Flammeus Gladius

Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis

Tag: judgment

Supremely Wise

Supremely Wise

The pair exchanging judgments in their room
Are not smart, but they’re still supremely wise.
God will consult them at the Trump of Doom.
The pair exchanging judgments in their room
And gossiping intently through the gloom
Of their dim wits have souls of super size.
The pair exchanging judgments in their room
Are not smart. But they’re still supremely wise.

–Tom Riley

Apart from the Judgment Emporium

Apart from the Judgment Emporium

Merchants of judgment talk about me now.
I know whom they’re addressing, what they’re saying.
For variations I need not allow.
The repetition game is what they’re playing.
Their clumsy sentences they always shape
In ways both arrogant and idiotic.
Their narrow vision they cannot escape.
Smugly they will deny that they’re despotic.
And who can tell what others will believe
Of what’s malicious in their fixed oration?
For such imagined damage I don’t grieve.
The sages tell me I should hold my station
Against the wounds opinion might inflict.
By idle gossip I shall not be tricked.

–Tom Riley

Judgment

Judgment

Is there judgment? You say that there is.
At theology, you’re just a wiz!
Your faith gab never ends.
When said judgment descends,
Are you sure you’ll be passing the quiz?

–Tom Riley

Ulysses in Hell

Ulysses in Hell

 
Did Dante place you, clever man, in Hell,
And, next to you, your friend Diomedes?
He did indeed, judgmental as you please.
My wrath on your behalf I cannot tell.
Yet, normally, when Dante casts his spell,
I cheer him on. Eternal verities
Are best upheld by fire, and fire agrees
With all the grins that in my darkness dwell.
You’re something else, and I cannot consent—
Not even if Supreme Authority
Insists – to your eternal punishment.
A special case is what you ought to be.
Your place here sires unending discontent—
And Heaven doesn’t seem so just to me.

 
–Tom Riley

 

(Third Place, Napa Town and Country Fair, 2019.)

Payback Is a Fat Bitch

Payback Is a Fat Bitch

Fat-assed gamma boy strolls past to sneer
At the dogs he pretends not to fear
And intends to have gassed.
Judgment also strolls past.
He’ll be long gassed in punishment’s sphere.

–Tom Riley

(Dog-hater and notorious glutton Mark Shea takes another brave walk.)

Exit Princeps

Exit Princeps

It was like a miracle; but before our very eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed from our sight.

I shall be glad as long as I live that even in that moment of final dissolution, there was in the face a look of peace, such as I never could have imagined might have rested there.

Mina says she saw peace in his face
As the blades sliced and stabbed. Ah, the space
That fills heads such as hers
When dread justice occurs!
Such was not, I am certain, the case.

–Tom Riley

Dire Disappointment

Dire Disappointment

Peace with Russia? McCain is disgusted.
Long for unrestrained war he has lusted.
Now his schemes go awry.
Plus, he’s slated to die.
From on high the Lord’s voice echoes: “Busted!”

–Tom Riley

Judgments

Judgments

 

With the brain of a turtle, he made
Solemn judgments, soon fiercely conveyed
In his shouted commands.
And we all clapped our hands
At the idiocy he displayed.

 

—Tom Riley

Some Idiot

Some Idiot

 

(for Marissa Amador)

 

Some idiot was pouring out your wine.
Such acts, though, are their own clear punishment.
Out from the bowels of their discontent,
The wretched give a self-destructive sign.
The Hell of Winelessness they stand in line
To enter, hot to know the dire event.
Of madness they will not at last repent.
On dust and rotten filth they’re sure to dine.
Some idiot was pouring out earth’s blood,
The essence of the grape that grants elation.
He’d rather try to sip depressing mud
And seek thrills in imagined copulation.
His every mindless gesture is a dud.
He himself has proclaimed his condemnation.

 

—Tom Riley

Angry

Angry

 

 

Sometimes, guy, though you wish to spew spittle,
You must rein in your anger a little.
Though you want vengeance bad,
though you’re boundlessly mad,
God does not care one jot or one tittle.

 

 

–Tom Riley