CliffSongs

  Pieces of Blue   Two paths that both lead away, One is light, the other gray. But in the moment, Who can say? Wandering off to be astray.   Taking too long one way to choose. A series of sad and bad miscues. But in the moment, Obscured views, Wandering off to gradually lose.   Pieces of another time, Pieces that were left behind. A peace perhaps I never knew, I fall to pieces when I think of you…   A life of memories amassed, Some best left long in the past. But in this moment, A dark contrast, The peace I left has now long passed.   Pieces of another time, Pieces that were left behind. A peace perhaps I never knew, I fall to pieces when I think of you…   Cliff Lake 4/28/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  The Wood   His feet carry him into the wood, As they had yesterday, As they had so often and again. He did not know what had been lost, He did not know if it would be found again. Fairie glamour, or dream, or both, That guide his steps, To carry him Into the wood. Here he may catch a passing scent, Or a glimmer just past the eye, And faint laughter mischievous, Though something less than petty. Here he had found… Something… Someone… For a day perhaps, Or many nights, So unclear why he drifts Into the wood.   Daily she watches, He wanders these days, Lost to her, Or to himself. Once she caught his eye, And still he catches hers, Most days at least, When she sees him, When he remains in town, And has not yet stumbled Into the wood. She knows not what he seeks, As he does not know, But her heart is certain He will find more than he needs, In her eyes, In her arms, In a life that is theirs, Where she is now

  The Cargo   The captains’ burden plagued him, Though much silver had crossed the palm, A cargo unspoke betrayed him, Yet they must be sailing on.   His thought oft turned to that below, And heroic rescue schemes. But captain was his duty so, He turned away from these dreams.   But nightly did his mission need, To serve in obligation, For more than pay must he now heed, Or be doomed to his damnation.   For in the secret hold below, A temptation far too sweet. And in her eyes her sorrow too, That this way they should meet.   For she was of the royal sort, And promised to a king. And must be borne to foreign court, To stave off war’s red sting.   But here they’d found on open sea, Their hearts would speak to each. But promises made for the peace: A gulf too far to breach.   The captain’s burden flayed him, He hoped the wind may die, Just one more day of sailing, And gaze in her loving eye.   The harbor lies before

  The Reading   The solemn company rides, The distance between villages, Grows greater with every passing year, Though none can say why. They carry the records, The great tome, Though only one among them, Has the skill to discern its meaning, For though highly esteemed, What use have hunters and herdsmen, For that arcane art? Still, some with the aptitude are found, Fostered, For some writings are survived, And new ones made, If slowly, and only by a few. The scribe among them, Is closely guarded, His letters young yet, And his sword but newly held. Tomorrow marks his first Reading, And he practices from his slate, Scratching the marks over and again, The low murmur of his art their only sound, For their beasts feet are muffled. They dare not announce their presence, As the Sheriffs are busy elsewhere, And bandits have been reported near to here. But they will dare this passage, Though dark has descended on the world, And

  This House is a Mess   Hey there House MAGA, Are you feelin’ far-right? Why do your enemies, Nazi the light?   We know you’re just proud, boys, Fighting the good fight, Aryan’t you just trying, To keep America white?   Hey they there House MAGA, Why are you Russian around? Don’t let these Dems keep, Putin you down.   Why K, K, Kant They leave you in peace? Don’t know why they think, They’re the Fascism police…   So proud you’re able to Keep your Patriot Front. Even if you have to Follow some miserable… person.   Seems like so many, Want to replace you, So, my House MAGA, What Klan you do?   What Klan you do? Can’t fly the coup, Woke just won’t do, What Klan you do?   Cliff Lake 4/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Mistakes   Running around with a dangerous crowd, The delirious, the destructive, the loud. Nabbed up, grabbed up, shut in the clink, Time for a change, whadda ya think?   Now on the stand your voice will quake, “Sorry your Honor, my mistake.” And then you get out and back to your boys, But a mistake made more than once is a choice.   A mistake made all the time is a choice, Don’t give me that fake apology noise. Do it again and your virtue voids, A mistake made more than once is a choice.   Man, human, building as fast as you can, Making lots of things later banned. But you keep making ever more dangerous toys, The mistakes you’ve made have been a choice.   A mistake made all the time is a choice, Don’t give me that fake apology noise. The sorrows of earth we sing just annoys, A mistake made more than once is a choice.   Why must we be so very competitive? The burning and churning gets more repetitive, A spiral we dance ever fa

  A Vile Sat   What trials you at the last? What examination comes? What analysis of deeds unwanted, What probe may make you undone?   Just take your seat now, you vile! This is the reward well deserved. Watch as you are now revealed, Your unmasking is now well observed.   This payment conceived in denial, Avenues closed one by one, Which abandoned are invited against you? You must pay the final sum.   A stripping away of the layers, Unseemly deeds are now spoke. The record of your violations, Are exposed from the mirrors and smoke.   Where will you find your salvation, Some glove that will not fit, What miracle revelation, Will keep justice from being submit?   You cry foul! to the heavens, But who will hear your refrain? Your chorus is only static now, Few minions to hear still remain.   This is the end now, pimple, Carbuncle, cancer and wart, And end to your suffered leeching, No more will you justice thwart.  

  The Three Toe Stumble   Here comes Marge, motion in hand, No real support, but she will grandstand. They once followed but now they bail, Poor widdle Marjorie, doomed to fail.   Hear her yellin’ about space lasers, She ain’t satisfied with Texas razors. She hates it when you’re behind Ukraine, She won’t be happy until nuclear rain.   Marjorie, Marjorie, talk that jumble! Marjorie, don’t you see, you should be humble! Marjorie, all your plans do crumble, You’re tryin’ to dance, but you Three-Toe Stumble!   Now which amendment do we throw out? The ones you want just make me doubt, That you have any clue what you talk about, And face it Marge, you got no clout.   Marjorie will bitch, whine, and scream, Cuz she can’t further Putin’s scheme. She says Johnson’s on the street, Marjorie, just accept defeat!   Marjorie, Marjorie, talk that jumble! Marjorie, don’t you see, you should be humble! Marjorie, all your plans do crumble, You

  A Juncture   You have arrived to this moment, Involuntary enrollment. Life brings you here without your leave, An hour you did not conceive.   A time that’s never been before, You cannot know what is in store. A chance to reconfigure dreams, To move beyond generic themes.   Or you may remain in stasis, Comfortability’s oasis. Stay behind the closed door, Never the sky to soar.   Fall into a routine’s trance, Thinking nothing left to chance. Until you are changed radic’ly, Brought on by calamity.   A left turn come all unforeseen, No more is life that evergreen, Darkness on you may descend, None of us may see all ends.   Life will always play its trick, Though you are walled in by brick. So why not take the step unknown, Throw off the boredom so ingrown.   You have arrived to this moment, Involuntary enrollment. Life brings you here without your leave, It’s up to you what you achieve.   Cliff Lake 4/21/2024 Co

  Mr. Void   Looking out the window, Watching the children laugh, But not hearing, Separated and excluded, Through studious disaffection, The color drains, And leaves an empty. Click on the TV, To dispel the nothing, With noise, And forced hues, Vapid humor, Retold drama, And motion and, The ads come on, To sell you something empty. Something to fill a corner, But inanimate, Cold, Soulless and dead, Empty. Turn to the device, Full of words, And easy pictures, Loud and loud, And loudly proclaimed, Promising everything, Producing nothing, Coming up empty. Now you join the frantic chorus, Repeat the phrases, March the marches, Wave the signs, Affect nothing, No need for thought, Being empty. Someone logics you, They make their point, They have their thoughts, They have the facts, And point to proof, And you screech and moan, To try to make them appear empty. But they have thoughts, That are their o

  Bye, Guy   Who sneaks into the DMs, Who is stalking the profile? Who hasn’t got a single friend, Who’s only posting bile?   Vitriol and garbage, Spilling from its sty, Introducing you to: The ugly reply guy.   Reply guy, the spy guy, Thinking he’s a sly guy. It’s just your “Help me!” cry, guy. Deny guy, bone-dry guy, Lonelier with every try, guy.   Jumping conversations, Shouts words that don’t apply. Has no invitations, He muscles in, but why?   Everyone has seen one, Sometimes in a drive-by, Please don’t ever be one, Don’t be that reply guy.   Reply guy, missed try guy, Never gonna fly guy. It’s just your “Help me!” cry guy. Imply guy, all lie guy, Lonelier with every try, guy Reply guy, too high guy, Meme response supply guy, It’s just your “Help me!” cry, guy. Defy guy, French fry guy, Lonelier with every try guy.   Cliff Lake 4/20/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Likes and the Like   Where is your validation? Do you find yourself warmed, By the accolades earned From your performance on the stage, Or that of your social media account? Is that flashy automobile, Reflective of your inner being, Your bank account, Your parents doting, Or their dotage? Is the sum of your investments, The sum of your investment In the pursuit of achievement, Or simply numbers on a page, Shared with yourself. What is your validation? A certificate hung behind glass, Or digitally reproduced. A mortgaged home that supports both jobs, Containing the children, Your mother asked for. Is your pride then held, By having been productive, Or is it found in a gap-toothed smile, Lit by your entry into a room? Where is your validation? Is it found in what you have collected That is inert and inanimate? Is it in the reply you wait for, Good or bad, Found on the device consuming you? Or is it in the wagging tail,

  Marionette Melancholy   The puppets morosely gather, Their strings clutched in their hands, Waiting for Master’s arrival, To begin the dysfunctional dance. What words will they be made to speak, Nothing is left to chance, Which way will they now move their feet, Entangled in circumstance.   Unhappy marionettes, Caught up in a string of lies. They dance in the slow spiral, Empty intentions undisguised. See them jerked around daily, Their feet nearly always ungrounded. See them spin and jump when told, See them spew the tales unfounded.   What do these instruments seek, Do they have any goal in mind? Or are they merely played with, And discarded for better toys in time? Will they meet satisfaction, Will they achieve their ends? Or will they be tossed aside at last, With no hope for amends.   Do not feel for these little puppets, This is the choice they made: To be manipulated wholesale, And live in another’s shade. They

  Georgia Girl   You, Georgia girl, you ain’t no peach, We won’t swallow what you preach. You have soiled your vaunted station, By trying to sell out your nation.   In servitude to a traitor, You show you’re a collaborator. A short listen tells us how, You’re a pipeline from Moscow.   Russia bound, Georgia clown, All the treason you expound. Russian sound going round, Georgia girl, you’re going down.   The things you say my blood freezes, While claiming service to Jesus. On the Capitol steps raving, Georgia girl, is your soul worth saving?   In the midst of the Bible shouting, Propaganda you are mouthing. How much Russian info can you yell, From the confines of a prison cell?   Russia bound, Georgia clown, All the treason you expound. Russian sound going round, Georgia girl, you’re going down.   Cliff Lake 4/18/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Pichers of You   And have you answered me with a meme? Your misability exposed. Your tacit admission. You must not think on your own. You must not think. Let another, And retreat into the stupor. Let another, Four words at a time.   Whose words, Do you have on repeat? Whose words, Are indelible now? Whose words, Are your mindless mantra? Will you let another, Speak your mind, Or are you speaking theirs? Do you know any longer? Let another, Four words at a time.   Thinking is hard, Moreso when you refuse, And the catchphrase is both hilarious, And hurtful. Why decide between what is right, And what is instant? Mindlessness is comfortable, And pichers are easy. Easy is fun, And fun is better than thinking. Let another, Four words at a time.   Do you find facts, Impossible to refute? Logic is too hard, And critical thinking, Involves thinking. Someone else can do that, And make the picher funny, too.

  Sleepy Don   Sleepy Don that creepy con, Hasn’t been getting much sleep lately. He has so much to dwell on, That will affect him greatly.   Sleepy Don, the same suit on, Can’t bother to pay attention. What’s he on to keep him calm, And thus avoid detention?   Sleepy Don, lost his Teflon, He’s attending his accounting. Though his lies go on and on, In court the facts are mounting.   Sleepy Don has his gag on, That doesn’t seem to stop him. His posts go on some marathon, Will the court finally pop him?   Sleepy Don, try to cheat on, Your tricks are nearly played out. Sleepy Don, will you bleat on, About how law is weighed out?   Sleepy Don, we will watch on, Don’t worry about your ratings. Sleepy Don, these cards you’ve drawn, You’ve come to what your fate is.   Sleepy Don, stifle that yawn, Wake up to your reckoning. Sleepy Don, will you catch on, That justice here is beckoning?   Cliff Lake 4/15/2024 Copyrigh

  An Open Letter to Mike Johnson   How much longer will you avoid, The duties that you applied for? How much longer will you evade, The matters you are derided for?   How many lives can you overlook, How many do you explain away? How many lives were extinguished in rubble, How many lives were in your hands today?   How much longer will the whip hand, Control your every action? How much more blood has to spill, To effect his satisfaction?   How many lives were lost this week, Due to your unbroken inconstance? How many lives to overcome, The price paid for your conscience?   How many times are these questions asked, Are they become painful to hear? How many times do you choose your own pride, Just to satisfy the veneer?   How much longer will you deny, The choice to be humane? How much longer will you pander, To the bloodthirsty and the insane?   How many more times will you forget The words you know are true, How many m

  Advisements for the Guiltless   Hey there, Grumpy Gus, Got your best same suit on? Got your frown on your face? Well then, you’re ready…   Make a statement on the courthouse steps, Be sure to sneer When mispronouncing the judges’ name. Defame the jury anonymously, That way the charges can’t stick. Do you have any pictures Of the prosecutors relatives? Hand those out freely As proof of your goodwill. Make certain to deride the proceedings, No more viable demonstration of virtue Is there than insult, Everyone knows that. Your fervid proclamations of innocence, Will surely be bolstered, By threats and intimidation, So, you must bluster angrily, And scowl fiercely. And let us not forget the efficacy Of endless complaint, Grousing, grumbling, and griping, Are most welcome in the courts, Making you appear strong, invincible. Remember, it’s the dog that whines, That gets fed best. So, whine like a dog, dawg. Finally, one must

  Reflection   I remember that one time, That time long ago. But the memory is in black and white, Full of people I no longer know. Memories of sunshine, And the memory of rain. And the memories of places I can never go back again.   How is time like a river, If you cannot fish from one place? What does time really deliver, And what does it erase?   Where is the person you were yesterday? Have you discarded them so? Have you kept nothing of what you were? Have you really let them go?   I remember that one time, That time long ago. But the memory is in black and white, Full of places I no longer go. Memories of sunshine, And the memory of rain. And the memories of people I may never go back again.   How many relationships were riven, Have they disappeared with no trace? How many slights were forgiven, Are their brand carved in your face?   How has time handled you, How have you managed your time? How has life scan

  The Way Back   Look at you cringing from the smallest change, Things haven’t gotten that far out of range. Our existence isn’t so full of dread, Why do you listen to the talking heads?   Their hyperbole doesn’t bear examination, They deal in panic, not information. They have you convinced it’s never their fault, Keeping you on edge and prepared for assault.   There is no way back, The future is here. Things have not gotten off track, It’s change that you fear. Ahead of you is just another day, It’s not some personal attack. There’s always a better way, There is no way back.   You want to go back to “the way things were”, Less informed and more polluted you prefer? Your doctor performing bloodletting with leeches, And the seasons explained by what some guy preaches?   You’re letting hustlers and swindlers tell you what to think, Bringing this nation closer to the brink. Why put your mind in the hands of some hack, Riding your b