by Rick Young | Jan 31, 2016 | Poem
I knew a woman who got things all wrong.
She’d quote a poem, say it was a song.
She’d call a gong a bell, a bell a gong.
She’d go on much too much and much too long.
She’d call a club a spade and diamond heart.
She thought that all things lemon were too tart.
Some things she knew were wrong, yet knew by heart.
She’d call time out before you’d even start.
She didn’t even know the time of day.
A one way street would cause her much dismay.
One never knew just what strange thing she’d say.
"Do you need help?" she’d ask. I’d say, No way!"
by Rick Young | Jan 30, 2016 | Poem
Whatever you do,
don’t go near the quints.
They’ll pluck your eyes
and grind them into mince.
Born to evil
and grown madder since,
their very presence
makes one want to wince.
It’s just as if the devil
split in fives.
Those who near them
soon break out in hives.
They’ll pick your pocket
and they’ll pinch your wives.
Of course they always carry
guns and knives.
Whatever you do,
don’t go near the quints.
Consider these as warnings,
not just hints.
by Rick Young | Jan 29, 2016 | Poem
Life is an arrow pointing down,
a signpost from the heavens
to the ground.
It’s sharply beveled tip
reminds you, blood or crip,
that you’re just a prisoner
here on loan.
The direction that you take
don’t matter one whit, Jake.
The dirt will always own you,
skin and bone.
by Rick Young | Jan 28, 2016 | Poem
He wants to play your part.
He knows your lines by heart.
He’s got your moves all down.
He’s hoping you might drown.
And every time you sneeze,
he gets down on his knees.
If you should get the flu,
he’ll step right in for you.
An understudy won’t get very far
unless misfortune overcomes the star.
by Rick Young | Jan 27, 2016 | Poem
Beyond the beyond
is an everlasting pond.
Above the above
is a branch that holds the dove.
Inside the inside
is a mystery untied.
Below the below
there are things we cannot know.
