CliffSongs

  Holistic Ballistic   The dog is on the rooftop, The barn under the owl. The band is playing shortstop, Behind a stolen towel.   Forty one and one to go, Do you display avowal? Lost and down and out you go, Can you use a stolen towel?   Round and round, See the Sound, Long before you run aground. Town to town, Fall dumbfound, In for a penny and gone outbound.   Tricky dickies slipping mickeys, The orchestrator calls a foul. Sticky quickies tricking prickies, Effected on a stolen towel.   Round and down, Outta town, Walk in sunlight all ungowned. Crooked crown, Clown and down, Miles to go and still unsound.   The dog is in the kitchen, The mouse relieves the owl. The band is playing nonstop, Do you have the towel?   Down and down, Here unfound, All of the voices are unsound. Round and round, Go to town, One bad penny and still outbound.   Round and down, O...

  Relics of the Long Sleep   Legends that arrive from somewhere deep. Stories that we somehow reap. Secrets we were never meant to keep: These are the relics of The Long Sleep.   Why do our dreams seem so aglow? What have we lost of the Long Ago? What did we spend and what do we owe? We dreamember what we used to know.   We don’t know what we don’t know, We try to learn but we’re so slow. Visions come and visions go, And leave us with what we don’t know.   What ancient memory did someone sweep? Why must we pay cost so steep? We somehow must make the faithful leap To collect our relics of the Long Sleep.   Stolen strength or merely lost? What vital knowledge have we tossed? A history now over-glossed: Mythologize a holocaust.   We don’t know what we don’t know, We try to learn but we’re so slow. Visions come and visions go, And leave us with what we don’t know.   Trials we ascend grow ...

  Control   What soft net is this? Caught in velvet and smoke, A web imperious and pervasive.   The shapely vessel, The assigned utensil, Rituals in consumption.   Such pretty trappings, Such eloquence bestowed, An industry in indulgence.   The obeisance is ancient, The design oft recorded, And men weep and women rage.   A honeyed tongue, A grape soured, Wheat, rice, and molasses turn.   The stein foams, The cork flies, The trap sprung in good company.   Let the voices ring! Let the dance commence! Tomorrow’s pains are yet ahead.   What sot lies there sprawled? Pass that one by, The snare has caught him, not you.   Indulge! Ingest! Imbibe! Two after work, and with dinner, with friends, You are in control.   What sot lies there sprawled? It is not you. Is it 5 o’clock yet?   You are in control…   Cliff Lake 4/11/2026 Copyright © Cliffo...

  Square Biz   It was just an ordinary day, When they cleared their throat to say: We have implemented a new frame: That way everything can look the same.   Don’t worry about all that creative stress, Just subtract all the uniqueness. That way you will pass every test, Once we begin deciding what is best.   Oatmeal, oatmeal, do you want a taste? What use is being unique –                                         (I am the round peg) If you don’t fit in, You are a waste. Dumbing down Is good for the mental health, Why bother to stand out?                                   ...

  Visions   It came to him from nowhere: So simple, So new, So prime for the moment. “Genius”, said some, “Madman”, said others, “Evil” said those that had not thought of it. He is gone, His idea remains.   A whisper deep, A prodding in the nerve, The errant breeze directs, Then the deed is done. Angel, muse, or messenger, In the dreams that drive us.   She hummed it over her coffee, So lilting, So hypnotic, So vital in this moment. “Powerful”, said some, “Trite”, said others, “Derivative” said those who did not write it. The singer is gone, Her song remains.   A murmur low, Melody in the muscle, Shadows breathing hints, Then the song is sung. Angel, muse, or messenger, In the dreams that drive us.   They seem to come from nowhere: So complex, So real, So filled with astonishing moment. “Prophetic”, say some, “Illusion”, say others, “Nonsense” say those that do not follow th...

  Peter and the Lessen Plan   What value the precise praise brings: You have exceeded Pete’s Principle. What heights we endure of you, We measure them in ordinance, Though the costs are borne by the recipients. How came you here? The Sycophant’s Shuffle has stood you well.   And do you find yourself In a five-sided playpen? And do you get to play with real lives? Short-dick shill, Your sandbox bleeds.   Do you nightly medicate with Johnnie and Jack? Or is it celebration? What victory can you proclaim, Other than having risen beyond your facility. Whose purse do you spend from, How will you pay the final cost? Will your foxy friends rally to bail you out?   And do you find yourself In a five-sided playpen? And do you get to play with real lives? Short-dick shill, Your sandbox bleeds.   Praising the pedophile petitioner, You propelled his pulpit proudly. How did we Nazi you coming? You came to ...

  Wing of the Eagle   Majestic flight sullied, Morning has long passed. A far-seeing eye blinded, Her young cry hungry, The nest abandoned, Her partner driven off. The winds are changing, And she responds with voice, But adjusts her glide not, She is headlong and downward, And the hard landing rushes.   Once she soared…   White-crowned without wisdom, Her wings cannot carry her burden. Weighted with gold, And barreled crude… Her talons grasp and grope – What futile hunt compels her? Once the eagle soared, Now she is bound to performative purpose, And suspect intent.   Cruel men bind her to low course, They shorten her sight. They lead her over lands far flung, To threaten, To menace, A weapon she is become, A huntress gone savage, Goaded by barbs and restraints unnatural, Though she has nestlings unattended, And wanting. Never had she such ambition and now…   Once the eagle soared… ...

  The it   How is it that it does not die? The failing apparatus, A shell of corruption – How is it that it does not die?   There it walks: A shambling thing, Spotted and bruised, Reeking and bloated, This is flesh in full rot.   A clever thing once, It makes noises from the mouth hole, Little more than obscene prattle, Croakings and chokings That excite the foolish, And the lost.   How is it that it does not die? What foul sustenance sustains it? A consumption of corruption – How is it that it does not die?   Rage has been its bread and butter, Fear slakes the thirst. Meaty hatred has fattened it, Chaos is sweet on that polluted palate, Salted liberally with greed and graft.   How is it that it does not die? It suckles the spirit, It evacuates corruption – How is it that it does not die?   Children have fed it, Innocence has gorged it, The blameless devoured, Depravity ...

  Oldan Blue   Oldan Blue was nearly seventy, And he would play guitar for you. Oldan Blue is getting up there, And music was all he ever knew.   Oldan Blue was always travellin’ round, He would sit down anywhere to play. Oldan Blue would play his blues harp, And make the dark feel like day.   And the people would gather to him, To wash away their daily plight. And the children would then dance, And forget it was night.   Now Oldan Blue will play piano, Sounding like a chuckling stream. And Oldan Blue will play his trumpet, Dissipate fear into faded dream.   And the people gather to him, And fret not the tyrant’s fight. And the children get up and dance, And forget that it is night.   Oldan Blue is a drummer, He pounds out what he cannot say. Oldan Blue makes his music To chase the people’s cares away.   Oldan Blue plays in defiance Of the rich man’s miserly bite. And the children...

  The Mad   What false fog obscures the eye? Who can breathe that dirty brown? Burning fields rain ash into the sky. Deadly raptor roars overhead, From above explosive darts fly, On orders from the insane, Who call themselves the good guy.   In someone else’s sin we’re clad, Is he thinking about Using the launchpad? And when it all goes bad, Then will we realize We are the mad.   Aren’t you glad you get to work? Count your blessings in layers of soot: Dutiful progress do not shirk. Mother Earth gives her blood to burn, Moon and stars swim above the murk. We crawl the ground and brighter shine, While we bleed ourselves with blackened dirk.   In pursuit of greedy sin we’re clad, Are we thinking about What grime we add? And when it all goes bad Will we deny that We are the mad.   Look to nature for the contrast - Are we clever enough? Leaning into mistakes of the past. We lull ourselves in b...

  Dreaming Darkness   This cannot be real, We have fallen into a dream. This is not reality, Things are not what they seem. We have drifted away from the track, This is the wrong scheme. We are treading deep water, Have we lost our paddles to the stream?   What storyline is told By the sneering mouth full of lies? Are all of these minds so closed That they cannot pierce the disguise? Are they so driven to accept The promise of an unearned prize? Do they know where we’re headed, Are they hypnotized?   When the nightmare is over, Will the sun shine a darker hue? When the dark dream is ended, Will there be a dimmer view? When the ordeal is complete, Will the wages come due? Will we rise refreshed or, Will the sun shine a darker hue?   We are plunged into this darkened realm. I tire of this unreality. Dregs are risen from the bottom, We bow not to monstrous society. A trap built of hallucination: A ...

  Scars   They call him hero, But that doesn’t heal the scars. Memory is too near, so He only tells the stars. If he can ever get clear though, He might quit the bars, Where they call him hero, But never see the scars.   Ten years and a day since he went away, Volunteered to protect his land. He had hardly got in and the fighting began, Still he was proud to make his stand. The 12 hour flight, boots a bit too tight, His training tested weapon in his hand. But the intel went bad, and they knew they were had, And surviving became the new plan.   They call him hero, But that doesn’t heal the scars. Memory is too near, so He only tells the stars. If he can ever get clear though, He might quit the bars, Where they call him hero, But never see the scars.   The rockets were bursting all around, then the wheels hit the ground The bullets were flying before he got off the plane. He watched one, then two go dow...

  The Real Fake News – Midnight Madness Malfunction   The Kash Patel Lookalike Contest set for the beginning of next month so far has three entries: a bucket of KFC left on someone’s porch for a week, a shopping bag found blowing down the street, and a wet rock with googly eyes glued on it. The only human withdrew because in his words, “Sure I look like him, but I couldn’t get the idiocy and self-absorption just right.”   During a recent interview, Donald Trump spoke with rare candidness about his health. Pointing to the back of his hand he said, “This only happened after I took over from Joe Biden.” Absently rubbing his neck he claimed,” Anyone can see I inherited a real mess.”   Kristi Noem, former DHS screwup and current Shieldmaiden of the Americas, was seen berating Corey Lewandowski in a restaurant parking lot for not growing his hair longer and learning to speak Elvish.   Pete Hegseth announced an event to be held at Madison Square Garden ...

  Another Fray   Another day dawns, another batch of skews. Another day of the medicated news. Another fray to obfuscate the views, Another fray to set the brains to snooze.   The winds of war blow behind their eyes, This isn’t noble: the unobtainable gold prize. Just read the news to learn whom to despise, Just more hate in religious disguise.   They move all their pawns, And we veer off the track, The days just crawl on, And I don’t want to look back. They tell us stay home While the war games are played, Our futures are blown… These are the bad old days.   Another day and the more twisted word, Another crisis for secrets to be obscured. Into the death spiral the faithful are lured, Only a thicker web of lies is assured.   The blameless are bled while the truth is held at bay. The fat stay well-fed while children are betrayed. The world’s population is the rich man’s buffet, Just an example of the ...

  The Chronicles of Emptyman   Emptyman, He knows he’s the hero of our times. Emptyman, Needs yet another shrine. Emptyman, Equipped with super flexible spine, Emptyman, Full of himself all the time.   Emptyman, Lives a life full of fail. Emptyman, Cannot let you hear the tale. Emptyman, They’re hot on his trail. Emptyman, Just one step ahead of the jail.   Emptyman, Coming in to Ruin the day For everyone else. Emptyman, Can never find Substance enough To find himself. Emptyman Grabbing up All the everything That never helps. Emptyman, Coming in to Ruin the day For everyone else.   Emptyman, Never said what he said. Emptyman, Spots on the record he cannot shed. Emptyman, So many wrong roads has he sped. Emptyman, In way over his head.   Emptyman, Never should have written the check. Emptyman, His every move we inspect. Emptyman, How much more can he wreck? ...

  Memories of Mist   I have memories Living within the skin, Singing along the nerves, Dreaming deep in the bone,   I don’t know what they are.   Some long ago Where I have never been, Where I have always been, Where we used to be,   How lost are we?   Do the mountains mutter? Do the oceans chant? Does the sky weep? Do the stars judge?   I would hear it all.   Once we ran with Puck and Pan, Once we danced in the pixie ring. Why did Fairie abandon us? Or was she sent away?   Conquest isn’t always winning.   I feel song beyond the stars, Melody played on sister moon. I note the trumpet of the sun, The orchestration of earth that thrums.   The language just beyond my reach…   Morning jewels lay on the grass, Gossamer veils roll on the meadow, Painted scenes on autumn tree, Pillowed wonder of winter sparkling,   Magic diminished by industry. ...

  Home Front   What news from the front Established now in the capitol And warring within? The preemptive strike Against the media they own, A warning of a plot That they enact themselves: Reverse engineering the truth To set themselves free.   Let the tale now be told By the least informed, The easiest swayed. Their enemy named: Any with a question, Any with proof of misdeed, Any not on the knee before them.   The bombs fall on foreign soil, The strangulation is at home.   Crisis, Situation, Dilemma, Catastrophe, A program composed of confusion, But a program nonetheless, Which way to turn When every direction is further down? A program of confusion, Disguising the intent.   What songs are sung again By Crusaders of this century, Inspired by promise of redemption For crimes committed by someone else, But gladly absorbed, And explained away, To give themselves permissions For ...

  The Brutal Peace   Today I had to rearrange my head, While he explains the schoolchildren dead. Did they hear waters of cooling calm? They only heard the sound of the falling bombs. How high up must you climb To make up a war to hide your crime? How many deaths to make them cease Warring away to a brutal peace?   This is the day and the night of the Beast. On the blood of innocents does he gladly feast. How many deaths until they cease? How long until they force us under the brutal peace?   A casualty of the incompetence curse, Can’t be best of the best, so he’ll take worst of the worst. A population he cannot control, Even with the civilian death toll. Have our innocent no defense? How is this an unimpeachable offense? Only in death will they ever cease, Extracting from us another brutal piece.   This is the day and the night of the Beast. On the blood of innocents does he gladly feast. How many deaths unt...

  Attack of the 80-Year-Old Clown   And the warplanes go bash and boom, And a new distraction to consume, And the records open that spell doom, And the warplanes must dash and zoom.   Obliterated and gone forever, Back again eight months along. Some sort of hydra the head to sever, Shows up again just for a song.   Don’t look there, look over here! The cardinal points of misdirection. Popeye in the headlights; the frightened deer, Who’s up next for defection?   And the warplanes go bash and boom, And the testimony in secluded room, And the telltale records ever loom, And the warplanes must dash and zoom.   Blondi spins, descending spiral, All the wrong folks go to trial. Bigly lies found out and gone viral, Mitchell’s seat heats all the while.   And the warplanes go bash and boom, And the records that must remain entombed, And the agony just mushrooms, And the warplanes must dash and zoom. ...

  Troubadour   He could smell it, Troubadour that he was, Feather in his hat, Harp at his back. He sensed an ill, A tribulation, A wrongness that had settled, And the village distant was imperiled dire.   He was only a troubadour, A traveler and a singer, A player and a tramp, His continued existence Relying solely on goodwill earned From the tales he could tell, The song that he knew, And the instruments of his trade.   In the village ahead he knew, He would sing again.   The ravage had not lain long on the hamlet, Nor had its grotesqueries found all as yet, But it was swift-moving, And indiscriminate. The lone figure approaching Would be warned off by sign, If he could read, By arrow if he could not.   The troubadour hardly glanced at the posting: Too like others he had seen, Too often that were writ. The first arrow passed close, The next would require a keen aim, If it were not me...

  Ritual   The rhyme is uttered out of turn, The cadence cold and spoken stern. A rite fraught with an ill intent, A ritual meant to torment. An obsession never earned, Wishes whispered in nocturn. Mere fancy when night holds sway, Delusion in the light of day. Curses spoke in dark of moon, Repeated now in eldritch tune. Misfortune cast meant to destroy, Symbols in arcane employ. Hieroglyph and ancient rune, Books and scrolls and walls festoon. Pages have been read and turned, Herbs that have been crushed and burned. Figures carved and subtly named, Creatures caught and foully framed. Uncanny motions, secret dance, Bizarre potions, fevered trance, Seize the night, oppose mischance, Nothing left to circumstance! Light is dawning, rite complete, He has no plans the sun to greet. Night has waned, and day begin, This time has passed fortune to spin. Time to rest, gain strength and then…   Tomorrow he will try again. ...

  Top Dogs   Who puts themselves above us, Or at least out of reach? Who delivers potent lessons, But will not practice what they preach? Who demands your willing sacrifice, That they covertly leech? Listen for the victim’s voice, That from on high does screech.   How long must you climb To where the depths of sin are found? How low must you go To where you are duly crowned? How high do you fly Before you run aground? Oh, it’s a long way down to Where the men at the top are found.   These masters and commanders Expect the most of you. The more that you accomplish, The less that they must do. They move on down the line, While you wait in the queue, And follow all the laws they give you, The ones that they eschew.   How long must they climb To where the depths of sin are found? How low must they go To where they are duly crowned? How high do they fly Before they run aground? Yes, it’s a long way...