CliffSongs

  Stain   What once was tarnished Is now stained. What pride is there In petty aggression? What has been verified Beyond savage greed? How do we hold freedom aloft With our heel planted on the neck? What oily advantage have we procured? What ego has been stroked? What wickedness steered from? What wickedness performed? A spotty reputation Is now smeared with blood. Have we gained security? Or are we now more suspect? “We…” I do not recall sanctioning this aggression. I do not remember an appeal to Congress. “We.” Are we to be punished, Rebuked, Scorned, For the ambitions And the fears, Of one man, Soiled in spirit, Soiled in his very clothes. What pride is there in that? Will we accept his stain? Who among us has earned that mark? Who will willingly wear it? Who among us Has so little regard for themselves That they will allow the crimes of one man To brand us all? Our nation was tarnished, Yes, No...

  Course Correction.   A corrupt regime, Authoritarian and abusive. State media control and Crimes against humanity. Suspect elections, Opposition crushed out of hand. External political interference, Economic hardship in-country. A despot remaining in power Through means nefarious, Condemned by International Court, Are we to ignore all this? We must do what we do!   The good part is: Russia has oil.   So much that is wrong, We have the power to correct! How can they stand against our might? A mighty eagle are we that we may swoop in, Remove the tyrant, Make that far country our own! We will free the masses from oppressive rule! We will calm the waters disturbed! We will raise our banners high, We will drill deeply because:   Russia has oil.   Let the world rejoice! We will assert our justice! We will manage the situation! We will make ourselves known! We will step on some toes! Who w...

  The Price of a Meal   The dusted day drags, The parched pastures pass, Their parched people peer, None come this way, Yet he is now among them.   They will not accept him: He is Outside, He is Outland, He cannot know their troubles, None that have not lived them may.   They would drive him, Were it not for his bearing, Were it not for his sigil, And the weapons he carries – Those speak to worse troubles yet.   He seeks the inn, Little more than a brew-sell, Thought it speaks of lodge. He will be overcharged. He will be overcharged by all. Until.   It has not been a fortnight That the messenger arrived. Messenger, ha! A child! Sent by whom she would not say, She was not pressed for it, The fear on her spoke clear.   They had come: Rovers, rogues and robbers, Long were they tracked, Their path too uneven, Their targets too well chosen.   Flush with ill gain, They mel...

  Turning Again   Now to the turning again: Artificial, Out of sync, The rhythm interrupted. We speak of beginnings, Of renewal, But the night is already relinquishing it’s hold… We miss the mark, We defy the pattern, We try impose our will on a natural order That ignores our puny attempt. It is only us that meet the seasons thus. Papered calculation, The days grow longer without our input, It has already begun. That is the true beginning, There is the renewal underway: Just days past, But we measure from a farther point,  And gain nothing. We celebrate vigorously our erstwhile computation, But the dark is already fading, The light is already strengthened, And we had no part in that. What is it then that we honor? Numbers only. Are we so fearful of this cosmos That we must ignore what always occurs In spite of our paltry pursuit of control? The tides still roll. The winds still pass us by. The moon waxes an...

  Fade   The magic wrested from the very ground, Malformed now and made to serve. What twisted malevolence conceives thus? What fractured discernment machines so?   The air clouds and thickens. The soil strains, forced to obedience. The waters oil and slime, Our legacy plotted in entropy. Who has stolen the enchantments? Some lingers, Fading, Fading. Is it recaptured in neon? Is it constrained to the ever-present auto-tune? Feeble imitations! Spirited away, Buried deep in leaden vaults, Concreted bunkers, Or hauled to high desert, Where the dunes swallow indiscriminate.   The magic annexed from the very ground! Malformed now and made to serve. What twisted malevolence conceives thus? What fractured discernment machines so?   An iridescence of existence sequestered. Why is not proper query. Who is easily guessed. When is now. How is the question. If one learns the how, The un-how becomes known....

  Luxury   What shall we say of the little luxuries? Not so much, Or everything, Though they matter not Outside of the personal demesne. Which have you taken up, Misunderstood but precious? What small tickle do you keep? Not some ravishing obsession, Expensive and selfish, But that private spark, Closely guarded, Indulged in, Having little import in the wide scheme, But valued just the same. What secret vanity have you, Or, What fixture gives you the modest delight, Yours alone, Winked at by the peer, Fostered by the loving. Some bauble, An entertainment, The hobby, Or the favored spot in the sun… Such as these May provide more rest Than a harsh chemical, Or too much acquiescence To unwieldy demand. So many of the very powerful Wear so sour the countenance: Satisfaction will never be theirs. Do not weep for them, That is the dream they purchased. Yet you may find contentment, yes? That piece of music, ...

  Influenca   They’re out there, Really out there… They critique the critic. They ruminate. They buzzard the news cycle. They fringe. They associate themselves with the infamous To create their own celebrity. They are hangers-on, Deniers of compatriotry, They are third-from-the-left, They are there. Click-baiters and namedroppers, Leeches of the electronic sort. They fester. They roil. They cogitate in wild supposition. They discuss. They detail. They leave out the salient. Infamy is their road, Notoriety their vehicle, Speculation their destination. Opinion distributors. Conspiracy providers. See them elucidate! Hear them decode! They illustrate their notions bravely! They expound assumptions in the face of logic! Courageous confusers. Contriving consultants. Who are we to provide fact? Don’t we know that their livelihood is at stake? How unjust it is to employ critical thinking When unjustifiable imagini...

  Rebuke   Not a day gone, Nor yet in the grave, The murdered lie cold, Yet your words run colder And thus Your cruelty is assured. Your shame spills over, Though you hold none of your own. Short-timer, there is much you could yet do, Besides mourning strictly over you. How brazen your lip service! You mourn your own renown, And place the blame Squarely where it must lie: With the victim, With the victim. What derangement grips you? Too often do you name yourself – Ever you claim fevered oppression Even as the invective flies from your lips, And the orders are made against those Who scry your sin. How many more can you repulse Before you stand alone? Your pursuit of isolation is too evident, May you be granted your boon, And be the victim, Be the victim. The lies no longer cover   Your expanding ass, The deflections you cast No longer obscure a revealing past. Teflon wears when scraped often, And you ha...

  The Real Fake News – 11 th Hour   President Trump today attended a brief news conference where his hand again showed evidence of bruising. Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt explained away the markings as a result of a “very energetic and athletic coin toss at the Army-Navy football game” before challenging several reporters to do the same, most of whom declined citing having to rectify disorganized sock drawers or issues with cuticle retention.   Lauren Boebert is launching her long-awaited “Humping Legs for Freedom” initiative beginning Monday, 12/15/2025. Interested parties may pose with the Congressional representative in holiday-themed overtly sexual poses for cash or crypto.   Marjorie Taylor Greene is expected to announce that she has always been “a goddam lib” in a bid for a Georgia senate seat.   President Trump joined several Christmas parties throughout the past week. Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt noted that the president engaged i...

  President’s Piece   Waste that pleasure craft, big boy! Hit them again, Because they can’t get away. Football plastic peace prize present, Tanker grab confirms its worth. Not so noble the pursuit, Not so noble a look, Cast away that noble dream. Resolute desk warrior, Bruise a hand again! The only visible battle scar. What spurs you on these days? Is credibility such a great loss? Then take the fight home to sweet Chicago, To Portland, To the Golden State, A show of force painted in orange goo. Who can afford such peace? Who can afford anything? A commander in chief too asleep to brief, Up all night in the media trenches, Unsocial, And untruthed. Your battle is with reality: Your public takes hits in the wallet, so, You advise austerity, Claiming it is prosperity, Sabotaging your verity. When you war with the truth of everything, Of everyone, How will you find peace? How will we? Peace president, Leave us ...

  Fry   Disconnected, And gone too deep. The ideas go jumbly or Fracture like slammed Jello or Meld and mush into hot glaze. Who needs drugs when you can disintegrate so? What magnificent muddling! A discombobulate of familiar actions. Muscle memory mandate. Coerced cognition confounded. Foggy faculty fades. Clarity cancelled. Do not ask where the concepts have gone: All of them kaleidoscope immediately, Avoiding coalescence, Demanding observance, Achieving insubstance. What meddles this mentality? What careens this comprehension? Can one seize a singular notion yet? Can it be caught, Considered, Chronicled, Catalogued? Or are the myriad eddies to be? Scrambled sensibilities, Sodden smoke, Slipping scraps. Lassitude lingers, Sleep is a reprieve, Yet no release. Am I yet bound by Morpheus? Would that I were discharged from this swamp, That I may worry more clearly.   Cliff Lake 12/10/2025 Copyright...

  The Carrot Of It All   O, the anticipation! The thing wanted and withheld! The promise just ahead, Clearly available, Just beyond the grasp! O, the anticipation!   See the finaglers, The arrangers, The slippery sinister! They parade justice as a newfound banner, They vaunt piety even as their sin is sung out. See their finger point away, Always away.   O, the anticipation! The engine guns forward, The load still undelivered, The car is empty, The hunger remains. O, the anticipation!   They have consulted each the other, The unspoken remains guarded yet! Not all bulwarks are breached, The keep remains. A feigned retreat, A sleight of hand, A seeming compromise. Give the rabble what they want, In word, not deed. The show must go on.   O, the anticipation! See the curtain rise! See the curtain behind the curtain! Does it yet conceal? Is there naught but brick beyond? O, the antic...

  Hand Full of Jokers   Runaway coach and unbridled driver, Rattling apart the each. The horses in their traces scream frenzied, Pleasure rides forced into servitude. Whip hand working overtime, The driver lurches off the track.   Passengers tightly crammed and unfed, They grouse their discomfort. Most realize they have been taken for a ride, Yet the reins remain in the hands of the madman.   The cliff’s edge looms beside, Beckoning the blinded with false solidity, Turn further right and… Or is it the lightless tunnel that calls, No end in sight, And a mountain of weight threatening.   The calvary rides in blue, Chasing rogues. Bullies and bandits in the hire of the coach company, Or loyal to robber barons and corrupt lawmen, Impediments to farmer and rancher alike, Looking no farther than the range of their weapons.   The carriage crashes on, Axles strained and threatening shear, Wheels splinterin...

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...

  October 25      Shadow   Lightning-struck, It yet lives, Once vibrant, Green and giving, Now shattered, Twisted, broken, Harmed. A misshapen remnant, Clinging to a life near end, Still sustained, Bolstered and buoyed by Something…   October arrives. The season marks changes: Thinning airs, Longer echoes, Lengthened shadows. One falls starkly black: A grasping image perhaps, Spindly and somehow substantive, A screaming imprint without sound, A sooted portraiture of agonized form, An effigy not quite lifeless, A likeness of pained being.   Hurrying passersby do not cross this mar, Unthinking, they step around, Taking to gutter or grass, Uneasy avoidance. Nor do they heed its appearance, To look is to fall, A known accounted in primal instinct, The mind will not acknowledge: Such aberrations lead only to reason unhinged, Then lost. Still, For some, There is a dim call...

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 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...