by Rick Young | Mar 24, 2021 | Poem
And now that he’s in Florida, the nation’s karma pit,
the word has spread, his followers must carry all his shit.
Insults, hating, baiting, grating, all the way to killing.
Of course, the orchestrator finds the whole reaction thrilling.
While poor Mel, in her own hell, has been told to take a rest.
Four years of pretend caring passed the test. She did ‘be best.’
And, as his sycophants get sick and pay huge hotel fees,
his plans for twenty-four will bring the country to its knees.
D.C. will once again be filled with armed militia boys,
with bear spray and AR-15’s, by far their favorite toys.
To vote, you’ll have to have a note signed by the Lord of Tallies.
And large fines will be levied upon those who miss his rallies.
No mail-in, write-in, wrong-side votes allowed in certain states.
Q will return and endorse all the proper candidates.
Of course, the first thing struck down will be limits on his terms.
It’s rich, it’s kitsch, but he’s the big fish. We are just his worms.
by Rick Young | Mar 20, 2021 | Poem
Iceland melted by volcano.
Mar a Lago cocktail, Drano.
Deshaun Watson’s penis-flashing.
Sex addiction defense crashing.
Covid cases see uptick.
Dad drops child in zoo cage. Sick!
Bear spray used now to protest.
Austin mourns South By Southwest.
China threatens global order.
Cuomo best head for the border.
More Dead Sea Scrolls fragments found.
AstraZeneca deemed sound.
Mission will clean space debris.
Kim Jong’s sis says “Let us be.”
Putin spars with Joe. The commie!
Japan earthquake hints tsunami.
GOP touts vote suppression.
Trump wax figure spurs aggression.
Baseball will be coming soon.
Next Olympics? On the moon.
by Rick Young | Mar 20, 2021 | Poem
Spring comes knocking at a cold front door.
Why do folks come out no more?
Answers follow, though they’re vague.
Has something to do with plague.
Only come outside for tasks.
When they do, they all wear masks.
It’s a quite confusing thing.
The first robbers of the spring?
Then, it seems to warm in spots.
All the places where there’s shots.
In the south, they’re all outside.
As if nobody had died.
March is green with vaccinations.
April just might see vacations.
Springtime questions have amassed.
Have we opened up too fast?
Kids have now gone back to schools.
With new sets of stricter rules.
Desks apart and do not hover.
If you cough, please duck and cover.
Summer’s our pie in the sky.
No one’s sure how this will fly.
Covid’s stolen one whole year.
There’ll be more, though. Do not fear.
by Rick Young | Mar 17, 2021 | Poem
Cicadas are coming, it’s best be prepared.
Their numbers are huge but no need to be scared.
They’ve been underground now for seventeen years.
In April or May, they’ll emerge to great cheers.
The cycle this time has been labeled “Brood X.”
They’ll have a few weeks to shed, sing and have sex.
Magicicada’s their species by name.
Extending life cycles in ice is their game.
The youngsters, called nymphs, claw their way above ground.
Their buzzing’s akin to a short wired sound.
And they’re very gentle, don’t bite and don’t sting.
They’re attracted to noise, so, if you see one, sing.
They might be the whole insect world’s seventh wonder.
Enjoy their time here, because soon they go under
and don’t reappear for two decades less three.
They’ll be zombiefied and eat roots from a tree.
By the time they emerge, the whole world might be ice.
Say farewell, cicadas. Above all, be nice.
by Rick Young | Mar 14, 2021 | Poem
Numbers mean nothing anymore.
Now it’s all just algorithm.
Digits treated like a whore,
bytes and dots like catechism.
Streaming reams of memes and tics,
subjects strewn like pickup sticks.
All bells rung and all chords struck,
serve the lard and master Zuck.
Floating line has replaced word.
Sight unseen and voice unheard.
