Tides of evening grains
So austere, so austere
Is my voice in poetry.
Tides of evening grain
So austere is my idea in poetry.
How the exalted verse
O’ thou exalted verse…
I cannot tell a riddle
A riddle, a riddle.
Blasted I am.
No riddle, no riddle.
Tom Riddle
The Master of Oxford’s
Fated day…
When the children, the children
The children,
Do shed their fame.
Forget they do the tyrants…
O’ I cannot tell a riddle
A riddle, a riddle,
Of that blasted fame
Of Tom Riddle
Tom Riddle
He who is unnamed.
I cannot make my mystery
So bleak
I cannot hide it in my exalted verse…
Pretty words do not come to me
O’ Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
Riddle, Riddle,
Children called men
Walking through the halls of Yale
Tearing down the statues
You use as refuse, like bales.
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
I cannot make exalted verse…
O’ you children at Oxford
Do you know the ancient verse?
Tyrants rise, I cannot claim
O Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
You blasted, ancient fame.
You are Bonaparte,
You are Mary Queen of Scotts.
You are Elizabeth I
Feuding, feuding,
Killing many lots;
Hold onto your power
So power very vain?
Does it insult you
O feminist, that I unearth your hero’s vein?
A tyrant among men
A tyrant among wos
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
You like Cleopatra or Augustus of Rome.
Nay, the gender does not lay a curse
Nay, the hidden message in my verse.
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
I have no exalted say.
There you went to Oxford,
There you were so gay.
No… there is no sad story
With which to tell…
Like “Harry Potter”
You and him grew in similar hell.
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
What is your fame?
Blast that imbeciles had
Ruined your infamous name.
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
You hide in ancient verse.
The darling who created you
Created you chief and first.
No, waving of a wand does not say
That magic is so very good…
That magic does not exist
That is what a sane person should
Believe.
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
Know the ancient verse.
You burgeoned once
You burgeoned twice
Your lips in ignorance purse.
O’ you hide, you hide,
Specter in the Grae;
Ancient melodies were you sung
O hero lauded for your fame.
The Canaanites, the Canaanites
The famous as so slain…
O’ Tom Riddle
How a generation made you so very, very vain
To turn that Amon Ra
Into a warrior who would pray.
Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle
Here so very vain…
Meditate on my wisdom
For Tom Riddle’s become the lay.
B. K. Neifert 