by Rick Young | Mar 2, 2019 | Poem, Posthumous Additions
There’s a lot to be saved if for drinking supper;
cycle all those liquids as if you’re human scupper.
Give me one more beer, dear bartender.
I’m still a few away from being on a bender.
When I start to ask for whiskey, that’s a sign I’m getting frisky,
and it’s best if you return me to sender.
I would live in a bar and become a drunk star.
I would detail my antics on line.
I’d abandon my house and then total my car.
Every night I’d mix whiskey with wine.
There’s a lot to be saved by drinking supper;
cycle them damn liquids around like a human scupper.
A man might dedicate his life to alcohol.
And his friends might tell him that he’s headed for a fall.
But what’s the sense of living your life up against the wall?
The great god of fermentation has provided me my call.
I am loved in liquor stores and cabarets.
My life is interrupted frequently by short jail stays.
I often see the world as nothing but a bottle maze.
But I’m much to old to change my sippin’ ways.
There’s a lot to be said for drinking supper;
run them liquids in and out just like a human scupper.
by Rick Young | Feb 19, 2019 | Poem
I only ate one slice of bacon,
just some gristle and some fat,
but my vegan friends went crazy,
asking how could I do that.
Acted like I’d stripped a forest,
killed Babe, eaten Bambi’s mom,
like I’d torn off Dumbo’s ears
or dropped a raw hamburger bomb.
It was just a momentary lapse,
I hastened to explain.
But that pork inside my stomach
really seemed to give them pain.
There’s no calming hard-line vegans
once you have ingested meat.
Might as well take this thing further,
walk ’em down carnivore street.
Told them I was really sorry,
their forgiveness I would beg.
It’s a good thing, then I mumbled,
that they hadn’t seen the egg.
And tonight, said, for my supper,
I was planning one great meal:
frogs’ legs all done up in butter,
chicken liver and some veal.
Now my vegan friends are wary.
When I pass, they all look south.
I imagine I look scary
with blood dripping from my mouth.
by Rick Young | Feb 14, 2019 | Poem, Posthumous Additions
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.
by Rick Young | Feb 8, 2019 | Poem
Othello. He hated Jello.
He was a Moor and things that shake
destroyed his mellow.
And his good wife, Desdemona,
who lived in Venice but quite enjoyed Barcelona,
got entangled with Iago,
who was a tough guy from Detroit or else Chicago.
There were some Turks,
but they got drownded.
And Desdemona dropped her hankie and got grounded.
And meanwhile Cassio, who was a soldier,
becomes important in act five when he gets older.
But when Othello strangles his wife,
you realize the play’s run out of life.
The bad Iago, mute on the shelf,
kills his own wife, and then Othello kills himself.
The play then ends. You go outside.
It seems it’s either have a drink or suicide.
You hit the pub. And close the door,
not sure if you like Shakespeare any moor.
by Rick Young | Feb 1, 2019 | Poem, Posthumous Additions
An amateur found a profound truth
Buried inside a riddle
Barking from a distant field
Chills down the spine
From a newborn fear
Parking in front of
An elevator door
Constraination felt
by Rick Young | Jan 28, 2019 | Poem
Facebook’s having problems, but it must assure it’s backers
your blackouts have nothing to do with all those Russian hackers.
It’s just a little downtime, like a much needed vacation.
It has nothing to do with our revealing information.
We would never violate your sacred privacy.
By the way, please say, “Get well” to your poor old aunt Bee.
There’s no need to read the fine print, go ahead and skim it.
By the way, your credit card is real close to its limit.
Just consider this time off a hazard of our age.
Apologies, we must go now and spy another page.
