CliffSongs

         October 14 Here There Be Monsters         (Only Cowards)   Hulking louts breeding unrest, Sowing chaos at overlord’s behest. Armored, armed rabid beasts, Upon the populace unleashed.   Marching mindless manic brain cases. Combat booted zombie disgraces. They make our streets unsafe places, These monsters have no faces.   They havoc with covered faces, Of themselves they wish no traces. Making our streets unsafe places: Only cowards won’t show their faces.   Bred to protect over-rich ghouls, Violent cosplay makes racists drool. Copycatting Adolph’s worst art, Frankensteined together from rotten parts.   Marching mindless manic brain cases. Combat booted zombie disgraces. They make our streets unsafe places, These monsters won’t show their faces.   They havoc with covered faces, Of themselves they wish no traces. Making our s...

  October 13       Twilight   What can be said of October twilight, Its thinning air, Its moon rising bolder? What can be said of the sounds That carry there, Of a song sung far older?   What has been said of the evening mists, Curling so soft Tendrils that almost catch? What has been said of the farther door, To this plane to waft, Who is lifting the latch?   In twilight we fly, In twilight we sigh, This is the no time, Reason defies. In twilight we try, In twilight we fly, This is the flow time, Kiss reason goodbye.   What can be told of drying leaves whisper, Language they speak, You once knew long ago? Who would dare mention the spine’s tingle-shiver, Forgotten warning, Of the things you don’t know?   What has been whispered of fey sound Come too sharp now, No clear sources to avow? What has been written of footfall behind you, A stranger, some danger, T...

October 12       Air   Daybreak dawns bedewed: Mists rise and curl, Briefly though, Then, Sink slowly into lawns gone brittle, Or settle on overnight laces spun, Twinkling gems that fade with the rising sun. The far cry of the passing trains linger longer, Forlorn cries distant, Heralds of harvest, Grain and coal, And lumber and travelers destined elsewhere. Morning’s dins play more insistent, Preparing for the long rest ahead.   Summer’s hazes have given way to crisp cerulean, Such clarity is required by the fleeing geese. Traffic hums louder, Rather, More distinct, Clanks and clatter separate, Rendered each to their own space. So too are children’s calls more lucid, The dogs bark more sharp, The wailing sirens more pierced to the ear.   In the night, The stars shimmer clearer, More rough-edged as newly plucked jewels. The bat calls come sharper, Fare farther, Unimpeded by sluggi...

  Rations   Steps to ease the existence:     (in no particular order)   You may steal when prices are high. You may denigrate all that you don’t understand. You may cheat if you can’t win. You may deny knowledge you did not already have. You may lie if that’s easier. You may avoid responsibility that causes you discomfort. You may violence when:     you think they think they’re better than you,     you had a bad day,     you have a better deity,     they’re in the way,     they won’t do the,     they won’t give you the,     they don’t listen,     they’re stupid,     the lies aren’t working,     they aren’t your tribe,     reasons. You may idolize whatever is mildly popular right now. You may extramarital if you are really in love this time. You may ego when everyone else is a loser. You may sloth if som...

  Fail Slow   Indulged. Coddled and caressed, All accepted, All demanded, All unearned. The tale of your sins Trails behind, A shadow, Grown larger than you. All devious, All denied, All deserved. What record reveals? Placate the masses with distortions and still, Fail slow.   Fail slow, How low will you go? This is the row You chose to hoe. We drink our health, As you reap what you sow, And stand and watch, As you fail slow.   Pieces fall, The puzzles firms, Define the edges first. Murky picture, Shows abandoned promises, Marks broken enterprise, Lensed often, Still imprecise, The tale woven dark, Without regret, Whispered of in gutters, And in greasy privacy, Must not be told open, But walls have ears, And you fail slow.   Fail slow, How low will you go? This is the row You chose to hoe. We drink our health, As you reap what you sow, And stand and watch, As you fa...

  Sorry Christian   O sorry Christian, Worshipping your church, Abandoning Jesus, How far you stray.   Sorry Christian, How you love to hate, Preaching against those you know not, Their customs strange. Their clothing may fit different, Their food be peculiar, Their tongues may be a difficult hear. Do they seem garish? Do you find them unwanted? Sorry, Christian, Your brother may not always look like you.   You sorry Christian, What makes your cathedrals so great? They stand higher than your works. Your prayers speak louder than your deeds, Your purses impede your morals. You walk with Mammon, And he with you. You value value, How can you thread the needle’s eye? Sorry, Christian, Poor treasure you have stored.   Lo, sorry Christian, Will you follow Peter then, Blade too ready to hand? Would you send the unbeliever Christward early? How you celebrate blood! How fierce in your belief! But t...

  October 1 The Woods   There are old places. Older than what surrounds them, yes. Feral and willful places, Untamed and untouched, One does not attempt these woods under this moon. One does not tempt these woods under this moon. Here the veils are thinnest, Here the crossings are not so difficult. The entry opens rarely, Seasonally, And ever back through eons. An entry that opens now… It has come through.   It bides its time, For the season returns once more. A slow hunter, A creature of consummate patience, Inexorable. And for some, Inevitable. One does not tempt these woods. Not under this moon.   This is a mire. This is a maze. This is a mistake. There is a collector here. A gatherer, An unrelenting connoisseur. It can wait, It has cycled many times, And more times before that. It can wait.   Many traps it baits, It has learned much in its wheel, It has forgotten not a trifle. ...

  Loony Time   Crises pulled daily, Manufactured by the wily, Extracted and presented As if from the forever pocket Of the animated hare, Leaving us to ask: “What’s up, Don?” We see the signs: It’s rabid season.   Yearning to be the rootinest-tootinest, He comes off a bit too daffy, And in desperation declares: “This means war.” Still, dark secrets loom, And when asked where they are found We’re told, “They went that-a-way.” Watch him dip, dive, and dodge. It’s duck season.   Pontificate, obfuscate, complicate. Explanations reach their acme, Blowing up when handled, Requiring more answer than: “That’s all, folks!” Still, they rush headlong, Towards the tunnel, They painted themselves. Can’t they read the signs? It’s rabid season.   And it’s despicable.   Cliff Lake 9/28/2025 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

  In Those Days   In those days, Days of gloom, Nights of horror, Fear walked recognizable: Visages unmistakable, Forms familiar, Tongues too often heard. In those days, Heroes rose, Monsters fed, Until battle was long waged, Until foes were beaten, Buried, And tales were passed Down through ages, Until they were passed no longer, Made forgot by design.   In those days Creatures were fashioned, Informed of secret art, Given living sigil, And taught patience. For Man is ever eager, Rushing forth with each new skill, Heedless and too often unrepentant, Marking not his failures, And enamored of his own cleverness. Then will the beasts awaken, Then will they adopt the form of Man, And pass among him, And speak sly flattery, And make false voice, And false light, And falsify knowledge, They would lead Man back into woe, That these beasts may feed unabated.   In those days, Prophecy was made,...

  White Noise   Static. All the static. So much static. It fills the air, It scuttles discernment. What is it you can no longer hear? What have you missed? Voices dimmed. Voices obscured. Voices removed. There is so much static, That it discourages listening. White noise.   Noise. All that noise. So much noise. It fills the ear. It scrambles observation. What is it being shouted down? What are you made to hear? Loud pronouncements. Louder accusations. Louder lies. There is so much noise, That people stop listening. White noise.   Fog. All this fog. So much fog. It blurs the eyes. It denies perception. What is obscured from sight? What must you not see? Obscuring facts. Obscuring faces. Obscuring deeds. There is so much fog, That people stop looking. White noise.   So much static. You have only that now. So much noise. You hear only that now. So much fog. You see onl...

  The Ride   The sound of hooves resounding strong, To whom these speeding steeds belong? They run, they rush, going headlong, These pounding hooves resounding strong.   Their riders headed for the fray, Clothed they are in dark array. Their steel is bright, their cloaks are gray, These riders headed for the fray.   In dark they ride, And dark the call, In dark they ride, Protecting all, In dark they ride, Before the fall, In dark they ride, They heed the call.   They travel the reddened-sky night, Approach battle at morning light. Never swerving from their flight, Travelling reddened-sky night.   Bow and spear and swinging sword, No surrender they accord. Challenge they the coming horde, With bow and spear and swinging sword.   In dark they ride, And dark the call, In dark they ride, Protecting all, In dark they ride, Before the fall, In dark they ride, They heed the call. ...

  The Real Fake News – Amended Edition   Donald Trump today filed a suit against fast food giant McDonald’s for 30 billion dollars over their naming of the Big Mac, his favorite sandwich from the franchise. Said the president, “Just because a burger has some height, that doesn’t make it big, or large, or oversized, and eating one or ten shouldn’t mean anyone doing that is large or dumpy, I call it dumpy, it’s dumpy, but I’m not, and that’s what the left would say, does say, they said dumpy and that’s not what we’re going to stand for. So, McDonald’s needs to stop being leftist.” McDonalds purportedly has offered to settle for a smaller sum and a large fry.   The President of the United States today asked Congress to “turn off any microphone with a Democrat sitting at it.” Claiming that Democrats “have nothing to say that patriotic Americans need to hear, want to hear, because it’s all against Trump”.   The president also has asked the Supreme Court to “sue Ho...

  Wanderer   The wanderer, set to a task unnamed, Given just enough to set him on his way, Prompted by riddling command, And too many paths to follow.   A stumbler in oversized gear, He grows in all the wrong places, Hears lessons from too many teachers, Culled from too near to him.   He swings a mighty cudgel, Hitting almost where he aims, Uncaring of the breakage in his wake, Until he looks behind, too far, and too late.   He harvests where and what he wants, Gathering beyond his means. He will bear no burden, The surplus rots where it is left.   His path has long got random, He spurns maps he has not charted. He circles his own track, His compass left behind.   He seeks answers from himself, His counsel is discovery in accident, His wisdom too often erased, Supplanted by the myth of himself.   He wanders all the void, Its features all too distant, And finds time to curse the fa...

  Watch and Pen   Tick, tick, tick, The time ticks away. What was given becomes taken, What was known is wronged, What was had is gone, What time we had has passed. Tick, tick, tick, The hour has grown much too late.   So slow the changes, The coming short-changes, The rearranges, Meaning to estrange us. What is the takeaway? What will they take today? Who will stop the decay? What am I allowed to say?   Drip, drip, drip, The ink drips away. What was written becomes unwritten, What was said is unsaid, What was there is gone, What we had is no more. Drip, drip, drip, There is no more ink on that page.   So slow the changes, The coming short-changes, The rearranges, Meaning to estrange us. What is the takeaway? What will they take today? Who will stop the decay? What am I allowed to say?   Chip, chip, chip, They keep chipping away. What was stable becomes unstable, What was soli...

  Cosmik Debrief   Blue rock races Through its assigned cosmos, Its perplexed passengers Scramble for scraps That they will not keep. Blooded engagements That slay many unpurposed, With planned betrayals Buried in the sands. Winners of contests Now lost in the ages, Where are they now? Under sorrowing stars.   Who are the final Arbiters of meaning For any of the realms On any of the planes? Lost, lost, Finally forgotten: Time reckons not Love, anger or greed. Where are the titans, The heroes, The blameless? Lost, lost, Under sorrowing stars.   Movers of mountains Now lie beneath rubble, Gravity bears them Down into the earth. Tribal lines drifting, Alliances shifting, It’s all so uplifting, So open to grifting, Maintained so by rifting, The wars that keep gifting, Through dry bones the sifting, Burning lives so swiftly, Under sorrowing stars.   Where are the final Arbiters ...

  This House   Cartoon colossus, Your puffery deflates When even the smallest hero staunchly stands. The shifting sands of your straying conviction betray you. Your doubletalk, Your double back, Your instant balk, You’re talking smack, You walk it back. Big ego, Big mouth, Small where it counts.   Myopic titan, Head so high above your boots crushing, You do not see your stumbling steps. Circle back and twist again. Whose toes have you trod today? Do they hold you in such awe, That they will forgive? That they will forget? Discount them singly, Their complete number swells. Ants eventually cart away entire carcasses…   Bumbling behemoth, Bruised in body, Drooping display, Reckless reactions, The costs are no longer marketable, The harvest goes hollow, The taken have no more to give. Hungry mouths will fill with blame, And you have put yourself in their eye At every opportunity. They will only se...

  Crimson Feed   Conceal carry and the unsafe playground, An army presence and the threat of lockdown. Lady Liberty, more blood on her gown, And yet more life senselessly cut down.   How much more can we stand of this turmoil? How many more lives will we watch despoiled? How many too soon relieved of their toil? How many have been taken on this fevered soil?   Raise up another funeral mound! With crimson we feed this thirsty ground. Into this sod so many have bled. Are we to always water in red?   Just one more neighbor fed too much bile. Just one more neighbor turned into hostile. Sentence exacted by private trial, Just one more body thrown onto the pile.   Raise up another funeral mound! With crimson we feed this thirsty ground. Into this sod so many have bled. Are we to always water in red?   Fanning the flames, gas on the fire! Dance by the light of the funeral pyre! More rhetoric, raise tem...

  Vitriol and the Foolish   I have had enough of vitriol. Pouring salt in the wounds of the chronically salty? Forgive me if I believe that will be of no benefit. Whether you agree or not with a person, Their death by violence remains just that: Death by violence. One does not qualify equality – What is injustice against you and yours, Is the same injustice against someone you dislike. Our First Amendment still holds, At least for today, And though that person may have said things that you did not care for, This day he was allowed to say those things. Now he cannot. Not by his choice, But by the hand of another. That is not equitable by any measure. Already I see celebration of this violence. A celebration of violence! What kind of lowlife does that? Displaying hatred of the murdered will only encourage more violence. Have any of you considered that may have been the entire point? Or perhaps that this wasn’t politically motivated...

  Artifact   He ranges on. Damp, dripping, sodden, He ranges on. The piece he carries disposes the weather not, Nor provides other comfort, Neither gift nor burden it is, But he suspects mayhap be both.   A relic it is, Ancient and appalling, Dire, dangerous, disturbing, And at times, Deadly. A token and tool of a time lost to history, This he is sure of, For it has made that much known to him.   When first he found it – Or the other way ‘round, He sought out those clerics known to him, And others more distant, Or removed, Whether by their own choice, Or driven elsewhere, And these most laughed when shown the worn bauble, Or recoiled in dismay, nay, even fear, Muttering incantations and hurrying his leave. One though called after him, Would not near approach, But cried out a name and a place to seek out, Then would say no more.   So, he ranges on, Toward some priest perhaps, Or better named ...

  A Summons   The dream comes to him more often now, “A rivalry between the spheres.”, she whispers, Then fades into the   And he wakes.   There is the feeling of loss always, And a sense of impending strife, More insistent daily. He wishes to know more. He needs to know more. He begs to know more. When next he dreams, She is more substantial, And smiling. “You have heard the call,” she says, Then, “Time is short.”   “We are beset.”, she says, “And yes,” to his unvoiced question, “That includes you, And yours, And the existence you presently sustain, For the threat has ascended all frames, And many are needed.”   “Threat?” he asks of the vision. Her eyes pierce him as she speaks: “You have seen its effects in your own firmament, Violences without cause save desire, Pursuit of vanities wielded against the common person, Acquisitions without purpose but kept from the needy, Suppressions and o...