by Rick Young | Jun 8, 2020 | Poem
Barr is a scar on the face of the nation.
Justice is taking an unpaid vacation.
His efforts to cover the president’s back
have knocked the whole law system way out of whack.
His pug smug demeanor and effortless lies
reveal his humanity is a disguise.
He operates brazenly, no hint of stealth,
his big task to help the rich up their own wealth.
When this movie ends with the country asunder,
and he is not tried, it will make people wonder.
So what will it take? Just give us a reason.
Barr should be the star of the cast charged with treason.
by Rick Young | Jun 7, 2020 | Poem
Colin Powell drops the trowel, calling Trump a liar.
Prez says nah-nah Iraq war, calling pants on fire.
Generals have generally come down on forty-five.
Better to have done that while their jobs were still alive.
Maybe they will get together, form a voting bloc,
persuade all the veterans their commander is a crock.
Ousted from his office, he could still continue rants,
but his only listeners, his pet farm of army ants.
General Bonespurs, wandering his battlefield with friends,
wearing just his long red tie and camouflage Depends.
by Rick Young | Jun 5, 2020 | Poem
We could be back to the roaring 20’s soon,
the roaring of fires and the market in a swoon.
Army’s in place on the streets in case there is a riot.
Grump is salivating, thinking big lead salad diet.
Hobos on the White House lawn, stirring cans in embers.
With a closer look, you’ll see they all are cabinet members.
Melania will sew some patches for the poor to wear.
“Don’t Bully Me,” “I Am Hungry.” She really doesn’t care.
The word out is New Jersey will become a ‘Tourist Camp.’
Take clothes because who knows if you’ll ever see a ramp.
by Rick Young | Jun 4, 2020 | Uncategorized
So, he went to the bunker, but just to inspect.
If he’d gone there to cower, his base would object.
He sees his command as to serve and protect
all the good white civilians, as you would expect.
He just wanted to see the provisions set in.
Eric needs toys, Melania gin.
He hopes that Ivanka brings stunning sleepwear.
And then there’s the huge case of stuff for his hair.
Junior’s decided he must bring his gun.
He thinks hunting looters could be some great fun.
As for him, he just stocked in a few magazines,
the ones with the centerfolds of torture scenes.
He was not in the bunker to hide, no siree.
He probably won’t go there until World War III.
by Rick Young | Jun 3, 2020 | Poem, Posthumous Additions
Feel sorry for the bible.
Him holding it seems a lot like libel.
Gas the peaceful protest horde
for p.r. shots on twitter board.
Unleash the army on D.C
as if he’s facing anarchy.
Aren’t people still dying of his plague?
As his smoke and bad jokes make things vague.
The countries who now laugh at our misfortune
have all been victims of his vast distortion.
It seems more certain civil war is in his plans.
He’s got the guns, the bad A.G. and insane fans.
He sees himself flying away like wild Rhett Nero,
his number forty-five slashed through, surrounded by a ZERO.
