CliffSongs

Starwash   They drift past my window, Wisps and whispers, Singing sad songs, On moonless nights. Beautiful and ethereal, Only half here, And somewhat there, They bid me dance with them, And learn unremembered secrets Under the starwash. We listen for the melody Brought on earthy breezes, Played on the trees. No step is undue, No partner unwanted. No small creatures flee before us, And my spirit is cleansed, Under the starwash. They sing soft and slow, That I may understand, And share in a loneliness For lost brothers, I did not know I had. But awakened from my bones: A longing and an ache Present in my waking self, And only partly made well now, Under the starwash. They beseech my belief, Though I am willing enough, Still they ask that I dance again, When the moon once more hides, And the clouds part for us, That we may find each other, And remember our kinship, And the trust we used to hold, And share in o...

  Friends   I can see my friend, I can see him from here. But he won’t visit any longer, He won’t come by. He no longer trusts me, Or the people I live by, And I do not blame him.   What have I done to my friend To cause him to shy from me? I have existed. I have existed in the right place At the wrong time. And though that is not my fault, Still, I do not blame him.   Once I loved my existence, In this place, In my time, Faulted though it was. But now too many that also live here Embrace those faults, And name them virtues.   Loudly they proclaim against my friend, And name him lesser, And claim debt of him, And threaten his home, His livelihood, His autonomy, And would co-opt his home.   What’s worse, Is that I do not know If I can stop them, From attempting to act on their words, And neither does my friend, Nor do any of his friends. And I don’t blame them.   Once I ...

  Mired   Muddy waters, Hidden hazards, Smoke and haze, And through it all, Strident voices crying imaginary woe.   They wandered the broken landscape, Scavengers they were called, Parasites and scroungers, Yet they only desired to live. Their clothes were poor but sturdy, Good enough for the work deemed their station. Hard muscled they became, Built rough, And living rougher.   Mists and mirrors, Fogs and feints, Deceits and despair, And through it all, Invocations against each other.   They worked the blasted earth, Menials they were named, Unworthies and unwanted, Yet still they were used. Their eyes were clear and unhardened, Good enough to see through lies told too often. Hard willed they became, Numerous, And growing stronger.   Moans and accusations, Complaints and threats, Empty promises and failures, And through it all, The gibbering fear that they will be seen.   ...

  For Immediate Rele ase: The Real Fake News – Kids in the Hall Edition   Elon Musk today announced plans to have wheels replace his feet after discovering one of them was a left. “If we’re going to make any progress, I’m going to have to roll through this presid… uh, appointment.” said the erstwhile cyborg to a group of children he pulled from a large sack. He then ordered the group to rifle through the Resolute desk and throw out whatever they found.   President Trump took laps at the Daytona 500 race. As expected, no egg prices dropped as a result.   Mark Zuckerberg has cancelled all public appearances until his oil can is located. He has however promised to continue making Facebook even worse.   Health and Human Services secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. today denied reports of the existence of the H5N1 virus, also known as “bird flu” claiming, “Whoever heard of a bird with cold symptoms, I mean, c’mon!” Meanwhile he promised to release a list of...

  Histories   Ancient account, Mythos proclaimed, The records were broken, The pieces scattered. Fragments found and Misread and Misunderstood and Misrepresented. Guidelines against disaster Not prophecies but Warnings of mistakes, Of reaching too far, Too fast, Too willingly. Do you find them too cryptic, Or is that what you’re told? O Alexandria! O Teotihuacan! We stumble through Göbekli Tepe, We wander Giza, We wonder in the Betatakin Cliffs, Mighty and wise, Once powerful, Now fallen, Burned, or abandoned. What secrets your people held, We can only guess, Taken to the grave, And gone. If you could see us now, Would you warn us of our danger? Would we listen? Do we ever? Or are the warnings understood, And hidden, To make the future irrevocable. Or is disaster upon us already, And awaits the final push? Do we want to know the answer?   Cliff Lake 2/16/2025 Copyright © Clifford Lake 20...

  Questions   In the spaces between the dreams, The noises of living, The taking and the giving, And the constant question: “Why?” In the faces of the timestream, In the smiles and the frowns, In the eyes cast down, And do you ever wonder: “Why?” In the chases involved in the schemes, The upward flow to the bosses, The betrayals and the losses, And do you ever stop to ask: “Why?” In the braces you wear in your team, Do you get less, and yet do more? How long has your back gone sore? Do you look back and ask: “Why?” In the disgraces gone extreme, How did they get to the top? How do we get it to stop? Is there any point in asking: “Why?” In the spaces between your dreams, As you strive for a decent living, Are you to remain so forgiving? If you are to allow this to continue, I have to ask: Why?   Why?   Cliff Lake 2/15/2025 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

  Hollow Wind   A hollow wind blows – Bringing nothing. This is winter’s remains: The cold has already arrived, The leaves long since departed, The clouds keep back precious moisture, And still the wind blows.   Low whistles cry no syllables, Yet haunting moans imperil the spirit, A succubus in sound.   Gritty dust swirls up, Falling again as each gust passes, Taken aloft anew, Then reposited. Futile cycle. Nothing changes But the patterns on the walk, Read by none, Trod unseen, Kicked and scuffed, Waiting for the next disturbance.   Bare branches rattle ominous, Swaying in a dance performed to closed doors, Shuttered windows, Lit from inside.   Children wobble overdressed, Scarves and balaclavas reveal The minimum of bitten flesh. Walking becomes scurrying, A handful of upturned collars, Covered heads, And bent backs intent on escaping The hollow wind blowing.   Cliff Lake...

  Memory Follows   The fading paint of memory. Time becomes a distance, Increasing with or without the footstep, A retreat in minutes and hours, Of days and finally years, Hazy, Unclear, But coming into sharp clarity at times, Only to retreat again. A distance traveled now in thought, Slighted of deed.   The failing paint of memory. Sights and sound going gray, Indistinct and muddled, Yet inseparable from the self, A skein beneath the skin, Holding one together, A connection to what was, Is no more, May never have been, And makes you what you are.   The falling paint of memory. Exposing nothing beneath, Our being counted in a continuous past, Created in moments unheld, Looked back upon With the measuring eye, That may see clearly, Or may diffuse that glimpse, Seeing splendor that is not, Or tragedy that has broken one, Or creates a strength of will unlooked for.   The fallacy of memory. ...

  Vortex   He was trying to pay in paper money, As if. He only had the one power cell, One of the good solars, Couldn’t take that, Slow death, Only a day or so Before the next vortex cuts through. Had him choring for two days, Fed him, Sent him on his way with a good knife, And the emergency blankets he’d come for – Still plenty of loot in the Bass Pro, Now that we’ve wasted the goons. Doc, We call him Doc because he keeps reading. Doc has us farming. He’s probably right, Corn’s coming up good anyway, Gets more true all the time says Doc, That mutie shit from a couple years back, Killed some. Doc said some of the weaker ones Weren’t gonna make it through the next vortex anyway. He’s probably right. He knows a lot of shit like that. Says it’s in his books, Saved my life once he says. I don’t remember, The Red Sick fucks up your brain. Hope Doc don’t get it – Maybe some don’t like him and his smarts, But they kn...

  Diminishing   The gray times are upon us: A diminishing, A long twilight, Though the sun warms hotter, Its vigil is besmirched, And the skies are no longer friendly.   Here we have proudfully wasted, Our celebrations recall the dead, The living going largely unnoticed, Excepting garish blaring shoutings, Lauding many unworthy, Who think much less in return.   Onward we speed! Rushing headlong to nowhere, For all must retire at their end. But while we continue, We run, Only to finally stop; we know not when.   Faster we fly! In our wake, Poison and oily waters, Smokes and burnt land, And as testament to our great pace, The air browns nicely. Those in the high place, They elevate themselves ever higher, To rise above the greases, and the sludges, And make much of themselves, And make worse messes, For those below to clean.   These are the gray times, We diminish: We make the twiligh...

  Readiness   A poisoned flower presented: Rough sustenance leaves us wanting, And empathy dies, Drowned in rhetoric.   Pretty phrases gone sour, Understanding twisted to control, Shepherding abandoned for gold, The mask slips, And the monster’s smiles Are full of teeth.   They have yet to be hit hard enough To turn to desperation, They are too busy biting To notice how clearly they are seen. Yet once they heed the turbulence They themselves have created beneath them, They will attempt the mortal strike.   Are you ready? They will use the club, Indiscriminate and unwieldy, They will use the unaimed bullet, Claiming victory no matter where it strikes, They will use the thug, Brutes thirsty for violence, Uncaring against whom.   They will use fear, Reprisal, Retaliation, And revenge, And you are their enemy and I am their enemy and We are their enemy.   Are you ready? Because...

  Return of the Son of the Bride of THE REAL FAKE NEWS (Extended Edition)   Federal workers are demanding access to SNAP and EBT as part of their severance packages following upcoming government layoffs. Ambulances rushed to the Eisenhower building after Elon Musk heard of the demands and passed out from “an extreme attack of the giggles.” He was revived with a large dose of molly.   Burger King has denounced Trump’s first week in office. A spokesman for BK angrily asked, “Does he have a crown? Does he have a crown like this?” rapidly unfolding a copy of the familiar headgear.   The Secret Service is reportedly on high alert for “Well-dressed militia” after Trump’s Executive Order banning transgender military personnel.   After a blessing of Washington DC by Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde, Robert Kennedy Jr. complained of a “brain rash” and asked for an exorcism, while First Lady Melania said that her husbands own rash remain unchanged and “is lookin...

  About Life   The world is about life. The world is about death. Thus has it been since before you were born, Thus it is since before I arrived. We do not control death, But there are some who would control life. All life, My life, Your life. They will establish rules for life, Rules not found in nature, Some rules that nature abhors. They would make your life ruled by them, And if you will not be ruled in life, They will serve death. They will not live by their rules, They will live as they please, Exposing their rot. Should you challenge their way of living, They answer, “That’s life. Deal with it.” What sort of life is that? That we must appease and honor them, Even after death, That do not honor us? Is that not life simply shambling toward death? Life is for the living. Why can we not live our lives? Why can we not allow others to live theirs? Are we to impose our lives on them? Are we to deliver them death I...

  Needs   They mark their day in miles, For they can see the setting sun, And make camp Where wood for the fire can be found.   They mark their miles in meals, For the hunt is ever before them, And the camp May be far from the herd.   They mark their meals in skill, For the best among them May need to range far from camp, And the herd may range farther.   They mark their skill in need, For the meal may not be as needful As the needs of the camp: Hide has value beyond the stomach’s comfort.   They mark their need in seasons, For the herds move with the moon, And camps must be struck quickly, If need is to be satisfied.   They mark their past in ruin, For neither they nor the herd Will stray near the glowing remains, Where may be found nothing of need.   They mark their history in sorrow, For they remember what they were, What they had done, When really… there had been no need. ...

  Embattled Sun   They would hide the sun. With dirty decree And many papers They would hide its light. With bloviation and poor excuses They would bring on the darkness: The only place Safe for them to dwell. In their doubt of themselves They would hide the sun.   Yet the sun still rises: Dismissing the dark, Lighting the shadows, The sun will rise.   They would kill the sun. With cold counsel And colder heart They would kill its warmth. With raw rhetoric and stinging lies They would freeze us immobile: The only way They can hold dominion. In their fear of exposure They would kill the sun.   Yet the sun still warms: Melting the ice, Waking the trees. The sun will warm.   They would bury the sun. With rejection And heartless debasement They would entomb its remembrance. With exaggerated menace and steely fist They would remove defiance: The only way They can wield power. In ...

  Journey   A barren plain, A wild rose, An old man, A young horse.   He watches the sleek animal. He has curiosity, And some longing. Warily is he watched in return, She has unease, And some curiosity.   Where has she come from? How has she fed? Can he approach? Will she approach?   What is he doing here? Has he food? Can she approach? Will he approach?   They trek through the barren, Within sight, If not reach.   Slowly he gathers what vegetation he may, Slowly she understands his intent.   A night comes when she eats. A morning finds them in company.   When they find the rose, Each understands the barren soon ends, When they walk on grass, They understand cool water is not far.   A young horse, An old man, A green land, And many roses.   Cliff Lake 1/21/2025 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

  Tasked Anew   The day dawns dark, And we are lost in time. Our choices removed, Are we to be helplessly watching? What use is it to ask How did we get here? We were carried along a muddied stream Bounded on all side by flotsam Chosen as treasure by the desperate, Who imagine they’re drowning, And will drown all others, For they measure their successes in spite.   The day dawns injured, And our cries have been muffled. Erstwhile guardians Have absconded with our trust. It does no good to ask: Where have they gone? Worshipping at the feet of tyrants, Who have only served them the rough boot, And will crush them beneath When expedient. For they have chosen the allure of silver, Choosing to ignore the coin is stained with blood.   The day has dawned broken, And we must begin the repair. The tools are far scattered, Are we to leave them lie? We do not bother to ask: Will we be allowed? We have overcome ...

  A Tree, A Flower, A Dream   Once a tree topped a mighty mountain, And the people looked to it daily – A symbol to them of resolve Renewed each spring. But storms arose, and great fires, And from afar this oak was occluded, Until it could barely be seen at all. Then they wondered Had there been a tree at all?   Once a field was full of flowers, And the people looked to it gladly – Its scents and colors most miraculous A symbol to them of beauty and amaze. But cities arose, and many constructions, And all too near the earth was covered, Until it could barely be seen at all. Then they wondered Had there been any flowers at all?   Once a man woke to his life daily, And he met his challenges fully – And opened his eyes every morning willingly, Resolved to meet each day. But age crept up, and weakened him eventually, And he could not forestall the end. As he closed his eyes for the long sleep He wondered Had he ...

  Madnesses   They were the mad. Angry yes, Bitter and isolated, Never mind their choosing withdrawal, It gave them room for complaint: They were the mad. Unreasoning, Unappeased, Unruly and unrepentant. Without empathy, Without regret, Without bound or bond. In their anger they chose rage and resentment: This would rule. They chose a madman to lead them, And us. His retribution would be theirs, His outrage was mimicked,  Excused, Expected, Exalted and emulated. Yet in their madness they forgot: Such temper would rule them also, Believing themselves different, Apart and special, Unknowing that their distinction was simply that They were the mad. Thus, with every revelation, They felt that they were cheated, Finding that the lies they accepted, Were not just for those they despised, But included themselves, A situation they could not imagine in their ire, But lately begins to dawn on them, And it makes the...

  Outskirts   On the outskirts of sanity, A new era slimes its way inward, A fester of power, A putrescence of capital, A worming of dominance. A new lording emerges: Capital over capability, Finance over fitness, Funds over fact. We enter the mire all unwilling, Carried on a tide of uninformation. Harangued with promises unmeant, Unmanageable, Unpossible. Now we are to suffer a governance of miasma, Odiferous, and insubstantial, Underwritten by petty, grasping interests, Effecting policy hatched in their coffers. Close your eyes and they proceed, Walk away and flounder anyway. You may proclaim this was never your choice – You have been opted in. The power of decision has been removed, How to regain that capacity, Is the question we now confront. We are at the outskirts of sanity, An entrapment constructed of coin, And the worship of gain, Chains we wear too willing. A new era slimes forward, And we must cleanse o...