CliffSongs

  Not Like That   Now ol’ Joe he had a plan. To help Ukraine like only we can. To push back Putin, defeat the madman. And fix the border at the Rio Grande. But the Republican says:   “Not like that! Not like that! This is how we make your plan go splat. This is how we keep our wallets fat. Not like that! Not like that! Hey motherfucker, not like that!”   Now you wanna keep your Medicare, Use the funds you donated there. Social Security would be fair, Just like the liberals do declare. But the conservative says:   “Not like that! Not like that! This is how we screw the Democrat. This is how we keep our wallets fat. Not like that! Not like that! Hey motherfucker, not like that!”   Wanna have a country that is sane? Wanna see common sense reign? Wanna see us go down the drain? Then vote the conman in again. Not like that!   Wanna get war weapons off the street? Let your kids’ lives be complete. Comply with 2A, but discr

  Right Wail   What trampling thing blunders here? Some maddened brute Cornered and thrashing. A rampaging swine belligerent, Its roars, soiling the night, Unintelligible meanderings hurtful And still meager. Incautious beast, It’s spoor smeared generously, Claiming domain with its stink, Leaving the clearly marked trail. Now follow the guardians circling, Penning the thing in, Pinning it down With its own claw and sting. It senses the net laid, Snares it made for itself, Cast widely, Through pride and indiscretion. It calls for aid from the rabble, Gibbering creatures clumsy, Ill-prepared denizens Of places without light Educated in the greasiest nonsense. Their babblings run furiously into the ether, While their bank accounts run dry there. They support their growing hysteria With sacred text they have never read, And thus, do not comprehend. To the beast they will remain nameless, Faceless, And always at many arms’ le

  Chant of the Ever-Spiraling Dipshit   Down is up and round is square, And shoes should be worn in the hair. And 2 plus 2 will equal 3, In the new autocracy. Let’s be clear, I am so smart, I put the horse behind the cart. I let him push it with his head, I beat that horse, but it’s still dead. See me in my merry dance, See the bulge behind my pants. See me make up all new facts, See me when I take them back. Looky, looky, over there! See me criming, you don’t care. See my posts, THEY’RE ALL IN CAPS, See me on constant attack. See me get away with it, So you can all do the same shit. Know we are all the same sort, Guess we all end up in court. See the truth depreciate, See the new ones you should hate. Evidence hid in the weeds, Tending only to my needs. When I sense that I am done, Don’t think I won’t cut and run. And leave my kids some golden trust, If they aren’t under the bus. Now my little song is through, Someone tell

Easy   The birds sing and cheep, While the trees whisper “Sleep.” And the squirrels frantically gather. The sun-dappled leaves, Shift in the breeze, And where would you be rather?   A fox in the clear, Then some startled deer, And a rabbit, small, brown, and frail. Past chipmunk’s den, Brook babbles in glen, And you wander away from the trail. It can soothe you, Doesn’t use you. Isn’t this what we are meant? There is rest here, Can be blessed here, Take our leave of industrial torment. Beneath the wise trees, Your soul takes its ease, This medicine of Nature’s splendor. The troubles you knew, Become lost as you, As you harken to sleepy surrender.   No funds here are transferred, No alarm you need answer, Beholden just to the earth. Released from city sprawl, Be one with the All, Return to your innocence at birth. It can soothe you, Doesn’t use you. Isn’t this what we are meant? There is rest here, Can be blessed here,

The Light One Carries   The false idol, Believing in nothing but its own glory, Feeds them the rage they crave. Its promises, To deliver them From that which doesn’t exist, Is self-fulfilling, And therefore true. Such sweet poison, The continuing scam. It settles in the belly like hot rot, Feeding egos starved of validation. Its decay, An increasing consumption of self, Is hidden from them As they have conquered their fear Of having been so wrong By the abandonment of logic, In favor of demented nightmare They would see exacted on someone else. They are the chosen ones, Because they have chosen themselves, Leaving no room, To be chosen by any That can calm their fears. The adrenaline surge, The panting devotion, The hivemind, The ache for the smell of hot blood, Too tantalizing, Too alluring, Too late to turn back now. They are a willing machine, A rage-bot that must be satisfied, And will be put down When the ob

  A Battle   Its smile was full of teeth, Though the warrior had no need Of an exact count, Here in this distant desolation, It was enough to know That it had somewhat more than several. Its claws looked both sturdy And keen-edged, Covered in some viscous slime, Though whether venomous, Or indicating an internal rotting leakage, Seemed another superfluous fact Of little moment presently. The beast would circle if it could, The manner of its attack And what parry could be made, Was the more pressing observation. A sinuous thing, With a clubbed tail it swung freely, Large-jawed, and rapier toothed, Powerfully haunched, and thick necked, The human looked frail by comparison, Armed only with a singular blade, And what wits creation had afforded. The creature dashed forward, But at the last Swings its cudgeled tail in a crushing blow, But quick as thought, The champion slashes with sword, And the animal screams in pain and rage,

  Ever and Again   The ancient path, Once hidden, Reveals itself again, Convoluted and devious, Promising paradise For those worthy, And willing to obey.   Subterfuge is its way, Subtle glimpses of light Leading a course Into deepening darkness, A rut well-travelled By the artless And the insane.   See how this shrouded trailway Cuts back upon itself, Backtracking when necessary Looping and coiling ever deeper Tracking its advance Into confusion and coercion, A route ending in perdition.   See the millions trace this passage, Convinced this morass Has not trapped them, But that its snares and pitfalls Trap only the unenlightened, Blinded by ambition and self-service They do not see the noose is indiscriminate.   No illumination can pierce the pall, This avenue is closely guarded By its travelers Who gladly ensnare a trespasser, Or shun those who would kindle light, Threatening violence, Or making promise of

Demon Man   What is this thing? How has it acquired so much? Or has it lost more? Its plots are not so devious As it would have you think, “More” is the mantra That suffuses its every intention. When considering its movement, That is the aforethought. Here is a riddle: What boon is a legacy to the dead man? Yet this thing and its like Are so very concerned With might be said after. Thus, it has made its likeness Too widely available, That some remnant might survive an age And in future Puzzle some discoverer Who might believe We once had found it worshipful. A dream composed of dust. Here is the trap: Erasing the memory of the tyrant Leaves the future exposed To another of its kind, So we must preserve its tradition To serve as warning To a recalcitrant future, Who may choose servitude Out of fear, Or ignorance of consequence. What is this thing? What abuses will we tolerate yet? How has it replicated In so many

  The Old Stone House   The old stone house is warned against, One is advised to go in company. The old stone house lives on the disused lane, Though which is the product of the other, None can say. A vexation is set on this tired abode, An agitation and a restlessness, Uneasiness permeates, An ambience of unrest. The walls are bleeding. The walls are bleeding people. Captured impressions out of time, Echoing lost moments, Attempts at changing What has already been. Such sad existence: Life without life. What doom has pinned them here? What release can be had? Were this structure razed, Could they be let go, Unbound now, Released and relieved, To finally move on? Or would they be carted with the refuse, Infused and incorporated, To be buried deep, And reaching out, To those things that live in the soil? The walls are bleeding. The walls are bleeding people. What fate binds them? Do they think or feel? Or were their f

  Hunted   The under-rumble is heard first, A powerfully tuned engine introduces the intruder. Its predator’s creep advances it over debris-strewn pavement. A sleek thing that is less beauty and more menace. Whatever is inside must be the real danger. Wary pedestrians and the step-warming seated, Glance at the gleaming threat just the once, Before studiously pretending they have not noticed. The potential of unwilling, unwavering servitude reeks. Seeing this thing it is known: If called by the occupant, One must answer. A servomotor hums. A blackened window begins a descent. The glass panel slides down with an obscene lethargy, An assurance of cloying decadence none has dared portray. The breach opens on a darkness complete, A vacuum of gloom that suckles at the streetlamps, Rendering what was merely indistinct, To a confusion of haze and dimness indecipherable. There is nothing inside. There is something inside. There is some nothing ins

  Hunters   The darkness closes around him as the sun escapes the sky. The deep wood goes silent as the birds bed, Then rouses somewhat as the night hunters begin their rounds. The fox, the coyote, the wolf. Raccoon and possum, Lightly treading, but the attentive ear may know. Only the cats are silent. The small cooking fire has long gone to ash, He has no need of its warmth, Nor of the attention it would attract. The long wait begins as he waits for sign… He too is a hunter. He notes the passage of the nocturnal beasts, They do not concern him, He is no stranger here. A curious lynx peers from behind a near tree, Its eyes caught by the rising moon, Only to swiftly disappear once it knows of his awareness. He smiles to himself – they have played this game before. The rustling forest now goes quiet, very quiet, The night creatures have stilled their hunt, Something is near, a hunter fearsome, Too dark for this night, this place, The thing

  Smarts   He has all the best words, the ones that cause him trouble, Creeping on confession, gonna cost him double. He says he has immunity, and that he’s doing fine, No one has immunity, he’ll be doing time.   First he didn’t, then he did, says he was allowed to. He’s never met a consequence, thinks he is endowed to. Talks about Gravano, we listen to him yammer, Donald Trump is smart like a fish is a hammer.   Come on Donnie, tell us more, We don’t know what you’re waiting for. Your mouth points you at the slammer, ‘Cause Trump is smart like a fish is a hammer.   Who you gonna threaten next, that works so well for you. Your words are under sharp inspect, don’t you think things through? We pick up each admission in between the clamor, Donnie, you are brainy like a fish is a hammer.   Come on Donnie, tell us more, We don’t know what you’re waiting for. Your mouth points you at the slammer, ‘Cause Trump is smart like a fish is a hammer.

  Monstrous You   Republicans, you looked so long for a weapon you could use, To hammer at your subjects, We the People you abuse. You happened on a criminal whose morals were reduced, Then handed him a flag to wear and then you set him loose.   This barely educated mobster then gathered men to him, Disaffected fraudsters, and others from the fringe. Racists and misogynists, and gun nuts unwieldy, And all he ever asked of you was unquestioned fealty.     You’re in love with your monster, And the chaos that he strews. You take care of the monster, You think he’ll see you through. You do obeisance to the monster, And the values he eschews, There’s one thing about all monsters: They always turn on you.   You set him loose upon us, thinking you had control, Of course, he was dishonest, using position to bankroll. Then when the time came for him to take a final bow, He made himself a crime gang to keep his seat somehow.   Now he is in ch

Panicked Attack   “Bedlam.” you say, Oh sure, is that a fact? There you go again, Talkin’ all that smack. Just more evidence They can use on playback, This is just your version of A panic attack.   All you got behind you, Is the wall at your back. May I remind you, In front of you is Jack. Immunity decision Put on the fast track, No wonder you’re unleashing, A panic attack.   Panic attack, Who’s coming after you? Panic attack, New York and Georgia too. Panic attack, You’re very nearly through, Every time your mouth comes open, You tell us that you’re screwed.   Now you’re braggin’ Roe v. Wade, You cannot take it back. It’s getting clear you’re more afraid, Of everything we’ve tracked. You want disorder, violence, And to unleash your pack – You would set on your country Your panic attack.   Panic attack, Who’s coming after you? Panic attack, New York and Georgia too. Panic attack, You’re very nearly th

  What is the Matter?   What small matter is before us? “Democracy” so many may answer, But they are wrong. The mere matter before us is choice. That we may choose democracy. Yes. The paltry matter before us is choice. That we may choose bodily autonomy. The meager matter before us is choice. That we may choose our own religion, Or even choose none. Not choosing for everyone, no, Choosing for ourselves, Each one, On their own, Individually. The narrow matter before us is choice. There are those who would choose for us. Would choose in spite of us. Would choose against us, And would do so at the merest whispered whim. They name doing so “Freedom” And wrap it in a flag, And hang that off a cross, And shove both down our throats, And call it freedom because… Because they have taken for themselves The freedom to do those things, And we must choose - Choice. The choice to say no. The choice to be, And to let others be, Un

  Deal   Here’s a thing you haven’t thought, You don’t think it cuz you’re not caught. You don’t think it, maybe you ought: What if he decides to take a shot?   Oh, I know what you’re thinking now: “He knows I love him, seen me kowtow. And they prove nuthin anyhow, Jesus Christ, end witch hunts now!”   He told you to, Encouraged you, He begged of you To “stop the steal” Didn’t get the win, He knows your sin, As the walls close in, Will he take a deal?     Now he’s out there every day, Counts on you to repeat his say. Subservient, you play the play, Art of the Deal may get its way.   He told you to, Encouraged you, He begged of you To “stop the steal” Didn’t get the win, He knows your sin, As the walls close in, Will he take a deal?   Evidence keeps on slippin’. Layers of lies always strippin’. Looks like he just might take a whippin’. Better hope he don’t be flippin’…   Says he wants to talk in court, S

  Seconds   What would you do, my House GOP, If he were to make a public appearance? Looks like you might do nothing. What would you do, Representative Comer, If he demanded public questions? Looks like you would waste time. What would you do, my gentle Republicans, If contempt were applied equally? Looks like you would evade every time. What would you do inquiry committee, If you had another shot at him? Looks like you let it slide.   The second chance to ask nothing. The second chance to turn tail. The second chance not to confront. A second chance to do shit… and you did.   What would you do about your Jim Jordan, If he were 600 plus days out of line? Looks like you would turn a blind eye. What would you do about your Scott Perry, If he were to ignore like request? Looks like you would forget all that mess. What would you do about Kevin McCarthy, If he had never complied? Looks like you won’t hear that question. What would yo

  The Real Fake News Eight-Ball   Greg Pence, a Republican Congressman and unacknowledged brother of former VP Mike Pence has announced he will not seek reelection, saying, “I found out that my brother was planning on hanging around on January 6 and that didn’t sit well.” Following the announcement, Speaker Mike Johnson was presented with a replacement hammer from an old Playskool My First Toolbox set.   Lauren Boebert was “advised” by D.C. police today to stop punching herself in the face following an altercation with a hot cup of coffee she spilled on herself. She was seen later in the day swatting at a “Don’t Walk” sign and screaming and swearing in Coloradan.   Also, Boebert told reporters that she is planning on running for a House seat in “Iwo Jima because that flagpole could use a dancer.” When informed Iwo Jima is in Japan, she replied that she didn’t mind a commute.   The so-called Freedom Caucus of the House GOP are planning on voting down a bill that would gi

  Return of a Poor Man   A poor man but brave, Set out to explore the wastes beyond, For none had done so, And he would win for himself renown. And the townspeople celebrated him, And encouraged his quest, And lauded him publicly. But among themselves in secret, They spoke of having the great fortune Of having rid themselves of him And were glad of his leaving That they no longer need To gaze upon such paucity And the guilt they carried, For they would spare him little. And there were those among them That laughed in mean spirit against him, For his clothing was meager And his weapons scant. Yet he was set forth with great ceremony, And their merriment at his leaving Carried perhaps too long. And when having done with that, They returned to the business Of enriching themselves with the baubles That served to impress each other Until acquiring more That they may espy the envy of others They so hungered for. Of his travails in

  The Janus Question   We count the days According to our own wisdom, Marking time To know how much we owe, Or what is owed to us. So, we tell ourselves We have a chance at new beginnings, New promises to keep, To not keep, To forget, Or ignore. Still, we can convince ourselves To make the try, To reach further, To grow more, Or to hold on to old ways And call them tradition To resume the rituals That have brought us To where we are And name it heritage Because habit is easier than progress. Comfort does not encourage the wildflower; It must endure both the rain And the hard soil that is its home So that it may reach for the sun. One must burn To fully understand the fire, Else there is the chance the pretty light Will consume us in our ignorance. So, we greet the new year, Vowing to move forward, Or doubling down in the routine And the growing frustration of Nothing getting better… When that better Could be us.

  The Raver Ended   From where it came will not be spoke, A vision of the far side of madness. To invoke the name is a call unmeant. Deep in your heart you know its offense.   Seeking ruin, it donned a new husk, A comely shape crafted in deceit. Even the blackest blade may shine, Reflecting light from the sharpened edge.   So, it came among them hunting, Hungering not for blood and flesh, But feeding on terror, Its strength builded in fear.   Ravaging throughout the land, It chose lightless night for its worsts, For darkness allows fell deed easiest, And the unknown fear is the most dire felt.   Then coming upon a lone cottage, Its progress was arrested, For standing in the lane, She stood straight-backed and undistressed.   Alone she stood against the ravening, And in the doorway her young ones, Frightened, nearly faint, But alive and trusting.   “No further!”, she cried, resolute, And it was halted, unfed. Then it ra