CliffSongs

  15 October: Turn Around   Don’t turn around… Isn’t that the rule? Don’t turn around. It isn’t that you want to see, no, No… It’s that you have to see. Is there? Isn’t there? What’s there? What? It isn’t that you want to see… Don’t turn around. That’s the rule. But… Is there? It’s better to not know… Or… Is there? What’s there? You know the rule. Still, What’s there? Who’s there? Is there? Don’t turn around! Don’t you know the rule? The rule is: Don’t. Don’t turn around. What’s there to see? Nothing. Probably nothing. It’s probably nothing. What’s there? Nothing. Is there? Probably. Nothing to see. Nothing there. Probably…   Turn around.   Cliff Lake 10/14/2026 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2026

  14 October: Of Autumn Rain   What can be said of autumn rain? The slight chill accompanies, The day tinged in darkening gray, The soft patter of the slow shower, Locked in for the duration.   What can be said of October storms? Have the bolts shown brighter? Has the sky gone darker? Does the chill dig deeper? The rain has never been wetter!   What can be said of these October showers? They breed hot drinks on a drizzly afternoon, They bear dry leaves to their timely demise. They wash away the summer-strewn dusts, This lingering cleanse before winter’s dress.   What more can I say of an autumn rain? One more layer of clothing applied, One more minute to get ready, One more excuse to dawdle indoors, One more reminder of the years’ close.   Say what you will of the autumn rain: Say that it adds to October gloom, Say that it is not convenient, Say even that it is not wanted, When has it ever done as ...

  8 October: The Paper People   her name what was her name you were there when she slipped you were there when they slipped you can’t see them from the side paper people the paper people you were there when they slip in through the cracks you can’t see them from the side their eyes not eyes their not eyes don’t look at their not eyes drains siphons you were there when what was her name she slipped through the when they took she slipped what was you saw their not eyes they took not all of when they took her eyes you see her eyes drain slip they slipped they took her name the paper people they took what was you were there when she slipped they took what was what was her name you were there when they slipped you were there when she slipped what was her name   close the door don’t look don’t look at their not-eyes don’t look at   Cliff Lak...

  A Moment in Texture   The texture of the moment Lost in the sweep of hours. To exist within a time That cannot be held, But is relinquished To mere memory And the regret of inevitability. Another dumpy specimen Swimming upstream against the regimen, I watch the moment Rushing to remembrance, And settles with the impermanence of life Subject to recall without notice.   And the world went on without me.   Another day and More facts to rearrange, Doesn’t it all seem a little strange, This sticky web; This life we’re anchored of… All that input for the same old output, Nudging existence onward, Until we exist no longer, And our trace is washed away, At the end of the day It was just another day, And we made it after all.   And the world goes on around us.   Sometimes the shadows pass my door, A pale parade in pantomime, A partial pageant painted. Ghosts in daylight, Lost to the night....

  It’s Lake Ontario   Google Maps has made the incredibly imbecilic decision to allow a toddler’s temper tantrum to rename a shared resource, namely Lake Ontario to “Lake America” and display that idiocy on any Google map within the United States. I get it, they’re big, and unwieldy, and probably uncaring and too self-absorbed to correct and just won’t listen to we ordinary folk… Or…   You can submit your feelings about this nonsense in a number of ways. Allow me to copy Google’s own instructions detailing how you may tell them to cut the crap:   “You can send general product feedback or report app bugs in Google Maps by tapping your profile picture and choosing Help & feedback . On Mobile (Android, iPhone, & iPad) Open the Google Maps app. Tap your profile picture or initial in the top right corner. Select Help & feedback . Tap Send product feedback . Type your ideas or issues, then tap Send . Tip: ...

  Muddied Waters   He muddies the waters, He muddles the minds. He offers them what they desire With the empty hand. He proffers the fist When the pocket needs priming. He is congenial when convenient, He is spiteful when spied. A stalwart when opportune, He is firmly in his corner. He deflects from the main thrust When the corner becomes too tight. He muddies the waters, He meddles the minds. He speaks in spirals Intent on descent. He proposes the unreachable With his fingers crossed. He sings the praises of the praisers, He spurns the reports of the real. He margins the market, He marks the marks. He deviates the documents, He nevers the news. He muddies the waters, He messes the masses. He maligns modesty, He is misshapen morality. He practices the unthinkable, He thinks he isn’t caught. He shaves the points, He starves the hopeful. He hungers the hallelujah, He hides the history. He hallows the hateful...

  The Daily Reap   Red dreams howl in a twilight we did not ask for. Promise fulfilled claiming lives. Marching goons welcomed by morons unaware they are listed also. Daily chaos daily reap. Bibles raised opposite the gun hand. Pulpits praise the reddened tide. Lawless lawmen perform in concert. Justice flees her skirts undone. Daily disarray daily reap. Pledges lied for eager sup. Contracts signed to be ignored. Roving eye staring blankly. Covered ear hears praise only. Twisted tongue truths accidentally. Margin multitudes miss the message. Daily discord daily reap. Costly bread choking masses. Hobbled peoples forsaken legacy. Vanity project mildewed by morning. Cash conscription for golden tomb. Daily snarl daily reap. Untruth spoken sold for profit. Nightmare molded newly taught. Historic fumble fashioned as win. Character cratered callously championed. Illegal lega...

  hours   white noise and the scream of the undone and plans and plans and planning and   the hours grow long and long   memory stains motion motion mourns motive motive mars memory and the hours grow long   white noise clouds and does not release remainders reminders remainders rolling rolling rolling roiling remaining and the hours grow long and no witness but the undone   the hours hang on and the reminders remain and the undone reminds remains reflects regrets and the white noise rises rejects remains and the hours grow long and long   long and long   The hours grow long   Cliff Lake 7/4/2026 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2026

  As Advertised   You consume promises. Hip-hop candy bar hallucination. Soda pop dream time. Chewing gum reverie. Melt away the pounds production. Electric automobile vacation vision. Employee-only pricing available to all. So many promises. The years-long-going-out-of-business-sale. The miracle health benefit. The get out of jail free card lawyer. The accident payment action. The lower than low everyday prices. Consume the promises. The quality assurance. The 3-year warranty. The free delivery. The no-salesman-will-contact-you. The internet-only offer. The digital coupon. The spending to save. The younger-looking-you. The 5% cash-back. Eat that promise. The lifetime guarantee. The subscripted discount. The After-Christmas sale. The Valentine’s sale. The President’s Day sale. The Memorial Day sale. The Mother’s Day sale. The Father’s Day sale. The Back-to-School. July Fourth. Labor Day. Columbus Day. ...

  The Benefits of the Doubt   Everything is a lie. That’s the bottom line. Everything is a lie. Every word, Every move, Every choice. Everything is a lie. But what is he afforded? The benefit of the doubt. Who benefits? Certainly not you. Certainly not me. “He doesn’t know what words mean.” An easy out. “He has dementia.” A soft cell. “He doesn’t read well.” “He isn’t intelligent.” “He gets worse every day.” And he slips through the cracks. Again. He slips through the cracks. Everything is a lie. I doubt the benefits. I doubt the performance. An adjudicated liar. A thief. A pretender. An escape artist. You’re buying it. I don’t. Is he crazy? Like the fox, as they say. How better to get the soft cell? Cultivate sympathy. No bunker bullet here friends, No, This fella has chosen the house option. Everything is a lie. You know this. You’ve said this. And then you give him the benefit. He isn’t ...

  A Breakdown of the Unit   The unit was broken early And sent into the world.   Twist and twist, Mangle and mash, They misshaped it in their amusement. They were horrified at the result. Realignment protocol was instituted, But the chassis had been warped, Though the veneer applied Lasted for long enough. The veneer was deemed enough.   The unit was broken early And lurched into the world.   The unit operated below spec. The unit operated outside projected expense. The unit was adept at the incomplete task. The unit was proficient at the aborted task. The unit showed promise in waste of resources. The unit was loud. The unit kept getting louder. The unit was janky.   The unit was broken early And broke much in the world.   The unit was oiled vigorously. The unit was oiled often. The unit could not get enough oil. The unit produced smoke. The unit produced waste. The unit demanded mo...

  Control   What soft net is this? Caught in velvet and smoke, A web imperious and pervasive.   The shapely vessel, The assigned utensil, Rituals in consumption.   Such pretty trappings, Such eloquence bestowed, An industry in indulgence.   The obeisance is ancient, The design oft recorded, And men weep and women rage.   A honeyed tongue, A grape soured, Wheat, rice, and molasses turn.   The stein foams, The cork flies, The trap sprung in good company.   Let the voices ring! Let the dance commence! Tomorrow’s pains are yet ahead.   What sot lies there sprawled? Pass that one by, The snare has caught him, not you.   Indulge! Ingest! Imbibe! Two after work, and with dinner, with friends, You are in control.   What sot lies there sprawled? It is not you. Is it 5 o’clock yet?   You are in control…   Cliff Lake 4/11/2026 Copyright © Cliffo...

  Visions   It came to him from nowhere: So simple, So new, So prime for the moment. “Genius”, said some, “Madman”, said others, “Evil” said those that had not thought of it. He is gone, His idea remains.   A whisper deep, A prodding in the nerve, The errant breeze directs, Then the deed is done. Angel, muse, or messenger, In the dreams that drive us.   She hummed it over her coffee, So lilting, So hypnotic, So vital in this moment. “Powerful”, said some, “Trite”, said others, “Derivative” said those who did not write it. The singer is gone, Her song remains.   A murmur low, Melody in the muscle, Shadows breathing hints, Then the song is sung. Angel, muse, or messenger, In the dreams that drive us.   They seem to come from nowhere: So complex, So real, So filled with astonishing moment. “Prophetic”, say some, “Illusion”, say others, “Nonsense” say those that do not follow th...

  Peter and the Lessen Plan   What value the precise praise brings: You have exceeded Pete’s Principle. What heights we endure of you, We measure them in ordinance, Though the costs are borne by the recipients. How came you here? The Sycophant’s Shuffle has stood you well.   And do you find yourself In a five-sided playpen? And do you get to play with real lives? Short-dick shill, Your sandbox bleeds.   Do you nightly medicate with Johnnie and Jack? Or is it celebration? What victory can you proclaim, Other than having risen beyond your facility. Whose purse do you spend from, How will you pay the final cost? Will your foxy friends rally to bail you out?   And do you find yourself In a five-sided playpen? And do you get to play with real lives? Short-dick shill, Your sandbox bleeds.   Praising the pedophile petitioner, You propelled his pulpit proudly. How did we Nazi you coming? You came to ...

  Wing of the Eagle   Majestic flight sullied, Morning has long passed. A far-seeing eye blinded, Her young cry hungry, The nest abandoned, Her partner driven off. The winds are changing, And she responds with voice, But adjusts her glide not, She is headlong and downward, And the hard landing rushes.   Once she soared…   White-crowned without wisdom, Her wings cannot carry her burden. Weighted with gold, And barreled crude… Her talons grasp and grope – What futile hunt compels her? Once the eagle soared, Now she is bound to performative purpose, And suspect intent.   Cruel men bind her to low course, They shorten her sight. They lead her over lands far flung, To threaten, To menace, A weapon she is become, A huntress gone savage, Goaded by barbs and restraints unnatural, Though she has nestlings unattended, And wanting. Never had she such ambition and now…   Once the eagle soared… ...

  The it   How is it that it does not die? The failing apparatus, A shell of corruption – How is it that it does not die?   There it walks: A shambling thing, Spotted and bruised, Reeking and bloated, This is flesh in full rot.   A clever thing once, It makes noises from the mouth hole, Little more than obscene prattle, Croakings and chokings That excite the foolish, And the lost.   How is it that it does not die? What foul sustenance sustains it? A consumption of corruption – How is it that it does not die?   Rage has been its bread and butter, Fear slakes the thirst. Meaty hatred has fattened it, Chaos is sweet on that polluted palate, Salted liberally with greed and graft.   How is it that it does not die? It suckles the spirit, It evacuates corruption – How is it that it does not die?   Children have fed it, Innocence has gorged it, The blameless devoured, Depravity ...

  The Real Fake News – Midnight Madness Malfunction   The Kash Patel Lookalike Contest set for the beginning of next month so far has three entries: a bucket of KFC left on someone’s porch for a week, a shopping bag found blowing down the street, and a wet rock with googly eyes glued on it. The only human withdrew because in his words, “Sure I look like him, but I couldn’t get the idiocy and self-absorption just right.”   During a recent interview, Donald Trump spoke with rare candidness about his health. Pointing to the back of his hand he said, “This only happened after I took over from Joe Biden.” Absently rubbing his neck he claimed,” Anyone can see I inherited a real mess.”   Kristi Noem, former DHS screwup and current Shieldmaiden of the Americas, was seen berating Corey Lewandowski in a restaurant parking lot for not growing his hair longer and learning to speak Elvish.   Pete Hegseth announced an event to be held at Madison Square Garden ...

  Memories of Mist   I have memories Living within the skin, Singing along the nerves, Dreaming deep in the bone,   I don’t know what they are.   Some long ago Where I have never been, Where I have always been, Where we used to be,   How lost are we?   Do the mountains mutter? Do the oceans chant? Does the sky weep? Do the stars judge?   I would hear it all.   Once we ran with Puck and Pan, Once we danced in the pixie ring. Why did Fairie abandon us? Or was she sent away?   Conquest isn’t always winning.   I feel song beyond the stars, Melody played on sister moon. I note the trumpet of the sun, The orchestration of earth that thrums.   The language just beyond my reach…   Morning jewels lay on the grass, Gossamer veils roll on the meadow, Painted scenes on autumn tree, Pillowed wonder of winter sparkling,   Magic diminished by industry. ...

  Home Front   What news from the front Established now in the capitol And warring within? The preemptive strike Against the media they own, A warning of a plot That they enact themselves: Reverse engineering the truth To set themselves free.   Let the tale now be told By the least informed, The easiest swayed. Their enemy named: Any with a question, Any with proof of misdeed, Any not on the knee before them.   The bombs fall on foreign soil, The strangulation is at home.   Crisis, Situation, Dilemma, Catastrophe, A program composed of confusion, But a program nonetheless, Which way to turn When every direction is further down? A program of confusion, Disguising the intent.   What songs are sung again By Crusaders of this century, Inspired by promise of redemption For crimes committed by someone else, But gladly absorbed, And explained away, To give themselves permissions For ...

  Troubadour   He could smell it, Troubadour that he was, Feather in his hat, Harp at his back. He sensed an ill, A tribulation, A wrongness that had settled, And the village distant was imperiled dire.   He was only a troubadour, A traveler and a singer, A player and a tramp, His continued existence Relying solely on goodwill earned From the tales he could tell, The song that he knew, And the instruments of his trade.   In the village ahead he knew, He would sing again.   The ravage had not lain long on the hamlet, Nor had its grotesqueries found all as yet, But it was swift-moving, And indiscriminate. The lone figure approaching Would be warned off by sign, If he could read, By arrow if he could not.   The troubadour hardly glanced at the posting: Too like others he had seen, Too often that were writ. The first arrow passed close, The next would require a keen aim, If it were not me...