Flammeus Gladius

Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis

Tag: whiskey

Early Wine

Early Wine

Wine with breakfast today – and that’s risky.
No, I don’t stumble, belch, or get frisky—
But a headache might follow
Such a six a.m. swallow.
And the only cure then is noon whiskey.

–Tom Riley

Even Bliss Is Relative

Even Bliss Is Relative

Close to Paradise:
found a third-rate bar serving
a fourth-rate whiskey!

–Tom Riley

Mealtime on a Post-Christian Isle

Mealtime on a Post-Christian Isle

I had some Irish ale for breakfast, Pat.
It made me think of serpents you expelled
from the green land you conquered. Heartless, that–
and pointless. Then with snakes the ocean swelled–
and overflowed in other regions. Smelled
the future, did you? Ophiolatry
retains its strength and never has withheld
its beautiful, malicious subtlety.
Now when forked tongues protrude, folks cry: “Pick me!
Pick me! Let me be nourishment to you!
Constriction I’ll endure quite easily!
Digestion too will only make me new!”
Such is the foolishness this world’s displayin’.
I need some whiskey in my beer. Just sayin’.

–Tom Riley

 

X or Y

X or Y

I had the kind of headache whiskey cures—
And now I find I have the kind it causes.
The wise soul, faced with X or Y, endures.
I had the kind of headache whiskey cures.
The presence of a bottle reassures—
Although the mortal burden never pauses.
I had the kind of headache whiskey cures,
And now, I find, I have the kind it causes.

–Tom Riley

Unshaken Loyalty

Unshaken Loyalty

 

“I gave up once on whiskey.” “I see
What you’re drinking there, though, isn’t tea.”
“You have seized on that clue!
I gave up, it is true.
Whiskey, though, never gave up on me.”

 

–Tom Riley

Algo Más

Algo Más

 

 

The pope has something further to say.
Am I startled? That game I can’t play.
But his gab, I attest,
Proves that drinking is best.
When he speaks, I down whiskey all day.

 

 

–Tom Riley

An Irish Boast

An Irish Boast

 

 

First we converted Patrick to a saint—
Then we invented whiskey. What a roll!
Though British domination took its toll,
We were not subjugated – and we ain’t.
Poetry lives in every Mick complaint.
Poetry thrives in every Irish soul.
We’re striving toward a high poetic goal,
However much we make Brit damsels faint.
But are we resting on our laurels? No!
Our pride is ancient, but we make the scene.
We have our presence on the Morning Show.
When broadcast voices loftily convene,
Our Irish glory cannot help but grow.
The latest of our triumphs: Katie Green!

 

 

–Tom Riley

Well Prepared

Well Prepared

 

 

He was naughty — but far from a dope.
With mom’s ire, he intended to cope.
Then the moment occurred:
he had said a bad word–
and prepared, in advance, whiskey soap.

 

 

–Tom Riley

Well-Informed

Well-Informed

 

 

My brain informs me I have had enough.
I swear I shall not down another drop
of this distilled and golden drinking stuff.
My brain informs me: I have had enough.
The road beyond this point is always rough–
and yet… am I quite sure I want to stop?
My brain informs me I have had enough.
I swear I shall not down another drop!

 

 

–Tom Riley

Erratum

Erratum

 

 

Made mistake in my Latin while drunk.
Whiskey isn’t wine. Who would have thunk?
Sobered up before long.
Fixed the part I had wrong.
But, alas, my self-image is sunk!

 

 

–Tom Riley