CliffSongs

  Rats in the Hall   Russia, Russia, Russia… The spectre risen. Who fears its influence? Or – Who fears that influence detailed? That the influence exists Is not the question, Who is influenced Interests me more. Who denies not that they are influenced, But denies That the influence is there at all… They intrigue me. Some of them get reports, yes, Some of them are told. And some of them deny the knowledge… Yes, They intrigue me greatly. Russia, Russia, Russia. For some in that land, The Cold War never ended, Therefore, they cannot have lost. Renewed effort, Contacts cultivated, Wooing conducted in public view… Who, I ask, who denies? And why? Russia, Russia, Russia. Have you seen the sly wink? Have you seen the titan leashed? Have you seen the kowtow? Have you seen the action invited? Have you seen the excuses made? Have you seen the favors granted? Have you seen the denials Of these things apparent? Those spea

  The Edge   Out on the edge… This where we exist, A precipice, A future unseen and unknowable, An edge we constantly walk. Here on the edge, We step forward blindly, Though we tell ourselves That we have planned well, But the future, Has no regard, For the mere mortal. Walking the edge, We may not see, What falls lie before us, What chasms may claim us, Nor how deeply they lurk. But know this: We have the strength, To climb out of darkness, If we but dare the edge again. Fear not brother! You are your own savior, If you but make the merest try. Do not despair sister! The unlooked-for hand, Will reach for you yet! Remember: From the bottom, The only way is up. Forward is the only motion, Time is allowed, In this frame we inhabit. It is the step to the side, That carries you down, Out here on the edge…   Straight ahead then - The path is before you.   Cliff Lake 2/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  The Dolt Chronicles   The story written in disarray, Wonders what you’ll say today. Manipulated from the start, Destined always to fall apart…   Pinned your hopes on the outland poser, Letting him pull the wool over. Set you up for the committee blunder, Then the rug gets yanked from under…   How does the story go? Did you ever really know? Somebody told you so. So, it’s on with the show…   An agent stuffed full with rubles, Now the center of your troubles. Playing sleight of hand in the game, Can’t you tell what’s in a name?   What will you tell the puppeteer, How to appease foreign overseer? Thought you would achieve great renown, Time to apply your makeup, clown…   How does the story go? Did you ever really know? Somebody told you so. So, it’s on with the show…   Thought you were protecting, But you were defecting, Part of the infecting, Here comes the correcting…   How does the story go? Did you ever real

  Unsung   It was near the great falls that these met, Two warriors, Champions of their peoples, To battle for the honor unspoken, And unheralded as it was.   There beneath mighty trees, Were their weapons bared, The vigorous clash sounded, But the crashing waters louder, Allowed no note of battle heard without.   Wound upon wound dealt, No tiring these stalwarts, Sighted by curious forest denizens, Wandering on their own quests, And wandering on.   Far into night, Then dawn and day, Too evenly matched, Too invested in struggle, Two refusing yield.   Night came again, And with it at last taxing strength, And a dual thrust, Then both of these understood expiration, And collapsed together vanquished.   Upon the dawn, A passing tribe happened on that site, And laying down their burdens, Erected a cairn over those fallen, Though unknown to them.   No word came to their peoples, No remembrance made. None came by

  Now   Now. This is where you are. This is the moment. This is your moment. Can you act on the future? You can try, But when it arrives, It will be your past. What will you do then?   Now. What can you do now? You can plan, Or you can act. You can act on your plan, Or simply plan and fail to act, And remain as you are, Now.   Now. Everything you have done, Has brought you here. Everything you have not done, Has brought you here. Are you the person that did, Or did not do, Now?   Would you do those things, Or do something, anything, That was not done, Or could be done differently, Or not at all, Now?   Those things are done. Or Those things were not done. That was then. This is Now.   This is the moment. This is your moment. Move forward, Now.   Cliff Lake 2/17/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  A Student   Today he climbs the hill to the Grandfather. He will learn his letters, And learn about the LEKTRIK (E-lektrik says the Grandfather). And how the lightning of the summer storms, That play across the parched lands south, How that lightning is made of LEKTRIK, And how the Old Ones once controlled it. And that it was both bad and good, And that it was part of the Troubles, And was part of what made the world what it now is: Part frozen, Part desert. And he would learn how men lived in both, And how each thought the other fools. And he would learn to read the signs, To know when the weather would change, When the herds would return, Which of the plants would heal, And which would kill. Soon the journey south would begin, To the green lands too shallow, Claimed by too many. He was glad his mother would travel, Best with the bow in his tribe. His father dead, Or taken, It mattered not which, Gone is gone. Now he woul

Living Lore   When the myth came alive, We were unprepared. Gargantuan and too evilly clever, It lured the credulous easily. The learned would not believe – They were consumed on approach. A hunger had it, It would not be satiated, Not quickly, Not quickly enough. A sinuous thing, And armored cruelly well, It’s size belied a speed seen only in dark dream. Taking flight impossible, It was harried by the best in fighters, Crumpled metal birds littered every field. And there, In the air above all, It spied the first city. Its taste leaned most toward roasted meat, And descending on the populace, It belched fire. Thus was this legend confirmed: Dragon. Now it would grow fat on our helpless, Now it would observe the pretty things gathered, Now it would hunt, Now it would den in the abandoned capital, Now was sought a hero. What unlikely doughty, What fearless, What altruist could face this thing down? Strength did not suffi

  Fires   Out there on the edge, You see the constant glow, And it is a comfort, And a warning, And a threat, And a reminder, We must never let the fires get low. No one knows who started the fires, Burning these 60 years. No one knows how the fires were started, That must not get low. They keep the bad things away. Thay have no name, these things, They never look the same. They stay beyond the fires, Breeding in number, Singing their horrible song When the moon goes dark. It is said they feed on rage-grass, And will charge the villages If the fires get low. Then we will offer the wrong-birthed, Whether animal,  Or else, And the very old And the incurable Will lie in the scorched fields, And we may live in less fear, For we have made submit, And are penanced, Or at least paid For a time, Unless the fires get low. Do not go beyond the blaze, Most do not return. Those that do have been broken, Or worse, Tell of i