CliffSongs

  Texas 2A-Step   It’s Cleveland, Texas where the 2A is alive and well, Where a simple noise request introduces hell. It’s like a tradition where the Lone Star is bold: To brutally, mindlessly slaughter an 8-year-old.   Let’s celebrate dear Texas unlicensed carry, No permit required, load up and be merry! Let’s all be like Texas and stain the soil deep red, Deep in the heart of Texas, where it’s live and let dead.   Haven’t got your fill of gore and violence? Have you tried Texas where you kill to break the silence? Did someone complain about your late-night AR-15? Just unload on that neighbor, it’s the Texan dream!   Let’s say you get a side-glance from some odd stranger, Take the fucker out, be a vigilante Texas Ranger! Don’t let your 2A rights be infringed by some socialist clown, Be a real Texan and gun that motherfucker down!   Cliff Lake 4/29/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023        

Notification   THIS IS THE AUTHORITY. We have been informed that you are In Violation. In accordance with The Guidance, You will report to The Center for your Disappearance. If you do not report to The Center within 24 hours, Your implant will be switched to Active. As stated in The Guidance, An Active implant that is not resolved At the nearest Center within 24 hours Will be switched to End Status At the 24-hour mark. This is an automated procedure. THIS IS THE AUTHORITY. You are In Violation. You have been scheduled for Disappearance. The Authority is not required To state the nature of the Violation. All that is required of The Authority Is to inform you to report to The Center. Your Disappearance will serve to remove The influence you may have on The Society And to inform those in your Circle of Habitation That Violation will not be tolerated. THIS IS THE AUTHORITY. You are scheduled for a Disappearance. You have been reported t

  The Jack Plays the Joker   The Joker was trying to figure the odds, trying to rig the game, But the Jack walked in and sat at the table, he was playing this frame. The Joker was desperate for any action, he needed a backer and quick, But it looked like his second wasn’t flush and had already turned a trick.   The Jack was eyeing the Joker steadily, he wasn’t betting blind. The Joker looked for a new buy-in but his markers were declined. The Joker was chasing cards, he was looking at three of a kind, But his backers were dropping out and his second had already resigned.   The Jack hadn’t yet shown his cards, and he was betting tough. The Joker kept his patter going, but it was known he was all bluff. The Jack had yet to say a word, his cards were face down on the table, The Joker wasn’t up to this game, his chances looked unstable.   The Jack was raising the stakes and the Joker was low on chips, The Joker was trying talk himself into a new deal, bu

A Dirty Bird   The Ruddy-throated Blunder Nests messily in the rafters, Swooping in to make it’s raucous squawk: “Aspersion, aspersion!” it screams, “Aspersion!” So loudly that even the Carmine Thrashers nearby Find their feathers ruffled, And the Blue-crested Persisters Spread their wide wings, Crowing sternly until the harpy subsides.   The Ruddy-throated Blunder Scratches at sullied grounds, Searching for sour nuggets To be presented as lure, Seeking mate or mark To screech alongside her, And fill the assembly with noise Without substance or sequence, Seeking little result or production.   The Ruddy-throated Blunder Flies and flails at the walls of decorum, Shrilly croaking invective and epithet, Excreting freely and often In its own abode and haunts Soiling the grounds where others tread For it must distract from its old foulings: Corruptions it must try to escape, Lest it be caught and caged… Once and for all.   Cli

  The Dawning   Hello there red hat, is the light shining in your eyes? Are you beginning to see how you numbers are falling, Is there anything you’d like to revise? What will you do if good old Jack should come calling, Will you then your involvement minimize?     Hey there Putin’s cheerleaders, are things not going to plan? Where will you drink now from hatred’s springs, Are there no programs left now for klub and klan? Who will now say all your despicable things, Now that they’ve shitcanned the bowtie man?   Hey there Bible thumper, misbegotten all-trumper, How long will you let yourself be played? You think you’re some kind of Antifa jumper, In the end you’re always betrayed, And your idol throws you back in the dumper.   Cliff Lake 4/26/2023 Copyright (C) Clifford Lake 2023

  The Golem   The charlatans assemble, To manufacture the fiction, They are generously paid for. Gathered in the Great Hall, To choose among them a chief, Dissension arises within the factions, For they will not be led. Now they take from among them, Their greeds and corrupt passions, And construct themselves a Creature, To stand in as prop and sham, To issue decree and edict, Given to him in secret, To be spoken by his mouth, That he no longer owns. Thus then he is given, The Symbol of Authority, And title attached to him, That means less to those under him, Than a wind in an empty place. For he is raised up as lofty, Thought it be widely known, He is cast down with only a word. So, they stand him before them, Dictating their empty schemes, Making hollow noises, To cover their malingering, As they shirk the duties, They accepted in bad faith. This shallow Creature, Is now presented to us, And we are asked to countenance

  The Incongruent   The cleric leads them Through the prayers, Constructed from doctrine Twisted out of Scripture And made palatable For the already-decided. He retires to his study, Absently tumbling his Bible To fall to the floor with a thud In favor of settlement To consult the heterodox: The creed supplied Through greeded rationale Assembled by persons Who long discarded their humanity. In this way will he shape The flock he shepherds, To become the wolves Required by the masters, That suffer his existence. Dully, he imagines vast power, Massaged and manipulated, Contrived and contributed, From within his very tenement Consecrated by his office, Imposed upon the sleepy populace, Affording him impervious authority And exemption from retribution. He stands in the clutter, Of the office assigned to him, And pontificates to a dusty window. Caught up in reverie, Of imagined conquest Of dullards and disposables, He a

  A Triumph in the Chambers   In the Chambers of Repute they gathered, To discuss which hair styles will be allowed, And whether baldness is still a sin. For there were some shaving Their heads for their comfort, And some shaving their heads for style. The Minister of Heritage was adamant, And argued on behalf, Of the Barbers Association, And asked how shining pates Would affect the children. He quoted a quote from the Holy Book That had never been writ into the Law, But was referenced by some people, So that it could be misunderstood at need. Then he sobbed quietly into a handkerchief As he related how the Women’s Confederate Had been repulsed by a revue of lockless men, And frightened by a demonstration of removal technique, They had paid to see with their own money. He ranted at some length, About the public being forced To accept that male pattern baldness Could be natural and determined at birth, When wigs and toupees were readil

  Lately   I went outside to fetch the paper. There were less birds Than I remembered. They flew harder and harder As they tried to get away. I asked the man Across the road If he had seen the same. He pointed at the mourning sun, saying, “It’s late out.”   The news I read seemed darker Than I wanted to remember. The words hit harder With all they had to say. I had many things to ask But it was just the paper So, I put it away. But the Clock was face up Its hands nearly straight up to say, “It’s late out.”   The day seemed darker Than I remembered And as I walked It seemed harder and harder To find my way. I asked the man As we stood at a crossroads If he thought the same. He pointed at the signs and said, “It’s late out.”   I hurried home But it was colder than I remembered. I wanted its comfort, but it was harder To find solace In a deepening dark. I asked myself As I stared out at the crumbling roads

  Concocticus 1:1-12   1. Saith the Lord, “In those days they will come against you with lies, And their lies shall be bare and barren.” 2. “And they shall be in the service of evil and of death, And they will worship it’s instrument and cherish it.” 3. “Then will you know them and their kind, For they will decorate themselves with its symbol, And they will excuse the slaughter of children as just, And needful that they may obtain the instrument freely. 4. “Then in those days will they revile the peaceful, And those of warm spirit and curse them as cowards, Though that multitude stand against them, And decry the sacrifice of the innocent.” 5. “Know you then that these have a lust not only of death, But for gold and for precious stones, And also, for perversions of body they dare not disclose.” 6. “For in that day will they loudly proclaim their Godliness, And name him lordly and holy, Who has walked among them as the wolf, but is not, But is as t

  Tell Me   Tell me the dangers of the supermarket. Tell me of the frightening visage of a 16-year-old. Tell me that you don’t walk in fear. Tell me that your profit isn’t counted in lives. Can you say so? Can you look me in the eye?   Tell me how a product is woke. Tell me how books damaged your kid. Tell me how you know God’s will. Tell me you don’t hate-groom your children. Can you claim that? Can you look us in the eye?   Tell me how you represent your people. Tell me how tax breaks for the rich benefit the poor. Tell me how more guns equal less violence. Tell me you aren’t bought and paid for. Can you repeat that? Can you look yourself in the eye?   Judgement Day is coming. And just what will you say?   Cliff Lake 4/17/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023    

  The Charlatan   He was telling me that he had come, From between time and space, But he had said so, Many times before. I smiled indulgently, As I always do. He smiled back sadly, As he always did. He wanted to show me, How to bend light Around the ceramic cylinder, He had brought specially for the occasion. “It takes but a few minutes, To learn these principles. The world will be better for it.” I wanted to show him, I wouldn’t be taken in By cheap conjuring, And I smiled indulgently, As I always do. He sketched then a diagram, And some simple mathematics, On a napkin That I used yesterday. Once more he passed objects, Through the table, And explained how to listen to the moon. He told me all the tales of my childhood, As if he had been there, Or watched from not too far. He gave me instructions, To conserve the world’s energy, And how to explore the mind of the trees. He seemed at once calm, But also somehow de

Spark   He stares into a gulf of uninspiration, A small wit helpless. A mote measured against time, And improbability. His energy gathered, He frets, Caffeine-fired and wide open, A victim of too much information, And too little knowledge. Still, life is in front of him, While the minutes, Then hours, Then years pass behind. The blank expanse before him Demands neither hesitation, Nor impetus – It simply is. He stares into the empty of the unknown, Desperate to conceive, Unable to supply, Stranded by muse, Footless, Mired, Inert. The coffee beckons, But the promise of succor, Will be rewarded with shaking hands, Nervous energy, Racing thoughts, And no way to catch them. He stares into the hollow of unobservance And finds nothing. Joyless, He answers his email, With all the requisite platitudes. Tomorrow looks to be nearly the same. How will it be a new day, If all his days are the same? Distantly he thinks

  In So Many Words   I do not want to waste the words, Because I don’t know where they come from, But I’m pretty sure, I borrowed them.   I do not want to misuse the words, Because some of them are not mine, I only put them here, So they have somewhere to live.   I do not want to mix up the words, Because they ask me to write them, And if I get it right, I can watch them dance.   I do not want to forget the words, But some day I will get old, Then maybe they will run away, And I won’t be able to find them.   I do not want to lose the words, Because we have been friends, And time is short, And I have burned my candle for so long.   I do not want to wear out the words, Because there may not be many left, Because everyone is talking, And less and less is being said.   Cliff Lake 4/13/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Genosis 1   “Let us make man in our own damage.” So it is written, So let it be done.   Thus, it is in these days, That We move into the Gulf and The Alaska wilderness There to wreak Our havoc, In Our name. For We have multiplied, And We taken dominion over the Earth, And We will subdue it. And We have wielded dominion, Over all the fish in the sea, And over all the birds in the air And maintained dominion, Over every living thing, Until We have subdued them, Or until they are no more. For We have eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, And We know of good, But We know of evil, Yet still We continue to eat, Until We are subdued, Or until We are no more.   Perhaps we should take our day of rest…   Cliff Lake 4/12/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake  

A Rage Has Come   It was simple out that day: The sun, The birds, The cat that meant to catch them, Or Alternately to nap… Simple. I thought to walk to the bank and, Stepping out the door, Stopped. The very air was taut. As if existence were a cable too tightly wound, A balloon too filled and ready For bursting at a touch. I moved through it slowly, Meaning not to shatter, But too late: Something was here -   A rage had come.   It meant to rend, Its meaning clear, It meant to rend. Where had it come from? Who had called it forth? In the face of its furor Such questions were meaningless, It meant to rend.   It did not. Here it was, A blackness invisible Blotting out all. And doing nothing. It was palpable and present. It was waiting. I looked around, All was frozen – Birds, cat, traffic, Time was suspended, And the thing waited.   It waited for me.   Not as prisoner, no. Not as prey, It wai

  The Fires   It was California and, in the spring, And a stray lighting bolt or careless cigarette flung. Then it was red and gold and black on the mountain. And a thousand miles away a TV Showed the monster swallow the forests. And the man threw open his window and screamed: FIRE! But the people below didn’t see, And the people below didn’t care. And all of the fires kept burning.   It was Ukraine and the end of winter, And a thousand Z lightning bolts. Then it was Red and red in the cities. And thousands of miles away a TV Showed the monsters ravaging the land. And the man threw open his window and screamed: FIRE! But the people below wouldn’t see, And the people below wouldn’t care. And all of the fires kept burning.   It is Nashville and Louisville, and it is spring, And a thousand bullets like lightning flung. Then it was red in the bank and red in the school. And a few hundred miles away my TV Shows the monsters in the legi

  The Unmentionable   In Louisville the week opens to the sound of the gun, Five dead in a bank lobby with nowhere to run. Where does the problem lie, who to take to task? But in Kentucky there are questions you simply don’t ask.   Andy Beshear has lost two of his friends. In the U. S. losses to guns seemingly never end. Is there a solution to hold violence at bay? But in the red states there are things you just don’t say…   How to reduce the firearm’s score? Some child’s last sound will be the muzzle blasts roar. How many deaths has the NRA paid for? How did we find ourselves in this silent war?   Tennessee and Kentucky, what will be reason enough? How much longer do you think you can bluff? How many more will be sent to their rest Before you must come to what you’ll never suggest?   How to reduce the firearm’s score? Some child’s last sound will be the muzzle blasts roar. How many deaths has the NRA paid for? How did we find ourselves

    The Lass and The Fire Worm   Come child to the realm of the Fire Worm, Listen to the tale of the Hero and learn, Of the sword she bore that they name Slice, And the Shifting Shield and how the Worm died twice.   Listen child to the tale of the bravest lass, Armored in unbreakable glass, Singing in battle with implacable foe, Driving the Worm up mountain with every blow.   See there child, in snow a fire quenched, See the Worm’s tail about the Hero clench. See now how Slice will do its work, See the Shifting Shield and Lass and the Worm’s fell irk.   See now child the Worm without fire, But not nearly weakened in ire, See it rise above the Hero for the crushing blow, But Slice and Shield and Lass ready themselves below.   See child, in the Worm’s eye all these weapons gleam, And indomitable Lass, hear her warrior’s scream! There the Worm does pale, its end is nigh, It does obeisance ‘neath the starless sky.   But know child, no

  Because the World   The old man did not smile. The children begged him for stories, That he gladly gave. The street dogs begged him for food, Which he did not hold back. The cats too were fed, And at times took his lap. But the old man did not smile. I asked him why and he said, “Because the world is broken.”   He stared into the distance then, I could not see the things, That took his joy. But I remembered the words. I noticed his clothes, Clean, not old. Good shoes he had, Money to feed the strays, Those on four legs, Those on two, Or sometimes less. I asked him if he wanted for anything, And he said, “The world is broken.”   He stared into the ground then, But I could not see, Where his heart was buried. I left him then, As the children gathered, And the cats watched. I got home and The television shouted, Too many things, too bloody, Or too callous. Unjust wars, Suppression of entire populations, Or o

  The Whispered Vapors   Do you see the shrouding ones? The obscurers, The murmuring veilers? Do you know the confounding ones? Have you heard their peculiar songs? Have they led you down paths, Of mist and shadow Have they left you lost? Have you spoken to the blurring ones? Have they serpentined their way about you? Have you attended the diverting ones, Have they attended you? Have you witnessed the deluding ones, Does their refrain resound? Have you marked the beguiling ones, Do you confute, Or do you ignore? Their chorus grows and swells daily, Be the light burning these mistings away.   Cliff Lake 4/7/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023  

  Nashville Shame   Where are the hoods of yesteryear, That covered guilty faces? Where are the masks with staring eyes, That once hid your disgraces? No need for them? You’re brave enough, To demonstrate your hate? No longer hiding absolute rule, You openly legislate. No secret ritual conceived in dark, Is needed anymore: You make your bold plan very clear, Right there on your House floor. Have children died, are you dry-eyed, Does your wallet remain filled? Have you explained to those remained, How you ignore the children’s blood spilled? Your youth parade, they seek your aid, But you have chosen to grandstand. What were you paid, your justice fades, And death now stains your hands. So, Tennessee, you cannot flee, The shame that you accept. Your people see, the deep degree, Of a debt you will regret. So, take your pay from the NRA, Your voters know your names. So, Tennessee, get your thirty, But you have shown all your shame.

  The Joker Gets Called   The Joker had been called, he had to double down. Distractions would no longer serve, his shills had to leave town. The Joker was seen to sweat, his debt he could not postpone, No more credit could he get, the sharks no longer loan.   The Joker summoned all his nerve, his patter made it clear, He would get what he deserved; things were just as they appeared. The Joker stayed just to delay inevitable exposure, But the crowd would not be cowed and now they wanted closure.   The Joker had spent all his chips, he was forced to roll the dice, His Jacks were folding one by one, he’d gotten them cut price. His Queen no longer in his hand, she was somewhere in the deck, He would have to take a stand, and try to save his neck.   Wheel spins round, he’s no longer crowned, his number is up. The house of cards is falling hard, he has to drink this cup. He laid his bet, thought he would get head seat at the table. But the pit boss kn

  Bait   Bait. A note to expose. A concatenation of verbiage For a singular purpose: Suppression. An invitation for obscuration. A wagging finger, A seeing eye, A grumbling of conjecture. A bidding made, An erasure expected. Bait. An unread missive, The hook taken. How long before The veil of multitude? Will the suspected Become the confirmed? Is the shrouding begun? Concealment unmasked. The clucking tongue, The sigh of discontent. A summoning. Bait.   Cliff Lake 4/6/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

The Before   In what dream did you breathe once, In what realm beyond the known? In what vision did you fare once, In this world unshown? Do you at times taste different air, A breath from some outside? Do your nerves somehow with memory ring, With the advent of springtide? Are there still distant bells rung, Did you once roam the far hill? Do you recall songs now unsung, A melody lost and playing still. What vapor of being could you have been? What essence moving through the ages? How long, how many whens, How many acts and how many stages? What remembrance whispers soft, In what worlds did you settle? How many great battles have you fought, How many times proved your mettle? Or do you plod through these gray times, With little inspiration. With no challenge, no mountains to climb, Consigned to your dull station. Reach back through time! The bells still chime! You are not restricted to this theme! Let go your cares, let your fanc

Today’s News   And in the news some insurrectionist tramp Is making a scene, So that she can tell the lies She’s already told, Because that’s what sells ad space.   But in Nashville the kids are marching for their lives.   And on TV a Former Guy Has landed in a plane, Much excite, So felony, And the networks can barely contain themselves.   But in Nashville the kids are singing for their lives.   And in the press a bird owner Has now adopted a dog, Because the bird’s been poisoned So that he can talk about himself And the editorials just keep on coming.   But in Nashville the kids are protesting for their lives.   So, the news cycle skews, And blathers on, And doesn’t say much at all. And the press eats it up, And spits it back out, And our priorities get twisted and rust.   But in Nashville the kids are fearing for their lives… Those kids fear for their lives.   Cliff Lake 4/4/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  End of the Road   Have the wages of sin totted up, Has the piper been paid? Can you call your spy master, Will he come to your aid? Have you more secrets, That you can unload, Or have you come to the end of the road?   Do the backers sound loudly, But then fail to show? Do you have to keep begging, You can no longer borrow? Are there less and less minions, That respond to your goad, And are you come to the end of the road?   You once climbed the heights, But you took a hard fall, Not enough soiled knights Came to your call. There’s few left to spite, And even more that are owed, Can you feel your confidence erode?   Have you fumbled some chance, You thought you saw, Do you still seek to dance, Then walk away from the law? Will you try to bargain, With info still stowed, Or do you think it’s the end of the road?   You once climbed the heights, But you took a hard fall, Not enough soiled knights Came to your call

The Sidearm Shuffle   We can peacefully protest, With a rifle on our shoulder We can march through the streets, And you better keep clear. We can wear knives and pistols, To make us look bolder, But you can’t open carry a beer.   Now nipples on women Are not welcome in public, But a sidearm is fine, Back off from my Glock, if you please, dear. I’m only protecting the goddam republic, But you can’t open carry a beer.   I don’t wanna see drag queens, I get confused, I don’t wanna know woke things, I feel abused. I need the comfort of deadly gear, But you can’t open carry a beer.   There’s dozens of books That ain’t right for readin’ Just haul out the Bible, ‘Cause God ain’t no queer. And I’ll keep on packin’ Like Jesus has told me, But you can’t open carry a beer.   I don’t wanna see drag queens, I get confused, I don’t wanna know woke things, I feel abused. I need the comfort of deadly gear, But you can’t open car

The Lindsey Graham Blues   Don’t abandon Donnie in his hour of desperation. Don’t believe the Democrat and his damnation. Don’t believe any new or old accusation, Don’t forget to send in a very large donation, And don’t make Lindsey cry.   Don’t discard your fawning adulation. Keep Donnie in your thoughts. Make him your fixation. Don’t withhold from Donnie that standing ovation, And oh yes, send in another large donation. Please don’t make Lindsey cry.   Don’t make Lindsey cry, Don’t make his MAGA tears flow. Don’t make Lindsey cry, Just send Don your dough. Don’t make Lindsey cry, It’s such a sad tableau, Let him dry his eye, Send money to the orange guy, Don’t make Lindsey cry.   Don’t desert the MAGA sensation, Don’t get your name on the lists of abdication. Don’t flake out on your fawning affectation, Make your loyalty in the form of a donation, And don’t make Lindsey cry.   Don’t make Lindsey cry, Don’t make his MAGA te