by Rick Young | Jul 24, 2021 | Poem
I had them Day After Funeral Blues.
Dressed up in cold black shoes.
Dark in the whitened apse.
Stretching a long time lapse.
She was and now she’s ashes.
We had our times and bashes.
Life traits like garters tossed.
Turning old and sold with fingers crossed.
The solemn column filing out.
All of them soon dead, no doubt.
We are but an epoch’s tears,
bolstered by wine, fearing years.
While we party underground,
some say there are gnomes around.
by Rick Young | Jul 23, 2021 | Poem
Lies, cries the CultPopNet’s new news nose, The Knews Knows.
Standing with his ego and a firehose, shooting out wet prisms and some rainbows.
While around him bruised waves circle, seeking optimum ways the world flows.
The Knews Knows nothing chant may echo between banks.
Compassion for old fashion decorates too many tanks.
The waves one braves in seeking out the eddy and the flow
may get points in your heaven, but no luck in Kokomo.
The CultPopNet is gorged with fish, all multicolored scales.
A talking dolphin is their God. He says please don’t kill whales.
The Knews Knows many languages and signs with Janie’s apes.
He once fell in with Hubbard and has his brainwashing tapes.
His hurricane of colors sometimes threatens black and white.
But birds and bees and trees agree The Knews Knows way is right.
Outside, the constant crying of the antis and the pros
abates late night so size regenerates while helpless doze.
by Rick Young | Jul 22, 2021 | Poem
The rainbow bridge has melted in its wake.
The overwhelmed face more than they can take.
The clown car’s screaming downhill with no brake.
There is no sense of what is real or fake.
The multiplicities embrace no common theme.
Is life a cabaret, or maybe just a dream?
Without the senses, sensing nothing is as it may seem.
Death alone can turn us into something like a team.
The fires of winter turn eventually to hails of spring.
And nature redefines the nature of what it can bring.
Of days of old, like solid gold, so simple, we now sing.
These days we graze, we praise, but we don’t understand a thing.
by Rick Young | Jul 15, 2021 | Poem
Our circus is bedeviled by old age.
An elephant fell dead while up on stage.
The dancing bears all have a limp.
A poor kid got slapped by our chimp.
Our giraffe’s cut back to decaf.
His neck is often at half staff.
The tiger’s never burning bright.
He won’t get up until twilight.
The snakes are fed rat protein shakes.
The parrot apes soon’s he awakes.
The horses are all donkeys painted white.
All headed for that fourth ring, out of sight.
by Rick Young | Jul 12, 2021 | Poem
Send the rich to space.
It’s their kind of place.
No vile madding crowd.
No critics allowed.
Billionaires in flight,
passing in the night.
Screw the earth and taxes.
They’re the new cash axis.
Those who have the deepest pockets
can return to upgrade rockets.
Grab some friends to flush out crew.
Crazy what the moneyed do.
See that light up by the dipper?
That’s Jeff Bezos, feeling chipper.
And the one that’s going slower?
Richard Branson, flying lower.
Elon Musk in Tesla X
says he’ll soon achieve apex.
Bill Gates better get one made,
or he’ll miss the space parade.
Walton family’s time draws near:
Walmart in the stratosphere.
Princes, dukes and shahs will fly
in the fast lanes of their sky.
Rumors have the monarchy
transported to Mars to see
if it would be too much hassle
to erect a big red castle.
Eventually, there’ll come the mob.
Collection is their proven job.
Protection from space disaster.
Payback by godfather’s blaster.
We, the meek, watch all unfold
from our gravity foothold,
working, always, for spare change,
watching, shocked, life rearrange.
Climate and war have no place
for elites in outer space.
And for those who have the bling:
colonies on Saturn’s ring.
Astronauts with silver spoons
buying up some bargain moons.
Those stranded on this big rock
wait now for an aftershock.
