by Rick Young | Oct 27, 2020 | Poem
Our new flag celebrates the thin blue line.
The old red, white and blue has seen its time.
Enough of unity and peace.
It’s time we celebrate the police,
and get tough on the leftists and their crime.
And now it’s best that we replace the eagle.
It represented truth and all that’s legal.
But that’s not our new culture.
Much better is the vulture.
Makes for faster cleanup, though not regal.
And, lastly, our old anthem has to go.
For many years, it put on a good show.
But it’s not of its day.
Unlike “YMCA.”
Which, at least, has words which you might know.
by Rick Young | Oct 24, 2020 | Poem
Trump’s great plans for harmony
around the middle east
have just been put to test by
the Ethiopian beast.
Their huge hydropower dam,
upstream on the Blue Nile,
will block the flow to two countries
downstream in a short while.
Trump, of course, looked deep
into his magic tea leaves cup,
and said, no joke, that Egypt
will just have to blow it up.
That damned dam is ruining
his peace plans with Sudan.
And to save negotiations,
he’ll do all he can.
Maybe he’ll send Seals
to help out with the detonation.
That’s if any survived
“fake” Bin Lad assassination.
Israel-Sudan engagement’s
top priority.
And blowing up the dam would please
his new close friend, Bibi.
So, Egypt, use your great explosives.
Liberate the river.
Damn the Ethiopians.
Make their timbers shiver.
by Rick Young | Oct 23, 2020 | Poem, Posthumous Additions
They should make a toy line,
Heads of State, that features
orange eggheads sporting
yellow troll tufts and a range
of offending mannerisms.
Bubble T (w20/mule team).
Smoking T (from a gun).
Sneezy T (aerosol or spray).
Lying T (very diluted lye).
Dancing T (VillageMaggots enc).
Electric T (with chair or prod).
Dictator T (adheres to skin).
Very Stable T (wait and see).
by Rick Young | Oct 22, 2020 | Poem, Posthumous Additions
He’s been stewing many hours
on Barack’s brutal takedown.
So, tonight, he’s got two hours
to run a Bad Joe shakedown.
He’ll have explicit videos
of Hunter with crack whores.
A masterpiece of cut and paste.
Is that Diana Dors?
He’ll run with Rudy’s flaccid tips,
so recently exposed,
as intel fed through Russian lips.
He didn’t sleep. He dozed.
As time creeps by, we’ll sit and die,
waiting for his eruption.
By hour two, it’s clear
this is a trial on his corruption.
Expect the sweats, strange alphabets,
and syntax taxed unfairly,
a lot of pointing, deft disjointing.
Insane rating: Barely.
by Rick Young | Oct 22, 2020 | Poem, Posthumous Additions
(Note from the author’s son: I found this title-only draft and felt compelled to publish it – with the date he last edited it.)
by Rick Young | Oct 22, 2020 | Poem
If they turn on his mute button,
Trump might take to wire cuttin’.
He’ll shout over poor hoarse Joe,
echoing his, “No! No! No!”
In two minutes silent time,
just imagine what he’ll mime:
Hunter Biden with crack whores,
Sleepy Joe’s nuclear wars.
And perhaps he will have signs,
hold them up between Joe’s lines,
like: “Antifa Founding Member,”
and “He’ll be dead by December.”
Trump will do his current dances,
causing comas and fear trances.
Even with their covid spacing,
Trump might start his feral pacing.
So, to mute, or not to mute.
With Trump, all precaution’s moot.
He will not accept restraint.
Mister play-by- rules, he ain’t.
There’s a way to stop him seething.
Treat the man as if he’s teething.
One thing only stops this liar:
KFC sauce pacifier.
