CliffSongs

Testimonial   The tension, Ratchet up the tension. How else will you justify the thugs? The training, Don’t bother with much training. How else will they remain the thugs? What brutish tactics! What short sight…   Starvation, Inflation, Frustration, Predation. The tools of the tyrant, The clumsy hands that wield.   Constraint, Restraint, Complaint, Repaint. The pettiness of the bullying, The insubstantial yield.   Suppression, Oppression, Recession, Depression. The duress forced by insecurity, The results in the ledger concealed.   What use is history To those that refuse to read? Pressures applied Always require Eventual release. The fires you start today, Set the boil of tomorrow, That you think you can contain. This is a pot Larger than your ego.   You begin to burn your own, Thinking your lies Will outweigh their empty wallets, That your words Are more substant...

  The Wreck of the Old 47   The morning meeting convenes, The accolades are sung. Just another day Behind the wrecking ball. He’s being lied to, And accepts anyway. He looks run down, So he takes all the money, To convince himself he’s not drowning. He gazes at his good time buddies, As they look at what he’s done. Nothing seems to change, While the house stays shut down, And none of them will tell him, That he’s been such a fool. “SNAP!”, he cackles, “Let them eat crypto!”, he says, Guarding his own pile manically. “Let them eat ICE tear gas!” He gazes around the room, Waiting on the expected harumphs. “Harumph!”, they bark, “Harumph!” The assistant vampire steps forward, “The cozening will continue!”, it declares, Convincing no one further. They know what’s at stake, And none wish to be tied to the whipping post, Nor chained and bound. Yeah, Sometimes they feel like… It’s dying, The support they had feels like...

  Goin' Fission   The chest is sorely bruised: A constant, If erratic thumping, Renders soft flesh tenderized, While the stone beneath feels nothing, But the fear of consequence.   The mouth is open, The mouth is always open. It is the loudest in the room. It is always the loudest in the room. Hear it praise itself! Someone has to…   The hands are mismatched: One is blotchy purple, And when it isn’t, It is Covergirl pink. Both reach for the money, All the money.   The eyes are blinded by gaudy paint, They fail to see the damage it wreaks. They do not read figures they do not like. They see enemies in every corner. They do not see ramifications. They only see dollar signs.   The ears do not register. They hear no entreaties, They heed no advice. They are full of what the mouth has said, They listen that only, And are deaf to anyone without deep pockets.   The brain is sodden. It...

The Future of the Past   Gold glaring vulgar, Petty opulence to surround. No show of strength this, Merely garish self-congratulation, Just a harking back to a bitter history, Long lost to infamy. Ah, what one wishes! What dreams fondled! Think you to recreate a past You were no part of? It has already been, It is dimly remembered. It was discarded as unwieldy, Unworthy, Unwanted… So have you become. You tie yourself to visons dispensed with, Dreams of glory tasted by the few. And what of that? You see yourself of their number, Land snatchers and self-titular that they were. They too saw themselves superior, They too thought themselves beyond reproof. What matters that you run roughshod? All have been beneath you, So you are informed By the lackeys you have bought. Those trampled underfoot have long paved your way. You look to your apologists, Craven and grasping at your leavings, How much longer Can they explain away ...

    A Broken House   A broken house Shows what rots inside.   Because he loves the hate.   Because they love to hate.   Because of their love of hate.   What wreckage are we to endure? More walls have come down, More destruction in this land. And too near – An empty House, Closed for disrepair. One wonders at the timing…   What wreckage we are to endure! Metaphor springs to life, Trades the red hat for the hard hat, Keeps the hard heart. Make complaint to your local congressman, He needs something to do. And what of the broken thing behind the rubble? He revels in the complaint! Why? Because he loves the hate.   What wreckage are we to endure? Institutions torn asunder, Or starved of their resources. Their needy have no recourse But to clamor outside closed door. Too late – The delegates are sent home, And no one gets anything. But at least they are satisfied in knowi...

         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...

  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...

  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

  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...

  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...

  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...

  Real and the Play-Doh of the Now   Industrial revolution, Ersatz evolution, Substance substitution. “Progress” Plastic-wrapped changes, Pre-packaged, presented, pre-approved, Delivered sanitized and pastel-colored. Transistors and silicon processors, More than conveniences, The user becomes the processed. No more woody scent of a cool eve, No more untamed posies to brighten a morn, No more unbound brook or liberated hedge, To remind of what was left behind, Forgotten by the aged, Unknown to youth, Buried beneath casinos and chaos, Mown down and resurfaced.   What replacement cheer is now pursued? What new gods are sought? What diversions now entertain, Battery-powered and sterile? Expanded access breeds total arrest, Binge-powered dopamine dump. Downcast eyes burned by blue light, Atrophy claiming muscles, (Though not those texting thumbs). Carefully chosen information doses, Pre-selected and wrapped in the r...

  Uncivil   Fully loaded trash detail, Gratifying an ego frail. Hidey-hole scaredy-cat alpha male, Under the bronze he gets ever more pale.   Cornered in the most uncomfortable seat, Plans and aims more indiscrete, Scandals buried by marching feet, I hear Ohio on repeat.   How do you start the civil war? How do you justify breaking down my door? Are you so hungry for violence and gore? How do you start a civil war?   The dashed tales of hoped-for fiction, Living mannequin reveals more friction. Unscramble age addled mumbled diction, Understudy hoping for eviction.   How do you start the civil war? How do you justify breaking down my door? Are you hiding what came before? How do you start a civil war?   Lessening impunity for the too coy, Lessening immunity to enjoy. Thin ice proposal for deploy, Parading the massive decoy.   How do you start the civil war? How do you justify breakin...

  Gun Thing   There you sit – the would-be king, Soaking up praises from the underling. Law and justice you would hamstring, All you care about is the cha-ching.   You don’t care who your chaos stings, As long as there are people worshiping. When the rifle barrel is done smoking, You dare to tell us, “It’s not a gun thing.”   The gun thing, You think it’s such a small thing, And we know you know about a small thing. The gun thing, It’s not such a small thing, And we know that you will continue to do nothing.   This script your base finds appealing, Maybe they’ll forget what you’re covering. Will you find a way to blame the left wing? What would you do if it were your offspring?   What shit at the wall will you now fling? To what outmoded law will you still cling? Another bloodbath – you haven’t learned anything, All you can come up is, “It’s not a gun thing”?   The gun thing, You think it’s su...

  Storm   The revelers in the fortress frolic, They celebrate their coffers, Grown too large to be exhausted in a lifetime, And so jealously guarded, And admired by their keepers.   Overlorded by one of their number, But less clean, Less mannerly, Less than even they, But more brutal than any of them. He knows their deeds, Thus their loyalty is secured.   The fortress makes pronouncements of intent: A slowly tightening suffocation, It insures its security by right it grants itself, And by the display of sword and spear. It trusts such strength without question, Uninterested in the doings of the rabble beyond.   The fortress has deployed its guard, Faceless thugs with questionable order, And questionable tactic. The streets and the countryside slowly empty, Windows shutter, Lights lower, Open conversation declines, Secrets keep best in the dark.   Beyond the fortress wall the public works lessen...

  Interesting Time   Keep them guessing, Keep digressing, Keep up the chaos, Preventing digestion.   Perfect illusion, Adept occlusion, Keep up the carnage, Accepted confusion.   Oh, to live in interesting times, Oh, to see the interesting crimes. The news is going nuts, It’s still ten minutes until nine, What a way to live, In such interesting times.   Make alteration, Remake deviation, Keep up the camouflage, Opaque negation.   All distraction, All inaction, Keep up the curtain, Prepare redaction.   Oh, to live in interesting times, Oh, to see the blame get reassigned. The news is going nuts, It’s still ten minutes until nine, What a way to live, In such interesting times.   Infantile, Hire servile, Keep up the coddling, Toddler style.   Proclamation, More conflation, Keep up the collapse, Our damnation.   Oh, to live in interesting times, Oh,...

  Two Weeks   Two weeks. A time limit. A promise. An expectation. A deflection. A delay. A story. An angle. A fiction. Two weeks, A myth in the making, A vow of solace forthcoming, A tactical maneuver, An apostrophe in procedure, An intangible timeframe, A stretching into eternity. Two weeks, This concept of an idea, This plan to start planning, This suggestion of a program, This inconclusion. Let us meet That we may schedule the meeting. Two Weeks! That’s all it should take! Our aim Is to Arrange a Method to Propose our Intention to Suggest our Strategy to Contrive a Policy that Lays out Our projections Of the means To institute The program that Follows procedure. It’s never been done before! It’s the best at what it is! No one else could! No one else will! Best of all: It’s every two weeks. Two weeks. The time that Time forgot. Time enough for another surprise, Time enough...

  The Watch   What is poised against the deepened night? What ancient tower Yet stands against these times? What staunch stanchion still bolsters? What shield hefted? Does any Sun’s ray pierce the dimming day? Have all supports fallen, Has all faith foundered? Are there yet champions? Are there yet bold? What voices lifted in defiance? What songs carol against the dark? Answer these, Child, And hope blooms.   What gauntlet clenches? What psyche rages? What beast foments? How many quislings waver? Whose pockets bulge ill-gotten? What worms gnaw at our institutions? Who gathers the vermin beside him? What craven serves the mad master? What lies must now be lived? Who sees enemies at every lamppost? Why is that enemy you? Speak to these, Child, And defiance looms.   What babe is fed from many hands? What gran is sheltered by the village? What infirm has aid unlooked-for? Are your youth taught costle...