by Rick Young | Feb 9, 2020 | Poem
If the left and right here did switch places,
right would see a lot more non-white faces.
Left would have to hold those MAGA signs,
right be pepper sprayed in protest lines.
Left would say the cops have got our backs.
Right would say they only arrest blacks.
Left would say they’ll give up guns when dead,
right urge they use smaller ones instead.
What we need perhaps is a new middle,
folks sick of the emperor’s gold fiddle,
who back equal pay and education,
health insurance and a kinder nation.
As things are the two sides will keep bashing,
a highway with no lines where cars keep crashing.
A party based upon our common ground
might quell the furor, keep the earth around.
by Rick Young | Feb 8, 2020 | Poem
The Don is giving pink slips to his enemies within,
making sure the backstabbing will not happen again.
Oh sure, he says, they stabbed me, even though it was the truth;
they soiled my name, my fame, my game. It was all quite uncouth.
The list of ‘those to go’ is even longer than his arm.
And those outside the premises will also suffer harm.
Sondland and the Vindman boys have already been purged
and Mitt will doubtless suffer hits the man openly urged.
Anyone who raised their voice against his innocence
will be forced to sit, enclosed, three hours with Mike Pence.
And those who might flap their loose lips against him in the future
might undergo a White House process known as close-mouth suture.
by Rick Young | Feb 7, 2020 | Poem
Rush Limbaugh walks amongst the freedom gods,
a snarling racist bigot, what’s the odds.
He calls girls sluts and bitches, a.m. radio in stitches.
He likes the women’s movement for their bods.
He skirts around the N word for his fans.
His thoughts are merely fodder for shit cans.
He’s lowered every bar on radio so far.
He loves the whites, but not so much the tans.
He doesn’t really talk, more like a yell,
a snake oil huckster with nothing to sell.
His foot is on the treadle, conspiracy to peddle.
Some hope he’ll have the drive time spot in hell.
by Rick Young | Feb 4, 2020 | Poem
The state of the union is very much divided,
warring factions calling each, the other one, misguided.
A slippery slope, no hope, no hope, and both are quite sheer sided.
Two ships of fools without clear rules about to be collided.
The market is our shining harbor where the rich folks play.
But on the streets homes made of sheets and boxes mar the way.
The dial-up universe is where the voters have their say.
While there are zones without i-phones that hint of judgement day.
There’s some who’d die to save their guns and praise confederation.
Others cite the children killed while seeking education.
Close the borders, screams one side, we must have separation.
On the news, there’s lies and facts, depending on the station.
In this country painted red, some edges are still green.
Others find the blues their muse and hunker in between.
It’s been shown the colors gold and orange can turn mean.
So, here’s a chance for one more dance. Begin the last beguine.
by Rick Young | Feb 2, 2020 | Poem
Football is a game which can prompt some heated discussions,
some about statistics, some about concussions.
People’d rather see these very pumped up gladiators
doing their tough mayhem dance, quite unlike fey ice skaters.
When they score, they celebrate as if they’ve saved the world,
all because a pigskin ball was caught when it was hurled.
Wearing so much armor you can barely see their faces,
yet it’s a safe bet some will lie broken in some places.
During half time bands with tubas march around the field.
Then the battered bruisers come back out to see who’ll yield.
When at last the time runs out and one’s declared the winner,
they go to the locker room and eat pain pills for dinner.
All in all, it’s not a game that one should teach a child.
Don’t spend your summers working out, go find the girls gone wild.
by Rick Young | Feb 1, 2020 | Poem
Just redecorated the republic.
It was getting old and rather frayed.
Threw out lots of useless junk in Constitution drawers.
Made sure rules that help the elite stayed.
All that rusted bull crap about lying under oath,
sent it off with 1-800-JUNK.
Bribery and cheating in elections, o.k. both.
President is not some kind of monk.
Opened up a closet where the drapes of wrath are stored.
Soon will hang them all around the house.
Made some sweet donations to those senators adored.
Not one cent to one Dem dirty louse.
Plan now to repaper all our lovely border walls
with a motif that says “Go Away!”
Making fun of Chuck and Nancy in the White House halls
will add fun and spirit to each day.
In the new D.C. feng shui, health care will be adjusted.
The sick and poor can join up as a team.
Maybe then first aid can be delivered to the busted.
But, of course, that’s just a loser’s dream.
The Statue of Liberty will move to Mar a Lago,
and be used to fight off hurricanes.
Largest prison ever will encompass all Chicago,
to house outlaws with left-leaning brains.
And to those who speculate Putin will take Alaska,
that is all fake news. It isn’t real.
If he gets it, it will be a gift to the great master.
Might throw in Hawaii on the deal.
