Flammeus Gladius

Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis

Month: April, 2016

Diet Soda

Diet Soda

 

 
Lots of soda he guzzles, God knows–
but it’s all diet soda! That shows
he’s concerned and controlled.
May he therefore make bold
to inquire why his fat ass still grows?

 

 

–Tom Riley

Prodigal Son

Prodigal Son

 

 

The wayward son the parable presents
never possessed an oceanic ass
like yours. How do I know? It’s common sense.
Christ would have mentioned such a hellish mass
of adiposity, fault of the class
that manifests the foulness of the soul.
Up from your fundament, you push your sass.
Gas from your butt bursts out your vocal hole.
Now you’re returning to your former role.
The gas that you produce will fill the sky.
With those receiving you I won’t condole.
They know that you’re a slack and useless guy.
Still now they take you back. I have to laugh.
The fattened parasite will kill the calf.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Dicit Obama

Dicit Obama

 

 

Obama likes the royal child. What luck!
Obama says: “Adorable!” How grand!
Obama’s comments endlessly expand.
Obama says…. He does? Who gives a fuck?

 

 

–Tom Riley

 

 

(Obama glad he met “adorable” prince.)

Spiritual Leaders

Spiritual Leaders

 

 

When Francis kicks the bucket, as he will,
I have no doubt the damage will be done,
and, in my own life, every orison
neutered with leftist zeal, if not with skill.
For centuries, the popes declined to spill
the cup of living water. Full of fun,
Francis just pours it out, proud of his run
in major media. It makes me ill.
You say the Church recovers? Oh, no doubt.
There I require no weighty arguments.
History gathers up its air to shout.
Silent myself, I’m not hard to convince.
This pope’s departure I don’t fret about.
I’m mourning far more fiercely now — for Prince.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Judge of All the Dead

Judge of All the Dead

 

 

Somebody died? Let’s hear Obama’s views!
Let’s hear Obama’s wise evaluation!
Let it be headlined now on Yahoo News!
Let it be broadcast now on every station,
featured on every channel! Oh, elation–
if, when you die, Obama holds you high
in his impromptu funeral oration!
Though you be dead, you’ll be one lucky guy.
If you are sure he likes you, you should die
already: his esteem is your reward.
Next to that, life is just a futile sigh.
Of blessings he’s our lone and lofty lord.
Another item in life’s endless drama:
the death of Prince is all about Obama.

 

 

–Tom Riley

 

 

(Obama comments on the death of Prince.)

Liked

Liked

 

 

(for Julie Brumley)

 

 

Did Julie Brumley like my latest verses?
Hey! That’s what Mr. Riley calls success!
For the next hour, I need not load with curses
the clear and breezy air, need not address
my fundamental gripes — which more or less
constitute my sustained philosophy.
Though on with life I be obliged to press,
I can, for right now, do it joyfully.
You’re telling me it can’t last? I agree.
Pretty soon, circumstances will revive
my gloom. When friends and passing strangers see
my face, they’ll ask what’s wrong. “I’m still alive,”
I’ll grunt, tired of the dismal paths I’ve hiked.
For right now, though, I’ve never felt so liked.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Pattern Non-Cognition

Pattern Non-Cognition

 

 

Verbal patterns, insistent as sin,
move his voice. It’s a game he can’t win–
since he can’t ever lose.
Nothing’s new in his news.
Frame a thought? He can’t even begin.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Embrace of Pope Francis

The Embrace of Pope Francis

 

 

“Refugees you must welcome!” he said.
“Set aside fear! Embrace hope instead!
Facts are not for the facing.
You must keep on embracing
until all Europeans are dead!”

 

 

–Tom Riley

Great Debate

The Great Debate

 

 

When Sarah Palin and Bill Nye debate,
I will not be amongst the audience.
Palin, if she were in a silent state,
would be worth looking at — but pain immense
stems from her voice, which cannot help but grate.
Bill Nye inspires contempt in all events.
A fistfight I might watch, though it be crass.
It’s certain she would whip his scrawny ass.

 

 

–Tom Riley

 

 

(Bill Nye challenges Sarah Palin to debate.)

Seeing Rachel

Seeing Rachel

 

 

(for Rachel Bailey)

 

 

Rachel lives in the land of microbrews–
and here I linger, drinking cheap boxed wine.
Balloons rise in the morning, rainbow clues
to sunny lives that really can’t be mine.
The limits that we breezily define
grow into walls that Trump would celebrate,
praising their altitude. Groans form a line.
It is the line, and not the groans, I hate.
Seeing that girl again, of course, was great.
Oh, it was even better than champagne!
But I know chance on sight: it isn’t fate.
The aging heart relies on chance in vain.
When we meet next, it won’t be soon enough.
I turn therefore to stronger drinking stuff.

 

 

–Tom Riley