CliffSongs

Paper Magic   The scowl now never leaves his face, As the magic begins to fail him. Fakery once so easy, Shorn up now with vapid demonstration. Heads of state receive him, So that they may lie to each other face to face, Making promises sturdy as glass. He frantically moves the pieces on the board, But he’s also been seen eating them. Governments willingly pay, For the loftiest of explosions. He keeps the company of charlatans, For he understands them well, Translating nonsense, Into relatable gibberish. He has been called wizard, But he only has the hat, And an oversized purse.   He has made grand announcement, And many the cryptic remark. He makes agreement with the outrageous, Basking in the uproar of absent apology. He is servile to men of empty intention, And emptier coffers, For he knows the value of paper, With which he has been bought.   He can no longer hide behind, The cloak he has torn to tatters. What he has left to se

  The Inquiry Begun   The Minister of Fallacy Announced he has begun, A probe into the father, For the perchance of crimes, Possibly committed by son.   He spoke of a web of nexus, And deals done beneath the desk, And what all this could portend, For what could happen next.   “These crimes that we imagine, Will be so easily found, That’s it’s taken all these months, For us to scrounge around.”   Thus he spake and made a decree, That the son should be brought in, To be fully vetted and, To name the criming kingpin.   Then he puffed out his chest, And smirked and glared levelly. He was pleased to provide, Investigative revelry.   So it seemed that both father and son, Were presented with a quandary: Would they have to duck and cover, Or would they air the dirty laundry?   Then the son sent notice to the board, “Why, I’ll come in and do so gladly, I’ll bring letters and receipts, And present them for all to see.”  

Unruffled   What serenity there is found in ignorance, Does not the unseen fail to exist? What peace is there settled in disregard, What a disturbance is knowledge's gist.   Far troubles need not disrupt, The narrowed eye takes comfort in confine. The troubles of others are mitigated, Through lenses colored too pink by design.   What business have we to listen, To complaint from persons unknown? What help are we to offer, To those who cannot pay the blood loan?   Is it enough to put one’s back to, Rumblings distant that hardly affect, An existence so soft and swaddled, In distraction and the toys we collect.   How placid the lack of awareness, Of the storms that others bear. How lulling the fog of oblivion, How tranquil it is not to care.   Cliff Lake 11/29/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Children of War   What is told to the children of war? How many enemies must they imagine? How many ruined homes will they leave? How many will have to raise their siblings? How many times will they face death?   How do we help the children of war? How can we hold them from this far away? What words of comfort silence bombs dropping? What forced marches end in safe places? How many times will they outrun death?   How do we heal the children of war? How do we replace the loss of family? How do we remove the horror of memory? How do we give them back their innocence? How many are only waiting for death?   What is to become of the children of war? What will they be after walking with death?   Cliff Lake 11/28/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Back to Shirk   The underachievers File back into the chamber Having successfully survived Their vacations. Nothing is expected of them, Save performances, Meant to appeal To the lowest common denominator. They won’t have to go far, A few steps up, And they’re in Familiar territory.   The underachievers Assemble their notes, Written by them personally, And not to be confused, With the fake phone numbers, They have collected, From the dancers On the bar napkins That still smell of Whiskey and Cocaine-scented sweat.   The underachievers Point fingers and rhetoric everywhere But at real issues, Substituting likes For engagement, And words For action, Believing earnestly That doing something That someone might dislike, May not lead To increased photo ops.   The underachievers File back into the chamber With no plans for action, But plenty of plans For acting Because outrage Makes for good video.

  Moleania   Have you given a thought to poor Melania, Caught up in the felonious drama? Cooped up in the motel with hardly no one, How is she to get her shopping done?   Is she to use last year’s handbags, And what’s she to do about those eyelid sags? Down there in the so heated Florida sun, Surely, she’ll soon need some more work done.   Does she really enjoy playing hostess, To so many overcharged show guests? Is she still of the elite or, Is she become just a hotel greeter?   What is to happen to her poise and pride, As her chosen one is repeatedly tried? Is there a way she can escape this fate? Or is she contractually obligate?   What is to become of Melania now, As the air is let out from the inflated cash cow? When the curtain rings down what will she do? I really don’t care, do you?   Cliff Lake 11/25/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Conversation   He came out of the desert, As nondescript as dust. He said this was the designated day, And that he held a sacred trust.   He looked me with unflinching eye, Yet his cheeks contained his pain. Some monstrous detail, Held his unfaltered spirit in chain.   Old he was but looked hearty and hale. I made to leave but his resolve held me there, A lengthy visit was promised, When he pulled up a chair.   For hours he said nothing, Yet held me with an eye. And gradually I was made to know, What will most men stupefy.   No conversation needed, As I was guided through the dream, The purpose, the answer to the riddle, Vistas opened as I was shown the scheme.   No fear I had of the knowledge passed, Nor of his glaring eye, And when I finally dared to ask, A whole year had gone by.   Then he gathered him to him, And went out the way he came in. I’m glad to see you today, And now we can begin…   Cliff Lake 11/2

  The Hobbyist   He has a little secret; You must know what it is. He keeps it in the spare room – It’s no one else’s biz.   He polishes it nightly, He likes to see it gleam. He feeds it most politely, On cabbages and cream.   He sings it lots of slow songs, And dresses it in silk. He wants to make it grow strong: He gives it malted milk.   He’s had it for a year now, Minus a day or two, But there’s no way or no how, He can teach it the kazoo.   It’s a responsibility, He’s got a lot there in his hands. To offset it’s fragility, He gives it rubber bands.   He’s made it his whole life’s work, But he doesn’t miss a thing. He considers it a right perk, When it wraps itself in string.   I hope you understand now, I’ve told what I can. Please make no more demand now, I’ll take you back where we began.   Cliff Lake 11/22/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  The Riders   Messengers of warning, Messengers of hope. I saw them come riding. I saw them ride away.   Out of the darkness, Out of corners of fear, An implacable oppressor, Wielding knife and sword and spear. Servitors of an ancient crone, Dealing death, ruin, and wreck. Madness in their every move, They must be held in check.   Messengers of warning, Messengers of decree. I saw them come riding. I saw them ride away.   The darkest storm now gathers, A force too vast to number. A peaceful realm is threatened, We waken from our slumber. The call goes out across the land, “Defend yourselves or flee!” The most of us will make our stand, We will not take the knee.   Messengers of warning, Messengers to muster. I must now be riding, I will not ride away.   Now our people gather, The enemy draws near, Our numbers have become vast, We are facing down our fear. The defilers try their advance, But my countrymen m

Presser   I am standing before you, Doing what I can do, Though a myriad of things Need my attention. You want things to get through, That’s all fine and yet, boo, It’s that my crew, Is counting on my dissension.   It’s not that I don’t understand, It’s just I have to play this hand, Get some more clicks on my name. I’m not here to get things done, I’m just tryin’ to get me sum, Sportive politics is my game.     Let me get the public ear. As your rep I must make clear: I don’t have a lot to say, And I say it every day. I’m not clean but I am mean, There’s so much in these halls to glean. I don’t have much good to say, And I say it every day.   Now there’s a thing I may have done, Done in front of everyone, That’s why I may need, you know, To beg some grace. Perhaps I may have spent an hour, To delay the pass of power, Don’t you pay heed, no, Just look at this face.   I do a lot of nothing, My speeches mostly st

  The Forgotten When   They gave their all, And will again…   Come dear one and hear my tale, When it was thought woe would prevail When Man was young beneath the trees, When evil floated on every breeze.   Ill walked among, corruption bred, Naught would stem that evil spread. ‘Til from the darkest forest deep, Came Faerie Queen and she did weep.   “I seek the doughtiest there are of Men. But know that deepest wrong you’ll ken. The seat of this curse lies close at hand, It is discovered within my land.”   Then Faerie Queen put forth her hand, Her legion stepped out at her command. Arrayed in armor strange and bright, To do battle against the shared plight.   Forgotten past, Forgotten when. They gave their all, They will again.   Seven Kings of lands both small and great, Gathered force without debate. A peril that they all had seen. They led their hosts behind the Queen.   Then Men and Faerie marched as one, They w

A Fifth of The Real Fake News   George Santos held a press conference claiming that, “They can’t expel me from Congress because I’m invisible.” When pointed out that he was clearly being seen by the four people attending he screamed and climbed into a nearby dumpster where he could be heard starting his podcast.   Lauren Boebert is planning on, “Investigating the facts surrounding Hunter Biden and Soros putting 5G in the water supply in my district.” She then put out a cigarette on her arm to show she was serious before stripping down to a G-string to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Freebird” and asking for “Tips for my dance.”   Donald John Trump today found a corroded lamp on the beach and when he rubbed it, Lindsey Graham popped out and asked him not to stop. Said Graham, “This is a clear path to reinstatement.” before Trump dropped the broken light back on the sand.   “Democrats are conspiring with space Antifa and the leftist mole people” said Jacob Chansley, AKA the QAnon Shaman at a presser a

  The Thinner People   They may not be from here, The Thinner People. Though they themselves do not know. They search for purpose, If not for meaning.   They may be of great girth, Or not. It is not their size that makes them so, The Thinner People: They can slip between the spaces.   They are Thinner in their entity, They are not wholly here. They can shift between the shrouds, They can go to some Where, Though not all destinations promise comfort.   They do not always want to, They do not always have their choice, The Thinner People. Some things must be, Some calls need answered.   Are they Heroes, these Thinner People? Are they whisperers in the dark? Each is still their own, We may not judge, Until each action is shown.   They do not ask, Nor have they sought, To be of the Thinner People. They simply are, As you are also.   The Thinner People may do great deeds, They may cause great harms. They pass bet

  The Bruin and the Blade   Benny the Bruin was a murderous sort, Slice you up for a dime, or just for sport. Benny the Bruin had the local renown – Wherever he was, was the wrong side of town.   Jimmy the Blade was a nefarious creep, The cost of accosting him was usually steep. Jimmy the Blade had earned his reputation, The edge of his knife had caused many cessations.   Benny the Bruin was extending his range, He wanted more and more, even for small change. Benny the Bruin wouldn’t take no for an answer, Especially when he fell for a Spanish dancer.   Now Jimmy the Blade had become a club owner, Up to now he was a bit of a loner. Out the window that went when he hired a new dancer, I tell ya boys, she was an automatic de-pants-er.   Now Benny the Bruin and Jimmy the Blade, Not so cordial, but arrangements were made… Split the take and everything stayed fine, As long as the one nor the other ever crossed the line.   Now Jimmy the B

  The Last Man   The last man alive stared out at the world. He was thinking about things That soon would not matter. He saw things he would tell no one.   Perhaps he had complaints. No one could hear them; He was the last one left. There is no cure for that.   He had started to build a thing, But there was no one left to see it. Maybe it would have been good, or poor, But now it was just unfinished.   He had started to go somewhere, But there would be no one to greet him, So, he stayed in the nowhere he’d gotten to. There was no one to tell him to leave.   The last man alive stared back where he had been. That too was nowhere. He saw his footprints blown away in the wind. He thought that was appropriate.   He wished someone would ask him What was so funny, Because he no longer knew. The last man in the world resumed staring.   There was nothing else to do…   Cliff Lake 11/17/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Equality at Ground Zero   And no matter the banner they fly, All corpses smell the same under the sun.   Who is more right? Will the number of wounds taken, Make that certain?   Who is more wrong? Will the number of orphans made, Prove that at the last?   No matter the flag they march to, Death makes no distinction.   Which is the more righteous cause? Can that be measured In limbs lost?   Who has more rights? When the body voids, Will you then be answered?   No matter the colors borne, The vultures feast on all alike.   Who is most deserving of death? Or will the ravaged lands Accept all the blood spilled?   Which bloodied hand is more just? How do they not see All of them are breeding death?   No matter the banner they fly, All corpses smell the same under the sun.   Cliff Lake 11/16/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  The Dark in the Day   There is a shadow standing on the sidewalk. It’s not real. It can’t be real. There it is.   It’s not mine. I have mine. Sitting beside me while I write. It follows me when I go to check on the other.   It’s a man’s shadow. It’s looking at me. It’s looking at me with no eyes. That’s not real.   There is no sun. Gray November crawls. The shadow is blacker yet. It wants.   See the woman. See her cross my shadow. The void has her. Unreality yawns wider.   School lets out soon. A scream I do not hear. It is mine. I shall miss these children.   The police are here. They know my name. Where is the shadow? What is real?   What now is real?   Cliff Lake 11/16/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Harrowing   Inconsiderate gardener, Granted open proviso, Writ in time And translated to comfort, What trepidation Is your greatest pride?   Ruin and ruin, The rising tide Brings the fish closer, But ruins the view Of the march Of the inevitable hotel.   Forgotten fealty, Mother nourishes yet, Though she be beaten, Bound or broken, Bent and burnt… Our barbarous brotherhood.   We stretch too sharp a hand, And too much is cut. We tread too heavy the boot, Leaving but dust in our track. Gone the gentle seedsman, Victim of urban cowboy macho disease.   Deviated caretaker, Conscripted and contained, Out of time, Out of options, What dismay Pays you best?   Cliff Lake 11/14/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Bad News   What is wrong with the media? Corporate shills; corporate entities. How do they not remember, Their freedom to speak rests on democracy.   How do we inform the media? News will always happen; news is the job. How do they not understand, Lipstick on the pigs is a wasted effort.   How are we to trust the media? Both-siding isn’t equal; repression is a near specter. How are they ignoring, Strident calls for autocracy.   Does journalism still steer the media? Popular looks so pretty; truth does not care. Are they aware that it appears, Their bottom line smells a bit rancid.   Can we do without the media? Confidence cut with arrogance; profit over all. Have they really forgotten, Accuracy is a responsibility.   How can we help the media? Corporate entities; corporate shills. How may we remind them, Fouled product will be cast away.   What do I say to the media? Trying for semblance of balance; crazy is its own en

The 200,000   Little Jimmy James, let me get this straight: Did you do the same things that you investigate? Little Jimmy James, don your makeup, clown, Little Jimmy James caught with your pants down.   Jimmy James, do you need some time for reflection? Jimmy James, can you evade detection? Jimmy James, do you need some protection, To keep you from spewing more projection?   200,000 reasons to investigate a crime, 200,000 reasons to think that it’s playtime. 200,000 reasons that just kinda snuck up, 200,000 reasons to shut the fuck up.   Little Jimmy James, illustrious factfinder, Little Jimmy James with his dick caught in the grinder. Little Jimmy James, out in the spotlight, Little Jimmy James got yourself caught outright.   Jimmy James, now open to inspection, Jimmy James headed in the wrong direction. Jimmy James, I say with all affection, Jimmy James, it’s time for your correction.   200,000 reasons to investigate a crime, 20

  Manhattan Reveal   Information in place of the lies. Information from former allies. Out of excuses, you must improvise. Pulling the wool from so many eyes.   What do you do when the lies don’t work? How do you handle some factual jerk? How are they seeing through all of the murk? What will you do when the lies won’t work?   Contradictions, conflictions, It’s all so much fiction, To deception you have an addiction. A pathology describes your condition.   What will you do when the lies won’t work? What has happened to that complicit smirk? Will you finally just go berserk? How will you get by when the lies don’t work?   Questions, these questions, stripping deception, Why are they getting such bad reception? Isn’t it a matter of someone’s perception? Can’t just one lie get an exception?   What will you have when the lies don’t work? Culpability you can no longer shirk. Your responses reduced to a knee jerk, What will you do c

  Aspiration   What have we found among the stars? Have we touched the face of God? Were we beneath notice? Is our presence yet known? Are we the new cry between the darks? Or the long echo failing?   Have we begun the longest quest? Sailing forth to conquer vast space, Only to find our vaster insignificance? What mites we are! Scarring a pebble, a grain, Trumpeting such triumphs to no one.   Or are we inspected, dissected, rejected, A trash species ill regarded, Ignored and soon forgotten. A bother on the far arm of a lost galaxy, Put far to irrelevant reaches, Where we can do no harm to the greater.   Or have we yet to wake sleepy races, Monstrous intellects foreign, Rising to find our encroachments, Then to decide our fate, Final expulsion granted, Or our paltry existence allowed yet.   Will our impertinence be our saving? Will ignorant bravery suffice? Our frail containers flung unknowing, Seeking knowledge too great

  Anonymous   When she was four years old, The bombs started falling, And the school she would have gone to, Was no more. When she was four years old, And the bombs started falling, She did not know how to read them, So, she didn’t know who to hate. When she was four years old, And the bombs were exploding, The buildings she could hide in, Didn’t last very long. When she was four years old, The bombs were falling, Because she had become Someone’s enemy. When she was four years old, And the bombs got close, One of them made certain, That she would always be four years old.   Do you know her name? Me either. But it seems like that’s important…   Cliff Lake 11/3/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Treachors   Monsters unknown claimed howling, Answers couched in riddles read, Misinterpretations fouling, Do you know what was actually said?   Crypt-found texts kept away safely, From the unlearned mass. Hints and quiet threat slipped bravely, A purposed informational morass.   And the warnings of the ancients Are hidden beneath the lies. So, we look for surcease and succor From the silent skies.   Convolutions and contradictions abound, The longer you study, the deeper you go. A wealth of information meant to confound: The longer you study, the less you know.   What dangers lie behind the veils of doubt? What troubles might we evade? Forget the Grand Mysteries that some may tout, Must we be always in the untaught shade?   And the warnings of the ancients Are hidden beneath the lies. So, we look for surcease and succor From the silent skies.   Fears of the misunderstood, Carefully entwined with intent to rule, Harb

RSVP   The princess says that today, She will not be in court. “The kids are late, I have a date, And the salad is too short.” “Must meet the maids to set the shades, There’s just two billion in support, How can I plan, please understand, That Jared’s down a quart.”   Now you know how this goes, Handle her just right. These Trump’s laud: “Born to Fraud!” Don’t you see her plight? Should she be fined for docs she signed, Does justice make a right? So she’s at fault, still, call a halt – Don’t forget that she is white.   And so today, she asks a stay, And files her petition. But this play it seems to say, Some sort of an admission. It’s safe to feel that she won’t heel, Not of her own volition. So, when she’s there, go ahead and stare, You’ll never see her show contrition.   Cliff Lake 11/2/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023