CliffSongs

  The Errand   The gray expanse covers, The sun hides, The cold, The damp, The permeating despair, A shadow and an oppression. The rider Alone in the haze, Urges his mount steadily forward, Mindful of the beast’s trepidation, And of the senses it employs. He also remains heedful as he can, Sounds deadened, He must rely on sight. Eyes flicking side to side, Striving to pierce the mists, The strain is relentless, Yet he dare not tarry, This passage has an earned reputation, And he would not add his name to its tales. Moreover, his errand will not wait, Its gravity would suffer more than this toil, And the oath he swore drives him through this, And more – Should that be required. He is not sworn to one, But to all, He is a keeper and sentinel, A guardian and watchman, And this day, A messenger. The tidings he bears, Of hope and succor, Of aid unlooked for, Must be delivered to a beleaguered land, Though thi...

  An Ode to the Notes   Music plays my day, Music dreams my night. Do you not know? Every note is a miracle! Precise and evocative, A progression of reverie, A background in trance, Fantasy made concrete in sound! Is it no wonder that your head nods? The imperative speaking to your body, The groove to your soul! Music speaks What we cannot say for ourselves, Music moves us when we cannot stand. It dances in our ears, It pounds in our chests, And we sway unknowing, Uncaring, A freedom granted By little else in this existence. Close your eyes, Feel it carry you beyond, Beyond worry, Beyond fear, Beyond strife, Beyond yourself. How lucky the musician! They live inside the melody, Transported to realms they create, And they carry us along, And feel no weight. Music plays my day, Music dreams my night, And takes me to better places, Than I could find on my own. If there is magic, It is found within the note...

  Evil Rides   The Prophecy comes around again: The dire warning from the other When. Something emerges from its den, The Prophecy has returned to men.   Evil tides not turned aside, The Horsemen will begin their ride, Long ago there was confide: Evil will be freely plied. Woe to those who will not hear! Evil rides and has come near! Woe to those who cower in fear! We must stand brothers, for what is dear!   The Prophecy comes around again: The dire warning from the other When. No longer in gutters it resides: It’s mounted up and Evil rides!   Hear the wailing as Evil moves! Goodness and Hope crushed under cruel hooves! Will you willingly accept the noose? Is it despair that you would choose? Bend not the knee to the uncouth! You have a sword: it is called Truth! Fear not the poison monied tooth, You hear the words, now bear their proof!   No longer in back rooms its time it bides, It’s mounted u...

  Low   The dirty players, The money lords, The mediocre, The small, The grovelers and the mean, They are risen. They have been set in high places, As rulers, Or enforcers of rule, Or as takers of things They will not use themselves. Malingerers and petty in spirit, They will force strange and malignant orders, They will harbor resentment toward the just, The artful, And the innocent, For they are none of these things, And cannot be, For they are poor in mind, And empty in their souls. They are hateful for less reason Than it takes to draw a breath, And they would have even that Were it possible. It is these that have been placed above you, Though they are the lowest of vermin, Unclean in every inch of their being, Unworthy of anything But the basest existence, And they know it. Therefore, they oppress, They deny, They subjugate all not of their kind, And in so doing, Disguise their inadequacy behind title...

  A Farewell to Cowards   Capitulation? No. No, it is an abandonment. It is an abdication. It is cowardice. It is a desertion. We have been left to jackals and slavers, We have been allowed to be absorbed Into a diseased machine, We have been fed corruption, We have been led astray And face the precipice. Those charged with guardianship Have quit their posts, And have yielded to exploitation And extortion. This is the worst malfeasance, An insufferable discard of responsibility, A surrender of morals and duty, A defeat through payola. Such jobbery sickens me. Fearful of their survival, They have chosen poison. They will find themselves eating it daily. They will choke on their lack of vision, Their numbers dwindle as their venality grows, Their desperation as painful as the bruising of their knees, Let their long extinction event, Bring to them the suffering They have allowed to be foist on their subscribers. The ...

  Standing   From the ivory towers, The hidden agenda reveals: It does not include you. From well-guarded gardens We hear the murmur of the accountant, Ensuring the wasting piles of lucre Grow ever more expansive, And used ever less graciously. See how the occupants Of the glass and steel palace Strive to impress each other: Collecting baubles and accoutrement Too precious for public display, Unless under heavy guard. But for all their power and connections, Still they bend the knee To an evil that will not be confined. That they may not give up their thinnest dime, They have loosed upon us A grievous wrong and an ego, That will accept no satisfaction. They quail before this, For it claims the power to end them with a word, And they would hand it such power, As their greed blinds them To what humanity they once held, If ever. Were they banded, They could cage the calamity, But their avarice and desire Separates ea...

  Mysteries   I guess and strain At the ancient mysteries, Enigmatic puzzles and far magics Explained too confidently By persons as far removed From those times as I. Monuments explained in pictograph, Translated by a modern view, Unaided by the original subtleties, Once easily accessed And now lost to time. What untold venerations remain unspoken? What context misapprehended? Are we to believe the clamor of Conquering slavers, Murderers claiming gold not theirs, Colonizers and Unbelievers. What measure of truth Remains to that sort? How can we through their eyes, Revere and resolve tall testaments, They bloodied for their own ends? What persists in misunderstood language? Precise calculation exists side by side with Monstrous characters worshipped in sacrifice. This seems amiss. What understanding is removed? What key to the paradox remains hidden? Monolith and obelisk mock our ignorance, Fortifications and shrin...

  Religiously Right   Once again We are to be troubled By religious persecution. The devout have prosecuted, And they find their judgements Actionable. Who am I to deny Their lust for retribution For sins and crimes, Not enacted against them? They will have individuality Remolded in their image, That they will not be disturbed, By personalities unmired in the miserable. True joy is found by them In fearing the wrath of God. True freedom is achieved Through conformity, Everyone knows that. Sameness makes everything easier, No need to think, No decisions are too hard, Everything is planned in advance, So, get in line, And be like them, And there won’t be any problems. The religious right Absolutely know they are right, Why, it’s in the name! And in the name of Jesus, They’ll get you right, Or else. It’s not persecution, Until it’s happening to you.   Cliff Lake 12/13/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2...

  Lost Muse   Between and behind the veils they are, Banished by greed and ignorance, And a lust for power over all creatures. An eviction enacted through lies and violences, By the unworthy and the uncouth. For long ago was chosen The Path of Iron: Cold, hard, And malleable to the will of small men, Who cannot dream beyond What they would take unbidden. Tricksters they were named, And were depicted of ugly mien, Of as corrupted men, Horned and furious. Once they were guides, Once we had teachers, Muses and spirits, Escorts of The Way. Some hear them whisper yet, Pale voices singing from a coruscating beyond, Giving glimpses of tales wondrous, Their meaning deep woven in parable, That those who would hear, May taste of what was, And what can be, If we could but shake these shackles Binding us and keeping us, When we could be free between the stars, Whence we came in the long before, Before time was twisted, Befo...

  Vibrations   Williams left us the bad days. That’s what’s going on, you know, He left us the bad days. He didn’t build a time machine, Not exactly, He built a time SELECTOR. Maybe more like a filter,   Or maybe it’s like a tuner. Time vibrates. Everything vibrates, Sound, The ground, molecules, It’s all vibration. He figured it out, Williams figured it out: That time vibrates, And that there are good vibrations, And bad ones. Mike Love tried to tell us, But maybe only Williams heard him. Williams built the machine, The filter, Or strainer, Or whatever it is, It showed him the vibrations, But it showed him how to access them as well. So, he did. Once he knew which were good time vibrations, And which were bad, Well… He filtered what he wanted, didn’t he? Grabbed his favorite people and… So here we are. Stuck with what’s left. I’m sure Williams is having the time of his life, He and all his friends....

Dark Path   The dark path, Rocky, Brambled, Shrouded in mists and Noisome fumes, He can go back, But there, It is darker. He forges on. To each side are pitfalls, Into them He has fallen. More than once he has fallen. He has taken bruises, He has been cut, He has taken breaks, But he has not broken. The way is dark yet, He forges on. Has he wished for light? Most assuredly, And the dark has been pierced, Briefly, And sometimes from a distance, And always Dark returns. For this space is darkness surrounding, With brilliant points illuminating, Themselves surrounded. This he sees and He forges on. The path is ever before him, Dark as it is, And trails behind, Where it is so much darker. No matter, He forges on.   Cliff Lake 12/11/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Wichita Walkway   See the greenspaces collect their trash, A convenience unlooked for! Hidden beneath the arbor, One merely lets go, What could be easier? See the Styrofoam cups flower! Such a Quik Trip from the hand to the ground. See the plastic bags wander! Blown on the breezes as leaves From the trees they would smother. See the pop cans sparkle! Crushed underfoot by the manly. What exquisite reminders of carelessness. How the squirrels must envy our crafts! Perhaps they will nest In the discarded clothing items, yes? Perhaps the cardboard containers Were just what they needed. How fortunate is Nature, That we trash her freely, So that small creatures May make use of our poisons, Our detritus, Our ignorance. Perhaps if there were more walkways, We could stop recycling altogether! What a bright future is ours!   Cliff Lake 12/10/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  More or Less   The world is stupid. Not the one we live on – Nothing makes more sense Once understood. The stupid part Is the part we made, The one that’s supposed to be More comfortable, More comforting, More convenient, And instead has been reduced to simply “More” More people, More damage, More heat, More garbage. Yet somehow more have less than ever. Less freedom, Less opportunity, Less security, Less help. As we ravage the planet more, The prospect of her recovery becomes less. And we couldn’t be more stupid about it. Still, those with more, Wish we would talk less of the stupidity, And work more, For less. And the stupid among us, Couldn’t care less. Because all they want is More. They cannot see That as time goes on, They will pay more, And get less. Though I believe they will get more stupid… And continue to be careless.   Cliff Lake 12/9/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  A Lady Waits   She looks on with tear-filled eyes, As her children take up sides against one another: Misconstruing her meaning as hard as they can. She has withstood assaults in the past: Vile caricatures of humanity, That have attempted to quench her flame, Or usurp it for their own purposes, In preparation for such an extinguishment. Now the forces of greed and selfishness, Assemble their underinformed minions, Baiting them with lies and misrepresentations, Distracting the easily misled with pretty poisons, Hiding their own identities as the vipers they are. She must look on with hardened eyes, An emblem of what could be, Of what has briefly been, If not for everyone equally. And therein lies the conflict: Too many think so little of themselves, And the mess they would live in, Most of their own making, That they would deny those they can oppress The same opportunities they have squandered. No interest have they in fairnes...

  Shiny Eyes   He celebrates his disease With the utmost perseverance: Glad recidivist. He mocks those Who will not join his decay: Mad ridiculoust. There is never enough, Too much will kill him, A balance He will not maintain. The numbing is welcome, While the mind diesels forward: A train barely on the tracks, Always careening. Dart of the shiny eyes, A dance performed in the face. The drip. The Drip. Oh, the Drip! There is a speck on his suit. There is a speck on his suit. There is a speck on his suit. There is a speck on his suit. Noises unexplained. Are they here? Do they know? They can’t know, He was ever too careful… Noises unexplained… The trash is evidence, Everyone knows that. Is there more? There must be more. Get some more. He needs more, He always needs more… Everyone he knows is a junkie – But he maintains, yes, He maintains. He’s good at that. He has said so many times. Everyon...

  Dirty Mouth   The bad words. Use one and your class diminishes. I’m not trying to control you, No, no! I’m just limiting how you may express yourself. This elevates me in anyone’s estimation, Especially my own, Surely you can see that. And please, Do not attempt to disagree, It’s my opinion, And that invalidates the fact That the words I don’t care for Are an integral part of the common lexicon. How else may I enforce my imagined superiority? Surely you don’t actually believe That I will make an effort To be a better person on my own account, When it is so much easier To make up the rules as I go along. Don’t call it censorship! It’s just how I feel, And because my feelings matter More than your necessity To speak in that crude manner, We’ll be doing things my way, yes? Yes. Everyone knows those words are bad, Or they would be in books. And if I find a book with the bad words, Then it is a bad book, And you know...

  Timesong   The shards of shattered Time Score the continuum In deep rifts discordant. Impossibility rules. A splintering made real By the inexperienced overbold, Marking new roads, And this is the one chosen for you, The unrealized hero, And that most by yourself. What weapons bear you Counter to a dimension and force Too unknown to be squarely faced? What dreamtune may be sung in defiance? Or can the carol accomplish more? Attend me! It is said this existence was spoken, Was sung into being – Have you melody reparative made? Will you make one? Or should the fleeing fragments be gathered, And pronounced to their original form? Have you the strength for the undertaking? Or are you unwilling to reaffirm beauty? For that is where such mending must begin: In celebration of what was, And of what remains. Lift up your voice, hero! For the simple lark and sparrow Yet hold the song! These herald each sunrise, And soft...

  The Lost   He is lost. He knows where he is, But he is lost. Here are the familiar landmarks: The library, The gas station, The church. But the people speak strangely: Making talk-noises rife with dire insignificance, As if to affirm their humanity, And still avoid commitment. Conversing with words borrowed from television, Or found in the picture magazines, Full of faces, Beautiful people the most could never be. He is lost. He speaks ideas at some, Who wish him well Out of taut countenances Full of nothing, And avoiding all. They satisfy the status quo, And are satisfied by it, Even in the midst of poverty, And ruin. For they will not grow past themselves, Seeking sameness in all things, In each other, For they find safety in the dull, And hide among each other, Keeping their eyes cast away from the new, The unusual, And the unexpected. For they are lost, And they mean to remain so.   Cliff La...

  Hopalong Or X Marks the Splat   Meme department marionette, Clumsying your sodden bulk From one deterioration to the next, An unclever Benedict, Exposed and fish-white.   Ringside rollicker, A wayward child with the fidgets, Chided by an even bigger baby, You have the self-awareness Of a spilled beer.   Can you trust your new pals? Can they trust you? The entire bunch of you Have the collective attention span Of a bowl of steam.   Do you sycophant hard and often enough? Do you shut your mouth often enough? Do you drool appropriately in the mighty presence? Do you wear nose plugs? Do you fetch the Cokes now?   How long before the bros make the connection? How long before they make the correction? Malevolent magician: Captures a bluebird, And turns it into a turkey.   Your one foot vertical, How did you get so high? Once one has flown so lofty, There’s no place to go but down: ...

  Do   Look at that video! Hear the podcast! And read article after article after article, Only slightly altered in production. The regurgitated points, The echoed ideation, Rearranged per audience. The inane repetition. Amounting to little more than Digitally recorded superstition. I hear them talking. And him. And them. And that one over there. Borrowing each other’s phrases, Ideas, Repacked for streamed consumption, Preventing action. Politics as entertainment, As profit-generative, And the control mechanism it has always been. And I fell for it again. Given my penchant for information, It is likely That I will repeat that mistake: Sitting, Reading, Listening, Watching… Not doing. I want to do. I want us to do. If I only knew What the hell that thing Is supposed to be. What do we do? What do we do now? My great fear Is that we’ll keep asking that question And never come to an answer, Right o...