CliffSongs

  The Errand   The gray expanse covers, The sun hides, The cold, The damp, The permeating despair, A shadow and an oppression. The rider Alone in the haze, Urges his mount steadily forward, Mindful of the beast’s trepidation, And of the senses it employs. He also remains heedful as he can, Sounds deadened, He must rely on sight. Eyes flicking side to side, Striving to pierce the mists, The strain is relentless, Yet he dare not tarry, This passage has an earned reputation, And he would not add his name to its tales. Moreover, his errand will not wait, Its gravity would suffer more than this toil, And the oath he swore drives him through this, And more – Should that be required. He is not sworn to one, But to all, He is a keeper and sentinel, A guardian and watchman, And this day, A messenger. The tidings he bears, Of hope and succor, Of aid unlooked for, Must be delivered to a beleaguered land, Though thi...

  An Ode to the Notes   Music plays my day, Music dreams my night. Do you not know? Every note is a miracle! Precise and evocative, A progression of reverie, A background in trance, Fantasy made concrete in sound! Is it no wonder that your head nods? The imperative speaking to your body, The groove to your soul! Music speaks What we cannot say for ourselves, Music moves us when we cannot stand. It dances in our ears, It pounds in our chests, And we sway unknowing, Uncaring, A freedom granted By little else in this existence. Close your eyes, Feel it carry you beyond, Beyond worry, Beyond fear, Beyond strife, Beyond yourself. How lucky the musician! They live inside the melody, Transported to realms they create, And they carry us along, And feel no weight. Music plays my day, Music dreams my night, And takes me to better places, Than I could find on my own. If there is magic, It is found within the note...

  Mending Moon   The man peered at the dark sky To see the other side of night. A man so lonely He could no longer perceive the light.   But the moon was there, And she would know his plight. As he stared blindly, She sorrowed at the sight.   So, she bathed him all in silver, That she may make his darkness bright. And so, he sat in alabaster, And wondered at a world gone so white.   But the moon said nothing, And nightly continued her flight. So, this man found surprising comfort In the midst of dark and blight.   Now the man can travel once more in day, And marvels that things sometime had gone right. And the moon smiles to herself, And nightly shines on him with all her might.   Cliff Lake 12/20/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Butterfly Girl   Butterfly girl, Have you seen her Flutter through your world? A changeling, From dark days gone, Butterfly girl, She floats on…   Coming from Some place unknown, She chooses what wind By which she’s blown. She has made her own Silken wings, She flits by the ugly things. Touches you lightly, Then she’s gone, Butterfly girl, Floating on…   Butterfly girl, Have you seen her Flutter through your world, A changeling, From dark days gone, Butterfly girl, She floats on…   Escaping from Constricted place, The whole world now Is her space. Floating by Her smile brings Soothing song To your heartstrings. Bright and airy, Like live chiffon, Lighting the day, Then floating on…   Butterfly girl, Have you seen her Flutter through your world? A changeling, From dark days gone, Butterfly girl, She floats on…   Cliff Lake 12/18/2024 Copyright © Cli...

  Voices Out of Time   A waking hour, Too soon ‘til dawn. A waking mind, That’s droning on. The minutes grind on slow, And I can’t sleep ‘cuz I’m Loudly serenaded By voices out of time.   Voices out of time, And I don’t know If they fit the rhyme. Have they left in tatters, Momentary peace of mind. Or do they speak truly, These voices out of time.   Days I think I had, Nights no longer clear. Faces gone clouded, Blurred by old tears. Hopes faded by reality, Life the uphill climb. Why do I make enquiry Of these voices out of time?   Voices out of time, How can we know If they fit the rhyme? Or will they leave in tatters, Temporary peace of mind Or if they speak truly, These voices out of time.   Cliff Lake 12/18/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Low   The dirty players, The money lords, The mediocre, The small, The grovelers and the mean, They are risen. They have been set in high places, As rulers, Or enforcers of rule, Or as takers of things They will not use themselves. Malingerers and petty in spirit, They will force strange and malignant orders, They will harbor resentment toward the just, The artful, And the innocent, For they are none of these things, And cannot be, For they are poor in mind, And empty in their souls. They are hateful for less reason Than it takes to draw a breath, And they would have even that Were it possible. It is these that have been placed above you, Though they are the lowest of vermin, Unclean in every inch of their being, Unworthy of anything But the basest existence, And they know it. Therefore, they oppress, They deny, They subjugate all not of their kind, And in so doing, Disguise their inadequacy behind title...

  Standing   From the ivory towers, The hidden agenda reveals: It does not include you. From well-guarded gardens We hear the murmur of the accountant, Ensuring the wasting piles of lucre Grow ever more expansive, And used ever less graciously. See how the occupants Of the glass and steel palace Strive to impress each other: Collecting baubles and accoutrement Too precious for public display, Unless under heavy guard. But for all their power and connections, Still they bend the knee To an evil that will not be confined. That they may not give up their thinnest dime, They have loosed upon us A grievous wrong and an ego, That will accept no satisfaction. They quail before this, For it claims the power to end them with a word, And they would hand it such power, As their greed blinds them To what humanity they once held, If ever. Were they banded, They could cage the calamity, But their avarice and desire Separates ea...

  Sailor and Nymph   A sailing man set out the world to explore, Under his own banner and truly free. There upon an unknown shore, He saw a nymph dance beside the Sea.   Possessed she unearthly grace and daring eyes, She swayed and moved to unheard chord. The sailor by nymph mesmerized Invited her to come aboard.   His banners high, they caught the breeze, Together they now sailed the seas. The nymph dancing as she pleased, The sailor free to take his ease.   On the deck of sailor’s boat, The nymph danced morn and afternoon, Above the deck she seemed to float, A dance she danced to call the moon.   But soon in day she seemed to pine, Dancing melancholy and forlorn. Paling ‘neath the bright sun’s shine. But nightly exuberant, dancing ‘til morn.   His ship’s banner caught the light, Light that caused the nymph to swoon, But she would brighten in the night, And she danced best before the moon. ...

  Religiously Right   Once again We are to be troubled By religious persecution. The devout have prosecuted, And they find their judgements Actionable. Who am I to deny Their lust for retribution For sins and crimes, Not enacted against them? They will have individuality Remolded in their image, That they will not be disturbed, By personalities unmired in the miserable. True joy is found by them In fearing the wrath of God. True freedom is achieved Through conformity, Everyone knows that. Sameness makes everything easier, No need to think, No decisions are too hard, Everything is planned in advance, So, get in line, And be like them, And there won’t be any problems. The religious right Absolutely know they are right, Why, it’s in the name! And in the name of Jesus, They’ll get you right, Or else. It’s not persecution, Until it’s happening to you.   Cliff Lake 12/13/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2...

  Lost Muse   Between and behind the veils they are, Banished by greed and ignorance, And a lust for power over all creatures. An eviction enacted through lies and violences, By the unworthy and the uncouth. For long ago was chosen The Path of Iron: Cold, hard, And malleable to the will of small men, Who cannot dream beyond What they would take unbidden. Tricksters they were named, And were depicted of ugly mien, Of as corrupted men, Horned and furious. Once they were guides, Once we had teachers, Muses and spirits, Escorts of The Way. Some hear them whisper yet, Pale voices singing from a coruscating beyond, Giving glimpses of tales wondrous, Their meaning deep woven in parable, That those who would hear, May taste of what was, And what can be, If we could but shake these shackles Binding us and keeping us, When we could be free between the stars, Whence we came in the long before, Before time was twisted, Befo...

  Vibrations   Williams left us the bad days. That’s what’s going on, you know, He left us the bad days. He didn’t build a time machine, Not exactly, He built a time SELECTOR. Maybe more like a filter,   Or maybe it’s like a tuner. Time vibrates. Everything vibrates, Sound, The ground, molecules, It’s all vibration. He figured it out, Williams figured it out: That time vibrates, And that there are good vibrations, And bad ones. Mike Love tried to tell us, But maybe only Williams heard him. Williams built the machine, The filter, Or strainer, Or whatever it is, It showed him the vibrations, But it showed him how to access them as well. So, he did. Once he knew which were good time vibrations, And which were bad, Well… He filtered what he wanted, didn’t he? Grabbed his favorite people and… So here we are. Stuck with what’s left. I’m sure Williams is having the time of his life, He and all his friends....

Dark Path   The dark path, Rocky, Brambled, Shrouded in mists and Noisome fumes, He can go back, But there, It is darker. He forges on. To each side are pitfalls, Into them He has fallen. More than once he has fallen. He has taken bruises, He has been cut, He has taken breaks, But he has not broken. The way is dark yet, He forges on. Has he wished for light? Most assuredly, And the dark has been pierced, Briefly, And sometimes from a distance, And always Dark returns. For this space is darkness surrounding, With brilliant points illuminating, Themselves surrounded. This he sees and He forges on. The path is ever before him, Dark as it is, And trails behind, Where it is so much darker. No matter, He forges on.   Cliff Lake 12/11/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Wichita Walkway   See the greenspaces collect their trash, A convenience unlooked for! Hidden beneath the arbor, One merely lets go, What could be easier? See the Styrofoam cups flower! Such a Quik Trip from the hand to the ground. See the plastic bags wander! Blown on the breezes as leaves From the trees they would smother. See the pop cans sparkle! Crushed underfoot by the manly. What exquisite reminders of carelessness. How the squirrels must envy our crafts! Perhaps they will nest In the discarded clothing items, yes? Perhaps the cardboard containers Were just what they needed. How fortunate is Nature, That we trash her freely, So that small creatures May make use of our poisons, Our detritus, Our ignorance. Perhaps if there were more walkways, We could stop recycling altogether! What a bright future is ours!   Cliff Lake 12/10/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  More or Less   The world is stupid. Not the one we live on – Nothing makes more sense Once understood. The stupid part Is the part we made, The one that’s supposed to be More comfortable, More comforting, More convenient, And instead has been reduced to simply “More” More people, More damage, More heat, More garbage. Yet somehow more have less than ever. Less freedom, Less opportunity, Less security, Less help. As we ravage the planet more, The prospect of her recovery becomes less. And we couldn’t be more stupid about it. Still, those with more, Wish we would talk less of the stupidity, And work more, For less. And the stupid among us, Couldn’t care less. Because all they want is More. They cannot see That as time goes on, They will pay more, And get less. Though I believe they will get more stupid… And continue to be careless.   Cliff Lake 12/9/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Puppets and Master   Puppet master, will you fail faster? Are your webs blown on the breeze? Your fingers buried in too many pies, Your minions rise off their knees.   Puppet master, what new disaster Creeps closer to minareted castle? Puppet master, you old spellcaster, You’ve lost another vassal.   What happens as they dance harder? No longer docile underlings. What have you left to barter? Choking on the puppet’s strings.   Puppet master, democracy blaster, Will you need to grow some wings? Puppet master, better choose your pasture, The world has had enough of kings.   What happens as they dance harder, Are you going through some things? One less mouth in the larder, Your puppets cutting their strings.   Cliff Lake 12/8/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Rollertoasted   He tells you to watch what THEY are doing, With his hand in your pocket again. It’s the same old bait and switch, You have been falling for since I don’t know when.   Everyone else is a THEM these days, A factoid requiring nothing like proof. Shady rhetoric all draped in gray, A mockery and inversion of truth.   This is the ride you wanted: A rollercoaster gone far beyond the track. This is the collide you wanted, The crash is coming and it’s too late to turn back.   Watch the lords of collusion line up, They know where their bread is buttered. Watch as they get their noses shined up, Knowing what the deal was with the first words uttered.   You traded freedom for snide remarks: It’s oligarchy for the win! Now you start to see things as they go dark, The Great Oppression is about to begin.   This is the ride you wanted: A rollercoaster gone far beyond the track. This is the col...

  Grind   The minions sing the phrases taught them By the Witless Wizard as he spins wrong legends round, The chorus that blinds them eagerly, To the machine that grinds them down.   The Wandering Warden berates them as he will, And lets his hounds howl at every unwanted sound. And goads the people to dig frantically for the fuel That fires the machine that grinds them down.   The Callous Crows that haunt the House, So casually they trash the town. They feather their nests with their own foul, Working the levers of the machine grinding down.   Gray Lady and her matrons Selling the wrong words in ever-tattered gown, Their knees scabby and bloody, As they service the machine that ground them down.   The Jargon Jurists jockey for Judas coin, See their noses go brown. They waylay the justice they wield, Greasing the gears of the machine in which they’re ground.   Somewhere the eagle may soar high above,...

  Good Talk   I take my little worries And lay them out for all to see, But I do not listen in return: Those people aren’t me. There are many inconveniences, That I must talk about, And that I find them most concerning, I will leave hardly any doubt. Listen close and don't interrupt And yes, you may have concerns of your own, But you’ll have to wait this out Until mine are completely overblown. You see, my life is a tad boring, It’s lacking in any real drama, So, before we hear your sad little tale, Let me relate my ten-dollar trauma. It’s horrific and as detailed as you can imagine, Be a pal and keep yours to yourself, Because I’m counting on draining your compassion. There was the parking lot incident, And there was a rude cashier, And some loud children playing, And I’ve had it up to here! My favorite soda is in short supply, And Amazon is late, And someone left the milk out again, And overall, I’m not feeling great. But...

  Shadow Guard   Battle-weary, riding the shaded-way, Tired and torn, warding against the strange and the fey. Unseen if they should pass even by day, Unsung troopers to keep darkness at bay.   Passing silent, dressed in gray, They speak not, what could they say? From their purpose they do not stray: Outside evil ever their prey.   In your dreams, They may be seen, Both more and less, Than they seem. They fade away, Amid the moonbeam, Dim warriors, To guard the between.   Heavy on them the task does weigh, To fend off sorrow and dismay. Ever closing iniquitous gateway, Ever the foul do they waylay.   In your dreams, They may be seen, Both more and less, Than they seem. They fade away, Amid the moonbeam, Dim warriors, To guard the between.   Without name Without home Without succor To ever roam. Without clan, Without fame. Without consort, Without acclaim.   In ...

  A Lady Waits   She looks on with tear-filled eyes, As her children take up sides against one another: Misconstruing her meaning as hard as they can. She has withstood assaults in the past: Vile caricatures of humanity, That have attempted to quench her flame, Or usurp it for their own purposes, In preparation for such an extinguishment. Now the forces of greed and selfishness, Assemble their underinformed minions, Baiting them with lies and misrepresentations, Distracting the easily misled with pretty poisons, Hiding their own identities as the vipers they are. She must look on with hardened eyes, An emblem of what could be, Of what has briefly been, If not for everyone equally. And therein lies the conflict: Too many think so little of themselves, And the mess they would live in, Most of their own making, That they would deny those they can oppress The same opportunities they have squandered. No interest have they in fairnes...