by Rick Young | Mar 12, 2021 | Poem
The poem I just ingested
is already gurgling questions.
But my interests are elsewhere invested.
Digestion has its own suggestions.
My mind has been elsewhere on manhood,
pink clouds passing, silence, and time.
I think I’m still mostly sane, knock wood.
And I’ve cut way back lately on cruelty and crime.
I’d like to die under a large stack of books,
preferably ones I’ve just read.
More likely some Art of the Deal slingin’ crooks
will bash my head in with their spiel till I’m dead.
by Rick Young | Mar 9, 2021 | Poem
How dark will be our Archie’s skin?
And will the royals let him in?
We should have changed his name, they said.
But who calls their own child “Jughead”?
They cried about my baby bump.
They bought a chocolate milk breast pump.
They stood there ready with a sack,
in case the babe was born “too black.”
They don’t like “darkies” in the castle.
Even the help is a hassle.
Grandpa Chuck won’t give two fucks.
His late wife’s kid really sucks.
Always fighting with the press,
red heads surely are a mess.
Somehow, it’s Diana’s fault.
Curse her bones! (They’re in our vault).
Perhaps they’ll pull a Michael J
and try to bleach his tan away.
That’s why we had to leave the isle.
The whole affair was one shit pile.
The U.S. will let Archie be.
He’ll get his own show on t.v.
He’ll rail about his royal blood.
He’ll call his grandpa Charles a “dud.”
“You killed my grandma on t.v.,
but you will never get to me!
Camilla is a mean old bitch.
It figures you’d prefer a witch!”
The Queen is just a foppish slag.
The Buckinghams “Kind of a Drag.”
by Rick Young | Mar 8, 2021 | Poem
Some folks would put people down.
Others like to pick ’em up.
But the ones should wear a crown
are the folks who love a pup.
Those in need of an ice melter,
are aplenty, get in line.
Head on to your nearest shelter.
Pick you up a used canine.
Rescue dogs are special cases,
victims of abuse, neglect.
You’ll fall in love with their faces.
It might be hard to select.
So, maybe you might pick two,
pug, lab, collie, or a mutt.
One thing’s certain: they’ll love you.
You will sense that in your gut.
Soon you’ll be wondering how
you survived without these pets.
Maybe time to get a cow?
(When you feel this, hedge your bets!)
by Rick Young | Mar 1, 2021 | Poem
When insurrection doesn’t work,
try secession, it’s knee-jerk.
If your land won’t serve you well,
tell those blues to go to hell.
Red states can live on their own.
Bureaucrats, leave us alone.
We are not a tiny fringe.
Our numbers will make you cringe.
Texas filed its legislation.
Say goodbye to your old nation.
It’s not really civil war,
just the child of Bush v. Gore.
We’ve got guns and we’ve got trucks.
We’ve got guys who give no fucks.
Libs can have the northern cold.
We’ll have Acapulco gold.
Cruz and Schiff are going to be
this new battle’s Grant and Lee.
Rebel flags again will wave
in the south, home of the brave.
Ultimate division waits.
In our disunited states.
