CliffSongs

  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...

  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...

  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...

  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 Fall   Long ago, Beneath the waves she fell, And in her passing, The light in the world dimmed, And may not shine so clear again…   By many names was she known, A jewel and a pursuit was she. A desire and a destination, A longing and a goal, And many tarried there once finding her shores.   Unguessed treasures were hers to share, To bestow, Yet she kept not for herself, Curating for all. None were turned away that asked, None suffered if she could cure, An open hand she had, Gifting freely.   The scholar and the artisan chose her, The painter portrayed her elegant, The poet did homage. The flautist and the harpist played her beauty, As best they may, The singer made honor of her.   Widely was she known, Widely was she loved, Even from afar. Her philosophers and scribes Travelled may leagues, And many seas, To bring her boon to all lands.   Long ago, Beneath the waves sh...

  The Last   He is the last: The last sentinel, The last warder of the people, A near-forgotten relic of another day, Left behind by a mechanized world, Grown too metallic to recognize his value. Still, he strives: Resolute and unyielding, Here in a backwash of region, Where the arcane have lingered, Beings long conquered, But only exiled. Their resentment, Festered in bog and bracken, In dank places unreached by light, Continues unabated. He strives. With deep instruction and obscure tools he strives, A bulwark against the weird and the hidden, A sentry unpaid save by goodwill, He stands as the last bastion in opposition to the raging foul, He contains the monstrous that cannot be unleashed, Or the world beyond this hinterland would be quick consumed. He strives. He seeks no boon – His charge was given him by grim authority, His vow adamant and obstinate. His task brooks no abandonment: The unsuspecting will not stay...

  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...

  Home is Where the Assault Rifle Is   The promises deflated, The charts pointing nowhere. The statistics dancing to the strident melody, The midnight rant, The better bully welcomed. What warm air can further pump the ego? More guns. Get them out on the street where they belong! Bring the fear home. Show the world! Flaccid power display. Shake your fist at the lies you tell: That’ll show ‘em! Bring the fear home, Swamp the streets with the unnecessary, How that wets the pants! Power over your groupies slipping, You show them more guns, That’s entertainment! This is the circus, Will they do without the bread? Have you found your Colosseum, Or the Bastille? More guns then! Bring the fear home! March the military round and round! When two or more are gathered in democracy’s name, Is that a riot? Certainly some find your moves laughable… And some find lockdowns distasteful, And most of those voted for… More guns th...

  Dead Silence   Why do you shout so? You have been heard before. Though not all your words have been so clumsy. Still, some have disguised their intent. Too long you have professed charity, Too long you have written the moral. Too long behind the compassionate rifle, Too long taking careful aim. Soiled virtue your superhero cape, You become the cartoon villain. The generous hand can also wield the whip, What price goodwill? Transactional friendships tire eventually. Broadcasted voice gone strident, Your red glare rocks the ramparts, Stripes and stars inverted fly. Has your twilight come at last? Or is dawn yet coming, Not as much a rebirth as a lesson: Dark will not endure. Will you again be a giant, But more gallant, More genial, More grounded, And less grinding. With such hands, Giving could be lavish, And still provide comfort at home. No miser has yet carried his savings beyond. Let these times be the pain of g...

  Copping the Disguise   Cop the disguise, Terrorize.   The smiles into eye unentered, Poison penmanship dripping gratitude barbed, Shared experience of shared invention, Doubled faces birthed of troubled graces. Manipulators manage, Missed messages mangled, Mixed messes meddled, Maimers most malevolent.   Cop the disguise, Terrorize.   Led astray by one’s own lead, The path accelerates, Going inward, Getting nowhere. Fly, you fools! Choose your misdirection! Onward, onward! Where have you gone to? Where are you now? Who are you now? You’ll never tell.   Cop the disguise.   Choose your form, What will you do when the label comes off? Unmoored association, Unmasked aberration, Unhinged accumulation, And above all: Constant customization. Can you still hide behind the shine When the chrome has got too soft?   Terrorize.   Presume, present, placate. Practice ...

  Contested   The rose in the garden stretching thorns, The sweet embrace awaits… An innocent lambskin concealing wolf within (my what big teeth you have). Access the displayed beauty, Win more than the proclaim. Experience warns: Not everything is as it seems, Caution is valor’s better measure, The thorns revealed, The teeth unveiled, Let the bloodletting begin. Poison points made, Does the other know? Education ensemble escape enactment, This game has no winners. What can one make of the separate claims? Depends on who they’re talking to – They never sound the same. Suffrage! they exclaim to one another, The refrain rings hollow third party. Cracked mirror reflections cast, Jagged perception presented. Exposition elapses elusive, Can’t be seen through selective confusion, Occam discarded. The thorn that pricks itself, The pelt that gnaws at the caught leg, The venom sweetened served, The side-eyes of the each, T...

  Place   There’s a dark place You never go there You can’t go there It’s too dark there Sometimes you look at it The dark place   Why is it so clean You haven’t gone there No one can go there You don’t go there   Because of the bad thing Because of the what did you do Because of the why did you Because   Why is it so clean You never come here You are here   Everyone saw it Everyone saw you They saw the what did you do One of them asked why did you They did not ask again None of them asked again None of them can ask again They always ask again   Why is it so clean No one can come here You are here It’s so dark here At the dark place But you can see You always see You can see the what did you do Until you can’t look anymore Then you don’t see   There is a dark place You never go there You can’t go there You always go there   What did you do? ...

  Flight of Atlas   Atlas flies, Helios beckons. What solitary sojourn Has set him on this course, His aura trailing after? What dark depth has spawned him, That he would make this glancing skirmish, And sail on unbowed, But not unmarked. See the sages cast their sight upwards! They will have his secrets! They have descried already his eccentric flight! They have calculated him hyperbolic! They have given him many names, But he answers no call. Atlas flies, Third of his kind, Or so we have observed. We watch from below, Though his speed outpaces our songs of him, He has not escaped our watch. Brave Atlas! 6 miles of him have traversed unknown arcs, He flies through our heavens, His banners flowing behind, Speaking no threat, Except to those mystics That seek to educate their purses. Atlas flies! Cast your vision upward then, That you may catch a glimpse, Before he hides behind the sun, And then emerges, And ...

  Edge   Should you find the edge of the world, What would you then? One step forward and Might you be carried out of time, Swept to existence ethereal, Or to some terrible end, Or worse, Eternally fall through an empty cold, Frozen forever, And forever unfixed in space And time. Would you find the edge of the world, If it meant you must step forward, To be carried forth in existence, Forsaking your time here, To grasp for the ethereal, Or to understand terrible truth, Or worse, Understand nothing, And simply forever fall. Could you find the edge of the world, If the path were plain before you, Some step onward, Carried forth through time, Or beyond such contrivance, To become ethereal, Understanding things of terrible meaning, Falling beyond space and endings, Forsaking what came before, As if that once had substance, Or meant anything. Where is found the edge of the world, Will you step forward, Toward a p...

The Colbert Retort   Suppression, Repression, Transgression. The bully in the hotseat makes complaint and –   “FREEDOM!” they cry, Let the denigration mantras ring! – As long they sound their own chosen targets… God forbid an unwanted truth be spake – Disinformation bubbles are fragile.   Epithet, epithet, epithet, Disparage, defame, and deride, What fun when directed at people You already don’t like. Let no return be made! Let no fact reply! The thinner the skin, The deeper the pierce.   What night-call dares defy? What compare spoken in dare? What mock made in the night? What easy observation thwarts? Here is a tongue needing cut! Here is a voice requiring choke! Here are wings craving clip! A cull is called for.   Suppression, Repression, Transgression. The bully in the hotseat makes complaint and –   O ye corporate craven, Power is a granted thing, And knees begin to ache when b...

  It’s a Wonderful Secret Life   “There is more to life than having everything…”   The past trails, Hidden, Yet popularized, Obscured, Yet glossy-pictured, Shadowed, And yet recorded under the brightest lights. Hype and hoopla sought desperate, Now suppressed in desperation. Is some monster lurking in the trailing past?   (Yes there is, but I won’t tell you what it is.)   Code the convo, Whisper in the public places, Say nothing and say it all, Discuss, discuss, Wrap it all in the pretty package, The matter may not be spoken plain, But the matter is spoken, And I know I will not speak it loud.   (Nor will I, since I also know what it is.)   Share and share, And share alike, Birds of the feather unmentioned. Left behind for other pursuits, Pasts inextricably tied. Darkness swallows some, Bright lights take others. Is there so much separation?   (We have certain things in comm...

  The Broken Promise   The broken promise: This is what we are, The broken promise. We held ourselves so high, But that was only our estimation – Now we swim with our sewage. Our systems aren’t just breaking, They are not just being degraded, They are being savaged, They are being inverted upon themselves, And perverted against us, All of us. We are the broken promise: A beacon pledged, Now stained in red, And glaring orange. A light that shines not for humanity, But that illumes our inequities, Our inadequacies, Our failure. We are the fading spark, Creating our own ash, To be blown about, By an ever more despairing wind. We are the ray that could have been, That should have been, That is no more. We are the broken promise: A voice against the din of oppression, A call to betterment, An exclamation of hope, and of fervor, A roar against madness and degradation, But we are become a screech, An expression of ...

  Bits   The bits keep coming off. They don’t stick around long, They melt, or dissipate, or… When he said he was coming unglued, I didn’t think it meant This. He found it in a pawn shop, the book – Arcanum Exsistentiae , Old, Leather-bound, A curiosity smelling of... The shop owner let it go cheap. The bits don’t disappear as much as Fray? Fade? Flee? I think all of those are right somehow. I asked who was going to translate it. He said he understood every word. He also said he didn’t know how. He read some to me, Until he stopped. Until the bits started... They don’t fall, But they don’t float, They Waft, Like feathers, He said we’re feathers, The book says we’re feathers. “Feathers of Life,” he said, “Held together by...” Then the bits began... feathering... I’m going to try to get him back. I can read the book, I don’t know how, It’s still Latin but... I’m going to try to get him back. I’ll let y...