Adding Detail

Adding Detail

Once the narrative, lad, is in place,
Then we let them leak out into space,
All the details designed
For the unconvinced mind.
Let our lies put a smile on that face!

–Tom Riley

Skyward

Skyward

I look into
blue infinity and find I
am still unimpressed.

–Tom Riley

Pueri Erunt Pueri

Pueri Erunt Pueri

The New York Times tries humor Oedipal
In origin. Ha, ha. What telling wit.
When such cunts, though, grow sickly Classical,
They only demonstrate they don’t know shit.
Truth is, the fate of Oedipus was writ
By Daddy, who molested Chrysippus,
Son if his host, and in that fashion spit
On common decency. Proceeding thus
To brand new crimes, the uncorrected cuss
Exposed his own son on the mountaintop.
Impossible but still imperious,
Laius the Reprobate just wouldn’t stop.
Despite The New York Times and all its noise,
That bastard should have let those boys be boys.

–Tom Riley

A Little Discipline

A Little Discipline

A little discipline is all it takes
To realize that discipline is vain.
You want to play? Then realize the stakes:
A little discipline is all it takes!
The steely spine, supported strongly, breaks.
It proves a pain to keep denying pain.
A little discipline is all it takes
To realize that discipline is vain.

–Tom Riley

All Natural

All Natural

What Stoic discipline!
Marcus Aurelius never needed a
cup of coffee.

–Tom Riley

Another Form of Whining

Another Form of Whining

Roaring is just another form of whining.
You came upon this manly truth too late.
Against unchecked necessity aligning,
Roaring is just another form of whining.
On idiotic image you were dining.
Now see the truth – and then embrace your fate!
Roaring is just another form of whining.
You came upon this manly truth too late.

–Tom Riley

Out of the Box

Out of the Box

The present that is opened disappears.
It ceases to be present. It is past.
My soul past all such disappointment steers
This morning. Joy still fades, but not as fast.
As I resist all greed, the future’s vast
With promising unknowns that yet might be.
Why should the treeside die be duly cast?
Why not remain in possibility?
Santa, shut up! Your sheer vulgarity
Is quite enough to make me count you out.
Your presents I shall leave unopened, see?
If you don’t hear my quiet words, I’ll shout.
One present must be opened, though. I mean
The Baby Jesus, Savior long foreseen.

–Tom Riley

Little Scribbler Boy

Little Scribbler Boy

The tale of your Nativity grew vast—
But I, of course, prefer the smaller parts.
By angels in the starlit night outclassed,
I seek out subjects for my mundane arts.
Mere words that often help relieve full hearts
Are all I have to ring your Advent in—
And frequently I act in fits and starts.
How can a grubby little scribbler win?
O you who came to save us all from sin,
O you whom men of wisdom came to see,
Close to my close, I only now begin
To celebrate your moment thoroughly:
The song up in the sky indeed I’ve heard.
My words rejoice that you too are a Word.

–Tom Riley

Tremendous Loss

Tremendous Loss

(in memoriam George Mohun, M.D.)

Your table talk was rich with fuck, fuck, fuck.
You gave prim females nineteen kinds of vapors.
But I considered it tremendous luck
That I was party to your verbal capers.
How glorious the things I learned from you,
Things that escaped all delicate expression!
You had true vision, sir, not just a clue.
To idiocy you made no concession.
And, when I heard that you would speak no more
Within the reach of this, my mortal hearing,
Well, I won’t say I trembled at my core.
Such pansy stuff to you was not endearing.
I will say that I knew tremendous loss.
I hope I got that fucking point across.

–Tom Riley

Little Tom’s Claim to Genuine Humanity

Little Tom’s Claim to Genuine Humanity

From an alien
viewpoint, even I must seem
all too human.

–Tom Riley