by Rick Young | Nov 30, 2021 | Poem
Who drives the black car fate?
And what if it comes late?
Might one miss the spotlight
and drive off in the night?
Fate has no GPS.
so missing is a mess.
There’s forks and some dead ends.
There’s enemies and friends.
And if the car gets lost,
your fate could be the cost.
Without a lifeline map,
one’s fate might well unwrap.
The driver knows the rules
for seekers, saints and fools.
Fate’s road may rise and wind
to get you there on time.
But time, they say, is moot.
And that is at the root.
by Rick Young | Nov 29, 2021 | Poem
For a deaf, dumb and blind boy to master a pinball game
is nowhere near the effort it took for a young girl
in the same circumstances to learn language from scratch.
Not only did she become a prolific author, an activist
and a disability rights advocate (*the three A’s),
but also earned a degree from Radcliffe College as well.
But her mastery of her surroundings did not stop there.
She learned to hit a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball,
simply through a sense of air distribution, fast hands,
and the smell of horsehide. Not powerful, but consistent.
And her ability to drive a small car, slowly, based on the feel
of the wheels on the road, was considered legendary.
No one was hurt in the learning, but there were close calls.
She travelled to thirty-five countries in ten years’ time,
and swam the English Channel under cover of darkness.
As a socialist, she invented a robot she named Eugene Debs.
She is now depicted on the Alabama state quarter.
She invented bitcoin based solely on astral projection.
But in her vain attempts at pinball, she always tilted the machine.
by Rick Young | Nov 26, 2021 | Poem
Three molecules were standing in a line,
in DNA court, asked to pay a fine.
They’d called some atoms hurtful names,
like ‘micro-dot’ and ‘mini-claims.’
Outside, atomic crowds insisted
molecules should be black listed,
while the molecule supporters
kept dividing into quarters.
Soon the crowd was overrunning
the whole place, the mass was stunning.
It turned into a solid ball
and rolled itself into the hall.
The DNA judge said, aghast,
“We must adjourn this court, and fast!”
So, molecules and atoms split,
another bad forensics skit.
by Rick Young | Nov 25, 2021 | Poem
Musk and Bezos broke the bread.
Most everyone else was dead.
Shatner, now a-hundred-ten,
had to be revived again.
Turkey served in Pez dispensers
set off the food warning sensors.
Stuffing made of vegan dirt
spilled all over Bill Gates’ shirt.
Two guys ate more than all others.
Naturally, it was Koch brothers.
Rupert Murdoch’s life support
was the day’s one hint at sport.
Zuckerberg, perhaps the worst,
ate food from his metaverse.
Warren Buffett had a ball
locking Waltons in the hall.
Michael Bloomberg showed up late,
on the mini-rocket freight.
It’s a shame that billionaires
cast aside their worldly cares
for the luxury of space,
distant from the human race.
by Rick Young | Nov 25, 2021 | Poem
Thank you, God, for making our predecessors
so easy to eliminate. We invited them to lunch,
and traded them our beads for their great land.
We relocated, restricted and tortured them.
We gave them smallpox-infected blankets.
We killed their buffalo and dishonored sacred
grounds. We bred in them fear and alcoholism.
Carved them out of wood for folks’ amusement.
Slaughtered three hundred Lakotas at Wounded Knee.
Later, we made fun of them on television as well as
in movies and sports; called them ‘Redskins,’
Indians, Wahoos and Chiefs. See also Tonto.
And now their primeval eden is a hotbox of decay.
We turned their vibrant culture into mere survival.
The western world has been tamed by desecration.
And, to tell the truth, the lunch was not all that good.
