Flammeus Gladius

Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis

Tag: Sonnets

Mike Thompson and the Gals

Mike Thompson and the Gals

Mike Thompson and the gals are working hard
To guarantee our feticidal fun.
Against those fetus-lovers Mike’s on guard.
He’ll frustrate the designs of anyone
Who doesn’t love abortion. As the Sun
Crosses the Heavens in a chariot,
So Mike will ride until the job is done,
Employing all his strength and all his wit.
Around him are his planets… Muses…. Shit,
I don’t know what to call them, but they’re there.
With feminazi fire their hearts are lit.
By slaughtering the young, they show they care.
For disarticulation they parade.
They’re grieving for their idol, Roe v. Wade.

–Tom Riley

Old Marse Robert Samples Aleksandr Dugin’s Vodka and Finds It Good

Old Marse Robert Samples Aleksandr Dugin’s Vodka and Finds It Good

“Aggressive abroad and despotic at home.”

The unipolar world is at an end—
Which suits me fine. The Yankees went too far,
As Yankees always go. Now they descend.
I’m watching their imaginary star
Plummet. The tortured earth it’s sure to scar
Again – a sort of global spouse abuse.
But keep the victim handcuffed? No cigar.
Expecting that, the Yankees prove obtuse
Beyond their former measure. Fast and loose
They’ve played since 1860. For a while,
It served them well. But now, neck in the noose,
Their empire will be throttled, and in style.
And all of the disasters that we see?
Predicted by the Last of Heroes, Lee.

–Tom Riley

Mr. Parody Holds Off for Once

Mr. Parody Holds Off for Once

(for Pegeen)

The spinster who eschewed all publication
Is now amongst the most renowned of all—
And maybe the most parodied. I call
That justice of a sort. Though imitation
Be insincere, it bears the implication
Of careful observation. To appall,
The parodist must never let wit fall
Into the ditch of drunken relaxation.
Oh, no! He has to watch the details close
And let the solemn target have her say.
If she is pithy, he can’t be verbose.
At any rate, I do not choose today
To target Emily with verses gross.
My sister thinks she’s more than A-okay.

Happy Birthday!

T.R.

2 June 2022

(P.S. 70 is the new 54.)

Concerning Arms and Legs

Concerning Arms and Legs

Asked about arms and legs, abortionists
Are pissed that such a question should arise.
Their little hands they tighten into fists.
A hot flame flares behind their angry eyes.
Republicans must learn to recognize
That facts aren’t facts and can’t be certified.
When fetuses are slaughtered, no one dies.
Dismemberment, once earnestly decried,
Does not occur. And terms thus misapplied
Give grave offense to baby-killing docs.
Also, please now acknowledge on your side
That men have wombs and women can have cocks.
If you will not say this, you’re right-wing fools.
You will be judged by non-judgmental rules.

–Tom Riley

Fat-Ass White Savior Done Saved the Black Folk Again!

Fat-Ass White Savior Done Saved the Black Folk Again!

A new commandment Shea bestows on us:
“Thou shalt be woke and shalt not mock the woke!”
It follows that we must not make a joke
That Shea does not approve of. On our bus,
He’s now a Freedom Rider! Don’t discuss
How dated is his posture here, nor choke
On his self-righteousness! Wrapped in a cloak
Of many colors, he’s dead serious.
He loves the Black Experience. He does!
There’s never been a savior quite as white
As he is. He transcends red facial fuzz
And honky intonations. Dyn-o-mite!
He cries with a decided nasal buzz.
But still, you Negroes think he’s peachy, right?

–Tom Riley

Primate Devolution

Primate Devolution

The NATO bio-labs in far Ukraine,
If monkeypox impends, won’t make the news.
Those Russkies will inform the world in vain.
They will not make a dent when they accuse
The West of a proclivity to use
Proxies when doing truly naughty things.
What? View the facts? We’ll utterly refuse!
We’ll know the peace that idiocy brings.
The twerps who govern us will live like kings
Forever as they piss on heads like ours.
We’ll sing the song that every coward sings
And grant those pricks extraordinary powers.
We’ll return to the same old servile box
Because we dread the lower primate pox.

–Tom Riley

Our Generals

Our Generals

Our generals – who fled Afghanistan
In lame and idiotic disarray;
Who earnestly believe that, born a man,
A soldier can get surgery and say:
“I’m woman, hear me roar;” who daily play
The game of ceding space to every crank;
Who like their chessboards one uncheckered gray;
Who have their bribes already in the bank—
Our generals are wankers. And they wank
Whenever they express dismissive views
Of Russia. Dominatrix colonels spank
Our generals, who utter ah’s and ooh’s.
Then Fox News calls them up for expert gab.
Goatfuckers whip them, sure – but can they blab!

–Tom Riley

Unity of Purpose

Unity of Purpose

Leftists and neo-cons march arm-in-arm
Against what Mother Russia seeks to do.
Mark Levin yields to Biden’s goofy charm,
And Victor Davis Hanson giggles, too.
Volodymyr’s a hero: get a clue!
His tranny status only makes him cuter.
His distance makes our right-wing figures blue.
They wish he’d be a close, attentive suitor.
Instead, his intellect, like a computer,
Evaluates logistics with precision.
Toward glory he is racing on a scooter
Powered by courage, principle, and vision.
Neo-con hearts back here go pitter-patter.
Stand with Ukraine, you know. What else could matter?

–Tom Riley

Volodymyr’s Genius Plan

Volodymyr’s Genius Plan

Zelensky has his cronies in the West.
When all the pawns upon the board are scattered,
His current recklessness will be professed
From luxury, as if it truly mattered.
He’ll likely find a place in Hollywood
And thus advance the cause of U.S. trannies.
Media adulation will seem good—
As will the sight of round and well-toned fannies.
He’ll join the set that never has to pay
For idiotic and absurd offenses.
Pursuing fresh ambitions that bright day,
He will not mind his former moods and tenses.
Ukraine will be a mess, but he’ll be fine.
I’d say he’s shaped a pretty slick design.

–Tom Riley

Other Raven

The Other Raven

I know your sense of time is different, lord.
Your one eye takes the long and thorough view.
You sent a raven from your wisdom hoard
To Poe, who deftly grasped the dismal cue.
Still, as is known through nine worlds, you have two.
Another must have soared then through the air.
The centuries since then are naught to you.
So, Grimnir, is your messenger still there?
Then send him winging urgently to where
I wait, my mortal blood now growing cooler!
I’d like to hear of how to beat despair
From you, supremely doomed, the hopeless ruler.
Then again, wolfish sir, I don’t insist.
Too many lost Lenores are on my list.

–Tom Riley