<![CDATA[RECKONIN' - Tom Riley]]>

<![CDATA[RECKONIN' - Tom Riley]]>Sun, 03 May 2026 08:31:28 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[Just Look [POETRY]]]>Sun, 26 Oct 2025 23:07:55 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/just-look-poetry

Hey, just look what you’ve done, lost Lenore!

When you croaked – as cute girls have before--

You made huge raven speak

In ways doubly oblique

Until Poe could endure it no more.

]]><![CDATA[No Means No]]>Sun, 12 Jan 2025 22:07:32 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/no-means-no

“There’s a Rebel Flag, sir, on your tie.
That’s a fact that you dare not deny!
This we cannot allow.
Take it off, sir, right now!”
“I’ve a tendency, ma’am, to defy.”

This poem was published at Flammeus Gladius on Dec. 30, 2024.

]]><![CDATA[Yankee Trajectory]]>Mon, 23 Sep 2024 00:06:02 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/yankee-trajectory

The Yankee nation never stops expanding.
It’s in the Middle East now – and Ukraine.
The madness passes human understanding
Deep in the Yankee soul, not just the brain.
That is why sanity complains in vain:
“Haven’t you done enough?” Oh, no: yet more
Is on the way – and all against the grain.
A stumbling zombie, or a tranny whore:
Those are what Lincoln’s program had in store—
Although, in fairness, Lincoln didn’t know
That Gettysburg would open every door,
Subjecting us to pathic and to hoe.
Still, here his empire is, a monstrous beast
Unchained in Ukraine – and the Middle East.

This was published at Flammeus Gladius on Sept. 18, 2024

]]><![CDATA[Unreconciled [POETRY]]]>Sun, 25 Aug 2024 23:23:30 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/unreconciled

West Point Reconciliation Plaza Memorial

Now that our military’s woke – and weak—
Let reconciliation be rejected!
This is the West Point way now – not unique.
Therein, scant trace of valor is detected
By Rebels or by Yankees who regard
With ageless eyes the soulless degradation
Of what they did, triumphant or ill-starred.
Dishonored is the whole surviving nation.
Gutless and bitter creeps, of slogans made,
Judge all the generations of their betters
Because of virtue they have grown afraid.
Some idle tweets – and you’re a man of letters,
If you’re a man at all. What you tear down
Is your sole source of subsequent renown.

This was posted on Flammeus Gladius on August 16, 2024

]]><![CDATA[Rebellion]]>Sun, 21 Jul 2024 23:35:07 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/rebellion

You can’t fool all the people anymore.
The world rebels against your Yankee lies
At last, and you are sure to lose this war.
Nevertheless, you’re doubling down – for guys
Like you, who dream you’re infinitely wise,
Cling to past victories, embrace denial
Above all other options. Empire dies--
But your mugs still display the same smug smile.
Currently, Russia leads the way. Revile
Her leader all you please. She’ll kick your ass
Nevertheless. You can’t turn back the dial,
Nor yet the clock. Your reign is soon to pass--
And all your righteous causes end as jokes.
Crawl off and cope, exchanging feeble strokes.

This was published at Flammeus Gladius on July 21, 2024.

]]><![CDATA[Civilized Nations]]>Mon, 04 Mar 2024 01:15:48 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/civilized-nations

With the Southern Confederate cause,

Injuns sided. Does that give you pause?

Well, observe this at least:

That the Great Northern Beast

Turned on them its victorious jaws.

This was previously posted on Flammeus Gladius on Feb 27, 2024.

]]><![CDATA[Unburied [POETRY]]]>Tue, 16 Jan 2024 00:35:49 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/unburied-poetry

The heroes of the South will not stay buried
under the tons of bogus verbiage
that liars generate. Though zeal be married
to falsehood, the contemporary stage
will not endure forever — and the rage
of idiots will not shake down the sky.
This age, dear friends, is not the final age.
The future will unbody every lie.
At any rate, my truthful hopes are high.
Stonewall and Old Marse Robert, Forrest too
and Stuart, will in history’s keen eye
endure, and their admirers will renew
the honor that was given in the past.
Such glory, I maintain, is bound to last.

This poem was published at Flammeus Gladius on January 15, 2024.

]]><![CDATA[Rebel Dad]]>Sat, 25 Nov 2023 21:39:04 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/rebel-dad

By tearing down your statue, they were sure
They could erase your spirit from our hearts
And render thus their bright blue lie secure—
The tale where all the liberating parts
Were theirs.  They practiced cheap, dishonest arts
To bleed away the glory that impressed
Those of your time.  But, when they cast their darts,
They struck a bogus target.  I suggest
That you weren’t hurt at all.  You have what’s best:
Your conscience was demanding, and is clear.
In the external you did not invest.
Beaten, your courage didn’t disappear.
We take you as our emblem still today,
O Father of a Country Clad in Gray.

This piece was previously published here.

]]><![CDATA[Afterbirth of a New Nation]]>Sun, 30 Jul 2023 21:04:08 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/afterbirth-of-a-new-nation

The nation Mr. Lincoln longed to build
is here — and it’s not quite as he intended.
The independent-minded have been killed,
but the development proved open-ended
of points to be promoted and defended
against the challenges of those in gray.
Amendments have been endlessly amended.
The highest Yankee value? Being gay.
But wait! Today mere gayness is passé.
Enabled, genders keep on multiplying.
From standards of the past it pays to stray.
The march of mindlessness brooks no denying.
Wherever Judgment may have parked his butt,
Lincoln now wishes he’d worn butternut.

This poem was published at Flammeus Gladius on July 28, 2023.

]]><![CDATA[Straight to Hell]]>Mon, 03 Jul 2023 00:19:13 GMThttps://www.reckonin.com/tom-riley/straight-to-hell

The country’s headed straight to Hell.
This truth is pretty much agreed.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

Some want to blunder on, pell-mell.
Some utter prophecies to heed.
The country’s headed straight to Hell.

Oh, everybody knows the smell!
The maggots squirm, the roaches breed.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

An evil wizard cast a spell.
His name was Abe, his motive greed.
The country’s headed straight to Hell.

How many knights in anguish fell!
What faltered? The heroic deed.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

Were the slaves freed — or did we sell
as slaves those who had long been freed?
The country’s headed straight to Hell.
The causes, though, we dare not tell.

This poem was originally Published at Flammeus Gladius on June 25, 2023.

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