The Yankee literati couldn’t bear A Southern gentleman like Mr. Poe. Judgmental in their absolutist lair, They scoffed at Southern genius. Even so It always is with lamps that truly glow In the thick dark that apes normality. Into obscurity must such lights go! To such truth, how can puffed-up frauds agree? The messengers of mediocrity Pushed hard. It seemed that excellence was dead. The lies of Griswold spread alarmingly. Delighted Yankees on that poor corpse fed-- But did not long enjoy their ghoulish feast. Who raised Poe from defeat? Les symbolistes! This poem was originally published on Flammeus Gladius.
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The Empire is collapsing as we speak. Why is the Emperor still full of pride? He’s naked – and we see that he’s a freak. The Empire is collapsing as we speak. In history, such moments aren’t unique. The evidence is always, though, denied. The Empire is collapsing as we speak. Why is the Emperor still full of pride? This was originally published on September 16, 2022 at FlammeusGladius.
Ty Seidule has victory at last Against the dead, whom fiercely he’s maligned. A whole new set of base names is assigned. The present can obliterate the past. The heroes that he never would have sassed Back when they rode for Dixie, steely-spined, Titanic Ty can now, delighted, grind Into the dust. It happened really fast. Behold: progressive forces celebrate Ty’s triumph over every Rebel name! Greatness lies redefined – not by the great But by the petty. They pursue an aim Too trivial for noble souls to state. Dwight Eisenhower hangs his head in shame.
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AuthorTom Riley was born in Buffalo, but through study has become a Rebel from Yankeeland. He works as a freelance copywriter and is the author of Love Poems of a Hatemonger and The Ghost of Biden’s Brain. Archives
July 2024
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