by Rick Young | Dec 31, 2021 | Poem
Biden won because he cheated.
That is what the loser bleated.
Hugo Chavez changed the vote.
(All while he was dead, we note.)
Insurrection in D.C.
hoped to steal a victory,
“Hang Mike Pence,” their battle cry.
He dodged the rope and didn’t die.
As the mob fought with the police,
forty-five would not call cease.
His evil brain began to store
plans for a steal in twenty-four.
His henchmen all fell into place,
and voting rights they will deface.
We may have seen our last election,
democracy’s last protection.
The orange team will grab the throne.
And all we’ll do is bitch and moan.
by Rick Young | Dec 25, 2021 | Poem
On Christmas I heard a few footsteps downstairs.
I snuck to the steps, clutching one of my bears.
What I saw down there took my breath away.
There sat old Santa, no suit and no sleigh.
He looked very tired, in overalls clad.
When I saw no presents, I thought I’d been bad.
“Sit down here, my child, and let me explain.”
He pulled from his pocket a small candy cane.
He’d eaten the cookies and finished the milk.
His beard was magnificent, white and like silk.
“All presents this year, and I’m trying to be kind,
are not in the physical realm, but the mind.
This grasping at store-bought rewards has to cease.
I’m trying to instill here instead a world peace.”
And then, on his shoulder, there landed a dove.
I noticed a neck tattoo that just said “Love.”
“I don’t have a present for you or your bear.
But what I will give you’s the power to care.
It’s what I am leaving, from Pompeii to Perth,
in hopes that this sentiment could change the earth.”
Then, blowing a kiss, up the chimney he fled.
“If this doesn’t work, next year you’ll get a sled.”
by Rick Young | Dec 20, 2021 | Poem
Saying goodbye is an art one learns
when hellos are running low.
If one times it perfectly,
the last goodbye means time to go.
The greetings all run out, there comes
a time the farewell’s down to one.
When that’s spent, it’s evident
one’s come to the end of the run.
In silence now, the darkness falls,
there is no further sound or sight.
Nothing beckons, nothing calls.
One’s on the road to endless night.
by Rick Young | Dec 15, 2021 | Poem
Elon Musk, please fly the Don to another planet.
You’re the person of the year, so start this fire and fan it.
Yes, you’ve got electric cars and money everywhere.
So, it should be easy, get this creep out of our hair.
Tell him there’s a golden building somewhere in the sky.
Then pack him in, with all his bags, and, bingo, let him fly.
He can be emperor of space, a tiny orange star.
Let him pick the galaxy, as long as it’s real far.
And, if you do this, Elon, you’ll be worthy of Time’s praise.
And we will celebrate your moneyed goodness all our days.
by Rick Young | Dec 8, 2021 | Poem
Bob Dole is gone and cast now as a patriot and hero.
Yet his post-senate career rates somewhere less than zero.
He whitewashed lobbyists from oligarchs to kleptocrats.
He spent his late years ushering a host of foreign rats.
The former nominee also endorsed the orange don.
His droll Dole sense of humor hid the fact he was a con.
So let’s not be so quick to elevate him to a saint.
He served well for the GOP, but hero he sure ain’t.
