Perfect Record
“Hurtful critics I don’t need to heed,”
Mr. Tangle declares. “I don’t need
to address or reply.
I don’t need to — not I!
For at failure I always succeed.”
–Tom Riley
Limits
I seek sun — but the sky’s overcast.
I want youth — but that’s all in the past.
I am hungry for power–
but my partisans cower.
I am learning my limits at last.
–Tom Riley
The Human Factor
Had the moves all worked out in my head.
Oh, I swear to the truth I have said!
But my foe pondered long,
and my recall went wrong–
and I played an absurd move instead.
–Tom Riley
Up Early
Got up early. I know how that is.
At insomnia, I am a wiz.
I am not skilled at sleep.
Facing darkness, I weep–
for I’ll fail the unconsciousness quiz.
–Tom Riley
Some Saint
You, I’m told, I should never despise.
Some saint said it. I don’t memorize
saintly names. Be advised:
you are thus not despised.
I just hate your foul guts, damn your eyes!
–Tom Riley
Follow the Leader
It’s clear that you take pride in loyalty.
Follow-the-leader leads your ass to Hell.
Your little soul lies not too deep to see.
It’s clear that you take pride in loyalty
to leaders and unflaggingly agree
with all their bonehead moves. Hey, that’s just swell!
It’s clear that you take pride in loyalty.
Follow-the-leader leads your ass to Hell.
–Tom Riley
Second Moon
My heart is dreaming of a second moon–
but my poor brain is utterly awake.
I will not know that shining dream real soon.
It dwells now only in my inward ache.
Friends, it is often so. For spirit’s sake,
our organs generate a greater sky
than we have ever seen. But, oh, we take
no comfort there: we call it all a lie!
Logic indeed is easy to defy
at first: a helpless bitch, it takes our slap
with nothing more rebellious than a sigh.
But all its offered weakness is a trap.
In our defiance, it’s soon clear, we sinned–
and iron-sinewed logic has us pinned.
–Tom Riley
Self-Promotion
No one wants it. It’s nobody’s goal.
It’s a vast and improbable hole.
It’s a point of dispute.
It’s a horse’s patoot.
Sell your expertise, lad — not your soul!
–Tom Riley
Pueri Erunt Pueri
Boys, they tell us, will surely be boys.
They will grapple and make lots of noise.
But I don’t hear a riot.
Things are quiet — too quiet.
And I think boys are no longer boys.
–Tom Riley
The Chessplayers
They played chess. And they played really late.
Midnight came — and the dark had to wait
for the game’s resolution
and the king’s execution.
Time went slack and could not find a mate.
–Tom Riley
Flammeus Gladius 