CliffSongs

  Reminder   Upon returning From the store, Something fluttered To the floor. A note it was, Stuck in the door, Yellowed it was, And slightly tore.   Folded over, Very creased, A prank perhaps? Someone’s caprice? Easy dismissed but Just the same, I saw across Was scrawled my name.   I opened it Without concern My joker’s name, I hoped to learn. The lines below I did now scan Written in Familiar hand:   “The past has flown, We let it be. The future flies, We cannot see. Days come at us One by one, Live today, Tomorrow comes.”   The words strangely Had struck a chord. As if I had once Heard them before. The source was shown, At end I see The note was signed, Was signed by me.   I read the note Perhaps three times, Glad of the Timely remind. Then carefully Folded once more, To fall for me From my front door.   Cliff Lake 12/31/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Unpopular Opinion   What is a lie? It is an insult. A tacit statement Informing your lack of trust In their understanding. A lie indicates You think They’re stupid enough to believe you. What is disinformation? It is a lie. A lie To insure the stupidity And the ignorance of the gullible, And keep them in their place. What is withholding fact? It is a lie. A lie pointing you away From seeing the truth, To accept a false representation, Intended for harm. What is a deflection? It is a lie. A purposed turn To keep you from reason, And the pursuit of logic And the conclusions You must not reach. What is a lie? It is your admission Of the contempt you hold For the people That trust you With their lives. There is no such thing As a small lie. When found out, Trust is eroded, Or lost completely. So the question becomes: Do you care enough? Do you care at all? In the end You may become Very lonely. An

  Echo of the Mage   Long ago, when day was new, To hide beneath a darker hue, The skies a warlock made to mar, To sully Moon and erase star.   This thaumaturge felt life hexed, So he scoured ancient text, And learned of paths perilous, bizarre, In the Whisper Mountains, where the secrets are.   A rash experiment had burned, He’d scarred himself, he was now spurned, Or offered pitied sympathy, But never constant company.   Long he had been cast aside, Something within him had died, He learned an evil repertoire, To make light a dimming memoir.   He removed himself from common crowd, To seek the means to cast the shroud, Through many lands he wandered far, To the Whisper Mountains, where the secrets are.   Ascended him to dizzy height, Closer to the source of light, To hidden cave most dank and dim, And cursed the sun and plunged within.   Searched he long and searched he deep, For the mysteries those caverns keep, Unti

  Invocation   Protect yourself From the invader With mantra oft-repeated, Learned from a mirror.   Guard your beliefs With text misrepresented With word careful twisted, Misheard, misread, and misspoken.   Take your comfort In hearing your thought respoken, Reiterated, reworded, recited, Made true with repetition.   Take care to repudiate Fact laid before you, Opting for dissemble When the documents reveal.   Keep your vision clear Of the evidence presented, Trusting only in The things you think you know.   Beware the trap of logic, Of reasoned cogent argument, And accredited evidence - Only conspiracy is real.   So, keep true to the mandate given you, Let no outside influence, Infect you with confirmed knowledge, Turning you away from the lies that you trust.   In this way you will find Ways deeper into the maze, Created especially for you, And keep you contained in the dark.   Repeat this incantation

  Two Dreams   I happened to meet a Master Napping along the way. “I have some things to ask, sir.” To this he made no say.   Then I pestered him with questions, That I long had thought upon. But there was no suggestion, Of any he would dwell on.   I asked him the hardest riddles, I had chanced on through my years, But he made me no committal, Nor gave notice he would hear.   Then I began to notice, Though with much chagrin, That with the smallest focus, I found answers from within.   Slowly he began to stir, As if he would now speak. I thought his wrath I did incur, By way of queried cheek.   But he merely looked at me, And set me to this task: “You’ve showered me in fools debris – What would you really ask?”   He looked full on with blazing eye, My breath caught in my throat. But soon my words were raising high, I said this, and I quote:   “What are we to make of Life, It seems to have no scheme. Caught bet

  Disparities   Hope is born from despair, Though each is a negation Of the other. Hate may come from love, If the spurning becomes too great. Fear may feel like courage, When ignorance speaks too long. When the blind lead the blind, All roads track nowhere. Lust may serve as love, When want only is considered. Thought is only dreaming, To those forbidden new knowledge. And time is only moments, When no lessons have been learned. When the halt support the lame, They trail erratic circles. Thus, our world does spiral, Marked by broken clockwork, Engineered too long ago, With hammer and greedy hand. Hunger is always hunger, When succor must be paid for. Pain will always sting, When comfort is only vacant word. Life is ever taken, From those who do not deal death, And leave hope to always feel as, The carrot and the stick. Salvation is not purchased, With televised appearance. Sorrow must be always backed, By selfless unp

  Captain   A legend, He rode out of the swirl of time, And came to a troubled land, Summoned, as it were, By a despair borne by many, When their land was overrun.   Black-cloaked and crag-faced, Not old, But weighted by long cares. Town by town he rode, And with him courage came, To quicken hearts and make them bold.   Straight-backed he strode, Meeting all with a deep seeing eye. And though he said little, Still, behind him men readied, For he had the bearing of command, Not a King, but a Captain he was.     So he rode, And did not look back. And ever more did follow, To wrest their land, From harrowing hands. The contest would be fierce…   The rumor of him went before, And the raider felt disdain, For he was many, and savage. Yet still he gathered on the battle plain, To meet this Captain, And have done.   Thus the marauder arrayed himself, Upon the battlefield. And in his pride he gloated, In the little

  Songs   It was just past his fortieth year When he heard the first of them. “The wind”, he thought, But knew that was the wrong return, For no breeze requires sunlight, And this chorale was glad of it. Summer it was then, And the whispering tune Sang in joy of sun, And rain. Having first caught their meaning, He could not unhear them, And would not, Even if able. For those songs were permeate, Resonating in his flesh, Sinking into bone. He came to know at last, Treesong and flowersong, And the gladness of growing things To be alive. Listening further, Or perhaps slower, The mountains also crooned, Sonorous strains deep with weight, And the tales of long eons versed. After a time he could pick out the wind ballad; Airs that spoke of change, And long journeys over sea and stone. Then at last he heard Her, Infinite mother to us all, And she chanted of rest and long dreams, And he was comforted, And at length lay down

  Table Blues   I woke up under the table, I never made it to the bed. I woke up under the table, With a note next to my head. “Understand this when you’re able, I’m gone.” was what it said.   I am trying to do better, Maybe get another chance. I’m trying to do better, Bring back that old romance. But she told me in her letter, She won’t spare me another glance.   It’s cold here on my own now, All my days have gone all gray. It’s so cold all on my own now, It don’t matter if I go or stay. I gotta get through somehow, And get these blues to fade away.   I gotta get past this somehow, Get these blues to fade away. I’ll get past this somehow, Maybe she’ll be back one day. I’ll find my way through somehow, Get these blues to fade away.   Cliff Lake 12/23/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

A Wizard   “Wizard” he was called, And had advised many a chieftain, Though they would not admit, Preferring to guard their reputations. But they were seen arriving and leaving When troubles visited the clans. “Magician” he was named, Though his potions and powders, Were but recipes forgotten Handed to him by mother and aunt, Or kept in ancient annal. But many would come there In the latest hour To seek cure For ills they could not name. “Sorcerer” he was said to be, Though his knowledge Was hidden in old tomes He allowed any to read. Those that did Would study long And often left To succor clans distant. “Witch” he was proclaimed, And although he was not shunned, He was avoided, Lest one become spelled By that he would teach if allowed. For he would tell of wonders And the nature of things And some would listen most, or too, often. “Seer” and “shaman” or “medium” And many other names besides, Were given him beyond h

  Colorado Blue   A mile high they say goodbye, A removal from the queue. The try guy, won’t let him fly, Stuck in his canoe. Hear him squeal he will appeal, More arguments ensue. With more reveal you know he feels, Colorado blue.     Colorado blue, conman, Did you think it through? The best of plans can hit the fan, Now you’re Colorado blue.   Thought you were head honcho, And Constitution eschew. Maybe you can buy a Bronco, Throw everything askew. You’re trying to trade on your name, Here’s something you can chew: This course was never some game, Now you’re Colorado blue.   Colorado blue, conman, Did you think it through? The best of plans can hit the fan, Now you’re Colorado blue.   Colorado blue. Can the SC help you? Do you think they have some due? Or is this the tightening screw? Colorado blue.   Cliff Lake 12/20/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake

  Recipe   Take just the right things out of context, Mix in some misinformation, Photoshop some stuff and next, Social media for propagation.   Now take concerns and whip into fears, Sprinkle the right indoctrination, Stir in some othering at high gear, And separate learning from education.   It’s just your recipe for disaster, Your means to an anarchy faster, Some kind of scuzzy ringmaster, Mixing up your recipe of disaster.   Fold in some racism and blend, Try a little applied filtration, Bake it all with hate and pretend, You never meant the altercation.   It’s just your recipe for disaster, Your means to an anarchy faster, A method to become overmaster, Mixing up your recipe of disaster.   See the steps exposed one by one. See the unraveling begun. See tearing of the web you spun, See you coming all undone.   It’s just your recipe for disaster, Your means to an anarchy faster, You think you’re some sort of spellca

  Shift   The whisper low. The flutter of a leaf too lazy to fall. The faint scent telling tales of the distant. A puff of dust where it is dry. Ripples where it is not. Ragged flower tops desiccate and shedding. Desultory paper on the move. A hint of moisture incoming, Maybe warm, maybe cool, Too soon to tell. The hair out of place. The film obscuring the shiny surface. The hillocks of a moment. The tide in the trees. The grasses bowing in deference. The changes heralded. Almost imperceptible, Ephemeral and invisible, Yet too elemental to be stopped.   I wait to see what comes.   Cliff Lake 12/18/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  The Real Fake News: The Magnificent Seventh   James Comer is reportedly issuing a subpoena for Hunter Biden to appear before the Committee on Oversite and Accountability to inquire if Biden knows anything about his missing keys. “I had them yesterday” said the committee chair, “These Bidens are into everything!” he exclaimed. Comer then added, “Also I think he knows where I parked and that’s information we need!”   In related news, House of Representatives Mike Johnson has reportedly suggested to Comer to “Try snake handling. If he’s innocent, he won’t get bit. That’s what I tell the kids.” They then made plans to exchange wives, “in committee, appropriately.”   Johnson has also indicated a desire to form a committee to investigate the Book of Revelations in the Christian Bible to “Figure out what in tarnation we’re doing wrong. Why isn’t it Armageddon already? Besides, we’re not sure which beast we are any more either.”   Marjorie Taylor Greene is launching an invest

  1 Congressionals 1:1-9   1. It came to be on a certain day just before the holiday break that a vote was required of those in the House and it was predicted that a bill of consequence would not be allowed passage for there was certain dissension and grumbling among the least honorable among them. 2. For the MAGA thought to themselves that they would not fund the defense bill if charitable works were brought forth by men in burlesque as was long custom. For they found within themselves unnatural tendencies they could not admit. 3. And also these inconstant thought to themselves to bar access to healthcare to those they deemed unworthy for they were merely women who had proved equal to the tasks given them. 4. Moreover these fearful would keep from the armies persons unlike themselves in some ways and that made them feel funny in their pants. 5. And in that day did the Speaker do an end run and called a procedural vote and did foil the MAGA for he was beholden to the milita

  Let’s Music   Let us gather the warlords, From all over, in all the lands And bring them all together, To listen to some bands.   Let us have a festival, A Worldstock, if you will. If they’re out there groovin’, Maybe they’ll learn some chill   Maybe it sounds too simple, And nothing like a plan. But will music reach them If nothing else can?   Let the music call them. Let the music bring them. How can they hate one another, When they find they are dancing with a brother.   I’m aware of my naivete, And how some cannot be reached. But children dance with all abandon, Maybe that’s the lesson that they teach.   Is this too much to ask? Has hate gone on too long? Is it too much a task To get lost in some song?   So, break out those instruments! Together we can find the way. Let us join in celebration, And play the wars away!   Let the music call them. Let the music ring! How can they hate one another, When th

  Lightbringer   She comes to you in the morning, To tickle you from dreams With her warm kiss, And the light she brings.   An embrace that nourishes, Though too much can burn. Stare too long at her beauty And she walks before you ever.   She is the light in your day, And your shadow she casts. At night she leaves you, For such is her path.   In winter snows she blinds, Yet weakened in season. The spring she brings For the world has had its rest.   She wears rainbows through thin cloud, Or crimson through thick smoke. Her finest raiment worn at dawn and dusk, Who is it she has adorned for?   She has never answered question, Though she was asked through the ages. She simply is, What more need have we than that?   Cliff Lake 12/12/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Followstar   It was not possible. He knew that. Common knowledge. Nevertheless…   He first saw it low on the horizon. A blinking. A winking. A satellite surely. But those have their paths, And this one was following.   Was it following him? Who was guiding it? Why did they watch? A blinking And winking. Satellites do not do so this random.   A star then. As stars do, it climbed the skies. As stars do not, It followed. More blinking. Much winking.   For a week they watched each other. For a week, she followed. Of course it was a she. Coy and bold at once, yes, It was a she. He liked her.   He asked a neighbor to look, But that good man saw nothing Or chose not to. Or she chose… He asked no one else. After, she shone brighter.   Now she climbed higher, And moved across the sky at will, Sometimes here, Sometimes there, But always in his sight, And ever brighter.   The night she came to him

  To Try Again   And he got up in the morning, To try again. Because that is what one does, So he had been told, So he lived his life. And the sellers screamed their wares, And the downtrodden cried their cares, And sometimes these were the same. And the churches sold salvation, And the politicians sold their souls, And begged him to do the same. And his job sold him on a future, A carrot on a stick, And his company sold him on its industry, And somewhere in there, He had sold his dreams. Still, he kept them as bright as he may, Though they be tarnished by reality, And mechanized life. Still, in the night sometimes, He would take them out once more, And burnish them with hope, And only a little resentment. And he got up in the morning, To try again. Because that is what one does. So he lived his life, So he lived his life.   Cliff Lake 12/11/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Big E and the 4-D Death March   Filmy machinations To stimulate flagging interest, He allows the slugs across the threshold. Tawdry and tattered, trite and tired, Awash in the slime they created, They revel in their contorted harangue, Selling product as useless as themselves.   Merchants offer admonition, He returns with offal, Looking instead to the fawning he craves From the deluded sycophants That confuse bank accounts with brains, And brashness with bravery. Flattery is a coin that cannot be spent.   His monthly double-down has become habit, A parlor trick to produce headlines, In place of the revenue he has spurned. He fancies himself a rebel and an icon, A lone wolf among sharks. Alone he is, and the sharks bide their time. Eventually he will rise – With the rest of the plastic floating on the ocean.   Cleanup is underway.   Cliff Lake 12/11/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Moonsong   He heard the Moon sing one night. He knew it was she, A voice of silver and glass, And timeless longing.   He did not know the words, But he felt them nonetheless, And wished to give her what she asked, But could only offer distant sorrow.   He heard her song a second night, Clearer, if not nearer, But no less heart-rending, And he stood a while outside.   The third night of the song He bathed in her light, A shared sorrow felt, For what he did not yet know.   On the fourth night he slept outside, Her song guiding his dreams, Tales woven of flight and loss, And the knowledge of lasting grief.   The fifth night he did not sleep, Instead savoring the sadness and regret As if it were his own, A sweet melancholy too large to bear.   In the morning they found him And remarked on the sadness he wore, And bore him away to his last rest, And wondered at the stillness of the day.   Cliff Lake 12/11/2023 Cop

Lost World   The old man sighed, Staring at the nothing in front of him, Or maybe it was everything. Shaking his head, he started talking, Maybe to himself, Maybe to me, But I think it was the unhearing world.   He told of the battles he had won. He talked more of those lost. He spoke of the hand he held forth spurned, He talked of so many turning away. He said the world was too cold, And that everyone’s eyes were dead.   He told of a thing called trust, Of how it had become lost to time, Or perhaps thrown away. He said that once only the wicked told lies, And how he could no longer tell them apart, From anyone else.   He spoke of the bright future promised, When everyone would be fed, And all the world’s ills healed, And how he never saw it fall apart. He said there was nothing left to believe in. And then he said goodbye.   I went home and turned on the TV To forget about the crazy man Because everything is fine. But

  No Registry, No Choice   I don’t get the new GOP, I can’t catch their drift. Why can’t you register to vote? I don’t think they’re too swift.   Everything they try Is some abortive attempt. Wearing Chinese made hats, And a lot of contempt.   If you’re looking to get everything wrong, Follow along with some red-hatted coot, They have tailored their new motto: “Have foot, will shoot.”   NRA beholden Playing the social media game. Wearing their 15 pins golden Every voter bleeds the same.   No vax for them, Some sort of blood purity. It only takes 23 and me, To shake that surety.   If you’re looking to get everything wrong, Follow along with some red-hatted coot, They have tailored their new motto: “Have foot, will shoot.”   Don’t they see avoiding the facts Exposes the neck to the axe. So don’t re-up your registry, And get taken down nifitily.   Go ahead, be mad at this era, Voting becoming a youth activity, T

  Blood Silver   Your fraudulent promotion Of strange conspiracy. You’re paid for your commotion, All can plainly see. Unwavering devotion To any currency, But who am I to speak To your hypocrisy?   How many of those greenbacks Have captured your affection? As you count up all those dirty stacks Are you avoiding introspection? An all-consuming avarice, Takes you completely, But who am I to speak Of your hypocrisy?   A soul you must have advertised As one of easy hail. It’s not that you are compromised, You’re just available wholesale. It’s not that you’re a statesman, You conduit for lobby, But who am I to speak, Against hypocrisy?   What’s in your head, more people dead, You purposely don’t see. But I have seen, and it’s obscene What you’re allowed to be. A trail of blood of innocents That trails you constantly… You’re goddam right I will speak out, On your hypocrisy.   Cliff Lake 12/7/2023 Copyright © Cliff

  Troll Toll   Hello person, have I got a deal: Does the sound of money have any appeal? Is the bulk of your wallet less than ideal? Take the cash and forget those ideals.   Here’s your script, you know what to do, No, it doesn’t matter if it isn’t true. Suppress your qualms, don’t get in a stew, What has a conscience ever done for you?   How much for your loyalty, friend? My pockets are deep, it need not end. Just say these things and the truth will upend, How much for your loyalty, friend?   Now don’t let these guys confuse you with facts. And if they do, just claim you’re attacked. You don’t have to vote R, it’s all a playact, You can trust us; we got your back.   How much for your loyalty, friend? My pockets are deep, it need not end. Just say these things and the truth will upend, How much for your loyalty, friend?   Now don’t you forget where you got that dough, We’ll tell you what we think you should know. Don’t ask any q

  Last Stand of   No armor had he, just a good sword And an old horse. A fair heart aging now, So is life’s course.   Came he riding, the old soldier, At easy pace. Wars long over, both lost and won Written in his face.   Came to an inn, road-weary guard, Here was denied. Not for the first time he prepared And would camp outside.   From a window quickly shuttered, The pleading mien. Within had he spied, More than one face seen.   The ancient trooper smelled trouble, Instinct did not fail. Sword loosened, blood coursing, Once again he hails.   A coarse visage, a quick deny, Underneath the fear. These lodgings were assailed, His course made clear.   A call again to warrior’s blood, And fight once more. Innocents plighted needing care, He breaches the door.   Ruffians, robbers taken in surprise, He dispatches two. No place to put his back, He is too few.   Advanced upon by remaining three, They take thei

  Sleep   Being too aware of the tramplings of Man, Where do I take my comfort now? From the plastics in the water? In the food? Will that render me indestructible? Or just a replication of who I once was?   What quietude am I to find In the caging of other beings No less deserving of their place, No less deserving of their freedom But now contained In order to save them from us?   Where do I take my rest From the pursuit of violence Excused through split tongues Reading what they desire From warnings against What they would rather choose?   How can I in faith blind myself To the suffering I cannot mend, But can speak against To those that do not hear? If ignorance is bliss, Is stupidity the heaven craved?   Would that I could sleep Through these tribulations, And through inactivity And guilted silences Absolve myself of things I have not done, But could have affected.   How do I find repose Knowing the self-de

  Value Added   I bit into a candy and was disappointed That I was not immediately granted sparkle-vision And transported via altered consciousness to New Jersey Or at least my bedroom.   Are we being prepared For sweets to be infused with LSD And sold to children? And if we are, Why doesn’t Q know it? They seem pretty hip to everything else.   That’s the problem with your better conspiracy theories: The guys with the inside info Are armed to the teeth So, you can’t get close enough to find out If they really are nuts Or if it was just a bad joke that went too far.   How many carbonated soft drinks do I need, To ride a rainbow roller coaster? Is there a specific quantity? Just that one flavor? Or are my VR goggles low on power? Replacing my imagination With a new streaming service.   The spending season has opened And allows me to fill the empty corners With plastic And faux wood trauma, Made more attractive With built

The Real Fake News: 6 th Rise   In a surprise move, James Comer has issued a mandate instructing Hunter Biden to, “Do something illegal before Christmas or I’ll keep holding these press conferences.” then gave himself a high five and hailed a passing clown car.   Lauren Boebert has introduced “Artikles of Explosion” against President Biden. “We’re gonna do the same thing to him that he did to George Santa Claus!” she yelled from the barstool she was sliding off. The three-napkin document is currently draped across a radiator near her Congressional offices drying out.   George Santos has been blocked from entering Congress for the fifth time just in the last hour. An anonymous spokesperson for Capitol security was quoted, “Who has this many fake ID’s? Or wigs?” In related news, several D.C. radio stations have reported a person identifying themselves as “Not George Santos or a relation.” as having called their stations offering in-depth analysis of Santos “criminal expulsion” a

  The Other Ultra   The second grade. The assembly. The teachers lining the walls. The doctors lining the walls. The too many nurses. The cabal within the cabal. The tables at the back of the room. The sugar cube with the brown spot. The wait. The unassembly. The trip to the restroom. The moving tiles. The return. The smiles. The unvoiced conversations heard. The unheard conversations had. The flying with friends. The notes taken. The psychiatrist. The cabal within the cabal. The blur of more memory. The changeling I am.   Cliff Lake 12/1/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023