by Rick Young | Dec 8, 2013 | Poem
Nocturnal fumbling
aroused the piddling clouds.
Near-tragic happenstance
reigned over dampened spirit.
The drowning band flailed on.
The very unnatural anthem
clung to the marchers’ steps.
The wailing tubal wind
sustained a mourning pace,
depressing the clowns of death.

by Rick Young | Dec 8, 2013 | Poem
To a beetle eaten young,
I dedicate my tongue.
I’ll cut it up in thirds
and feed it to the birds.
For words will not suffice
the nature of this vice.
A beetle eaten young.
Who now will roll our dung?

by Rick Young | Dec 7, 2013 | Poem
I’ve seen good gods up and die, or grow old gracefully.
I’ve paid for some bad advice, and gotten good for free.
I’ve laundered all my money, in the hope that I’d come clean.
I’ve been caught top and bottom, and, one awful time, between.
I’ve squandered time on things I hate and hurt the ones I love.
I’ve pondered death upon the brink, but never got the shove.
I’ve swallowed magic buttons, herbal cures and acid tea.
But life goes on, I don’t know shit, and that’s all right with me.
Play the roll, over under. Play the roll, place your bet.
It’s a sure thing odds’ll get you, but the game ain’t over yet.
Play the roll, watch for snake eyes. Play the roll, press your luck.
When you’re down to your last dollar, hand it over. What’s a buck ?

by Rick Young | Dec 6, 2013 | Poem
The shameful reek of radishes.
The nodding head of lettuce.
Somewhere a red onion weeps.
Black olives pitted against whom?
Someone must control the whole,
roam the outskirts of the bowl,
armed with pepper spray,
tongs at the ready.
A dressing down’s perhaps in order.
A shredding of the carrot crew.
Put the hardboiled egg in solitary.
Toss the rest about.
Threaten and serve.
Call in the choppers.

by Rick Young | Dec 5, 2013 | Poem
In the pulling tide of time
we seemed to lose perspective.
Visionary acumen appeared
to drift away.
In the threatening twilight,
hiding now our sole objective,
voices sought out silence
although much was left to say.
As bullet shots and microdots
created their own language,
a media hypnosis
cast a pall across the land.
Those within could bask in sin
while those without must anguish.
Someone pulled the plug
on this utopia we planned.
