.
Dark in the whitened apse.
Stretching a long time lapse.
She was and now she’s ashes.
We had our times and bashes.
Life traits like garters tossed.
Turning old and sold with fingers crossed.
The solemn column filing out.
All of them soon dead, no doubt.
We are but an epoch’s tears,
bolstered by wine, fearing years.
While we party underground,
some say there are gnomes around.
by Rick Young | Jul 23, 2021 | Poem
Lies, cries the CultPopNet’s new news nose, The Knews Knows.
Standing with his ego and a firehose, shooting out wet prisms and some rainbows.
While around him bruised waves circle, seeking optimum ways the world flows.
The Knews Knows nothing chant may echo between banks.
Compassion for old fashion decorates too many tanks.
The waves one braves in seeking out the eddy and the flow
may get points in your heaven, but no luck in Kokomo.
The CultPopNet is gorged with fish, all multicolored scales.
A talking dolphin is their God. He says please don’t kill whales.
The Knews Knows many languages and signs with Janie’s apes.
He once fell in with Hubbard and has his brainwashing tapes.
His hurricane of colors sometimes threatens black and white.
But birds and bees and trees agree The Knews Knows way is right.
Outside, the constant crying of the antis and the pros
abates late night so size regenerates while helpless doze.
