Flammeus Gladius

Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis

Tag: Scotch whisky

Smell the Coffee

Smell the Coffee

I’m awake, sure,
but what I smell is
last night’s Scotch.

–Tom Riley

Tommy Terrestrial

Tommy Terrestrial

 

Was there nectar? I opted for Scotch.
Venus flashed her ass? I failed to watch.
Did I really miss out?
I retain little doubt
That a heavenly life I would botch.

 

–Tom Riley

Horrible Scotch

Horrible Scotch

Drank some horrible Scotch yesterday—
Plastic bottle stuff, I blush to say.
Now I’m feeling like shit,
And my head aches a bit.
Will I take a day off? Hey, no way!

–Tom Riley

Get Me What I Crave

Get Me What I Crave

“Is it water you crave?” Has to be.
Dehydration is torturing me
More than you, sir, can know.
Yes, I need H2O—
But to whisky I’d swiftly agree.

–Tom Riley

Backlash

Backlash

 

 

The backlash came, and all the goofballs wept.
I sipped my Scotch and couldn’t help but smile.
Boneheads advanced, and common sense long slept.
The backlash came – and all the goofballs wept.
Into reality I boldly stepped
As idiots were suffering in style.
The backlash came, and all the goofballs wept.
I sipped my Scotch and couldn’t help but smile.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Typology

Typology

 

 

(for Karen Swallow Prior)

 

 

Typology, typology!
There’s nothing like typology!
It makes poor chemistry look sick.
It trounces anthropology.
Those feeble disciplines address
a subject matter small–
but types, once understood, express
the Essence of the All.

Typology, typology:
the heart thrills at typology!
It explicates the Mind of God–
if God has a psychology.
If you seek elevation,
if truth’s what you desire,
then hear the presentation
of Karen Swallow Prior!

Typology, typology:
I’m with you on typology.
I hope I do not disappoint
when opting for mixology.
In atmospheres so rarefied,
my brain is sure to fail.
I’ll sit here, happy that I tried,
and drink a Rusty Nail.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Fireball

Fireball

 

 

(for Jonathan Adams)

 

 

A former student drinks the wretched stuff.
He says he likes the cinnamon. O Lord,
have mercy — for I haven’t done enough
to teach the wisdom in my brain cells stored!
Against such errors, clearly, I have warred,
if at all, then with insufficient zeal.
I have allowed such fluids to be poured.
My soul has stood like paper, not like steel.
Miraculously now, I pray thee, deal
with the taste for this awful devil’s brew!
Let the wound in my student’s spirit heal!
Let him respond to good taste’s subtle cue!
To urine samples let him not agree!
Let him hold out for Famous Grouse — like me!

 

 

–Tom Riley

Birthday Dram

Birthday Dram

 

 

(for Ian Moore-Morrans)

 

 

It’s with joy, and with no trace of sorrow,

That, upon an occasion I borrow

     From your family, I drink

     This Scotch neat.  And I think

You should add a new birthday tomorrow….

 

 

 

Happy birthday!

 

T.R.

 

2 May 2013

Hopeless

Hopeless

 

 

 

 

 

Of my life I have now made a botch.

Angels weep seas of tears as they watch—

And with devils agree

That there’s no hope for me.

On St. Paddy’s Day, folks, I drank Scotch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

–Tom Riley