by Rick Young | Jul 22, 2020 | Poem
Trump’s occupying forces, coming to your city soon.
This is not America, but dark side of the moon.
They’re headed to Chicago, noted home of the “Black Sox.”
His alternative police are way, way outside the box.
Like Tricky Dick, this sicko’s banking on some voters’ fear.
Only he can stop the armageddon that draws near.
Christians who contend coronavirus is a hoax
believe his contention that protesters are bad folks.
He’ll stoke fires to inspire his base into furor,
rage against big cities where the residents are poorer,
then send his camo army to put insurrection down.
Be aware. It’s not a scare. They’re coming to your town.
by Rick Young | Jul 21, 2020 | Poem
O, welcome back, corona virus briefing,
where T can practice all his oral queefing.
He’ll say again that it will disappear.
And to each question, he’ll turn a blind ear.
He’ll say again tests make the numbers rise,
just like a second-grader in disguise.
When queried if he now will wear a mask,
he’ll answer, “Biden? Thought you’d never ask.”
He’ll talk about his statues and his forts with rebel names.
He’ll skew pandemic numbers and play all his lying games.
Then, bragging how he’ll clear the streets of all the anarchists,
he’ll call enabling Kayleigh who will swoop in with fake lists.
Of course, he’ll denigrate Doc Fauci, that’s his favorite ploy.
And to the COVID vessel, he’ll shrug and say, “Ship ahoy!”
A team of dream fact checkers could not knock him off his horse.
It’s obvious this devil will let virus run its course.
by Rick Young | Jul 19, 2020 | Poem
Trump’s secret federal task force is just ‘helping Portland out.’
To stop the anarchists will take an army posse’s clout.
Just faceless men in camo reigning in peaceful protesters,
a helping hand to boost Oregon’s statues and investors.
The mayor doesn’t want them there, they’re only escalating.
But, should the socialists act up, there’s plenty more troops waiting.
The unmarked vans and undisclosed locations where they’re brought
have made the scene a powder keg which no Portlander sought.
The governor as well has said she wants these troops removed.
The policing of one’s own state is not federally behooved.
The threat to our democracy is right here on display.
He’ll send his “task force” to all states who don’t do things his way.
No protester in this land, unless confirmed to violence,
needs be secreted away to insure their side’s silence.
If federal vigilantes are to roam our streets at night,
one can only think Trump sees the ‘Boogaloo’ as right.
by Rick Young | Jul 12, 2020 | Poem
A black-masked man in a bright blue tie:
’twas hard to recognize the guy.
He said he’d never wear a mask and stuck by it, indeed,
’til yesterday, when thought it best while touring Walter Reed.
Now just sit back and watch his base react to this new change.
Perhaps he’ll even like the look. It distracts from his mange.
The mask plus dark sunglasses could do wonders for his look.
He and Roger Stone could start a fashion comic book.
Or he and the first lady could have competitions, too.
I see her in one printed “I really don’t care, do u ?”
He could wear new masks each day with names of U.S. dead.
Or just a long one wrapped ten thousand times around his head.
by Rick Young | Jul 11, 2020 | Poem
Stone’s sentence commuted.
Justice again looted.
Principles jack-booted.
Convictions rerouted.
White collar crooks, relax.
The Don has got your backs.
He’ll cover all your tracks,
and shield you to the max.
Feel free to cheat and lie.
No one will blink an eye.
There’ll be no case to try.
No court that he can’t buy.
And no amount of oversight
can fix a system tilted white.
It won’t be fair to black or brown.
We must start over. Tear it down.
by Rick Young | Jul 9, 2020 | Poem
Just send your kids to school, fool,
never mind their health.
Their future is nothing
without this country’s wealth.
So they get sick.
They’ll heal up quick.
It’s like a sacrifice.
And some will die. Boo hoo, we’ll cry.
But it will turn out nice.
Our bounceback will be world renowned,
the best by many measures,
despite the bodies underground
and trashing all our treasures.
