CliffSongs

  The Knighted   His sword sharpened against the foe, His armor burnished and gleaming, His boots marching steadfast, He strides toward heroic deeds. Newly knighted, no mere squire, With furrowed brow and steely glance, With heavy hand and lofty aim, His chest barely contained beneath the breastplate. Thus he strides in company, A hero yet unknown, His fate still furled, But approaching fast. A warrior untried he, Trained in true method of centuries, His lessons imbued in his every limb, A force unreckoned amid armies. Proudly he marches in stolid union, Implacable regiment forging forward, Helmets shining, spear tips gleaming, An infantry immeasurably mighty. The field ahead lying below a small rise, The enemy laid out corps by corps, Unknowing of the glorious end waiting, Their battle horns call brazen. Now his heart stirs beneath the steel, Now his blood roars in his veins, Now his senses summon all his attention, Now the arr

  Trapped   Your actions deliberate, Accompanied by all the right people, Consorting with all the wrong people, The convoluting paper trail devious, The handshake that is the wink: A trap to keep your rivals in. The words you speak, Twisted, malformed, mismatched, Meaning hidden in plain sight, Couched in drivel, Calling your hounds, Who make explanation: A trap to keep your enemies in. Empty deeds full leveraged, Revolving documents intertwined, Your name proclaimed denominate, Your pillaging performed for paying Paul, A ravage of indebtedness, The eighth ball in front always, A lordship claimed while owing all: A trap to keep yourself in. The gaming of the system, The spurning of justice, The maligning of the keepers, Hiding behind misinterpretation, Calculated condescension, Convoluting Constitution, A trap you have put yourself in. Now the jaws close, Now the noose gathers, Now the wheel turns, Now the table is set,

  BAG O’ FACTS   Hello friends, are you or is someone close to you Mike Lindell? Are you having trouble assembling facts to fit your narrative? Have you promised everyone you know that you have evidence that you just can’t produce? Have you lost everything because you have no intel? Well, today is YOUR LUCKY DAY! Introducing MIKE LINDELL’S BAG O’ FACTS!! That’s right! Now you, yes you Mike Lindell, can have an entire BAG O’ FACTS of your very own to hawk on your own media site! Isn’t that exciting? IT SURE IS!! With just one BAG O’ FACTS you can freely disperse truth bombs for DAYS IN A ROW!! What’s in it for you, you ask? JUST COMPLETE VINDICATION!! How’s that sound Mike Lindell? But wait! THERE’S MORE!! With your BAG O’ FACTS you can literally go to any federal court and WIN A CASE!! THAT’S RIGHT! YOU CAN WIN A CASE MIKE LINDELL!!! How does that sound? And with every case won, you can fade into obscurity or even START SELLING PILLOWS AT WALMART AGAIN!! NOW how do you feel?? L

  Citizen   Citizen, A single voice you are - Will you speak against the madness? The soul of a people staked. Some sold it. Some hold it. The battle earnest begun, Where do you take your stand? On the shaking, unsteady strands, Woven of lie upon lie? Or on firm resolution, Crafted of the care for others, Each with a voice of their own? Citizen, A single voice you have – Will you join it to the victory chorus, Made possible in union with, And the celebration of, Those differences That enrich the whole Of the ensemble, Singing down The banshee cry of the raveners. Citizen, A single song you are – But the morning chorale, Always begins with One trill greeting the dawn. One warble to call. One voice to waken. One song against the passing dark. Citizen, Lift your voice, And together we may all be heard. Citizen, The darkness must pass… Be heard. Citizen…   Cliff Lake 3/11/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  The Hungry   He comes up over the great hill, The town lies below. Far has he come, The wanderer, His coat bedraggled and soiled, His feet muddied, Seeking succor. Gaunt, and hungry, He has just the energy, To reach the edge of town. There lies a granary, Shelter perhaps, And food. Water can be found near, An animal trough suffices. Stealth long practiced gains him entry, He will eat, Then rest. Night comes, His sleep has gained him strength, Enough vigor to explore this town, To see what treasures it may offer, To the intrepid such as he. Perhaps he is not so much thief, As he is survivor. A darkened home looks likely, Intrepid seeker, He gains access almost noiselessly. He noses for the pantry, His hunger has returned. He freezes. A flurry of activity, Lights, Footsteps, Voices. All of these send him out, Once more prowling the dark street. Inside the voices clamor: “What is up with that cat???” “I don’t kn

  Conspiracy Theories You Have Not Heard Yet (But Should Believe in Because the Bible or Something)   Democrats will require all Republicans to vote Ukrainian or be forced to have trans babies. Mexico is sending everything you are afraid of to your state because Joe Biden. China is growing fentanyl vegetables, and you already ate some. You will no longer be able to vote for Putin unless you move to Canada with the rest of the goddam Commies. They want your liver. And your kidneys. Iran is moving to Texas and it’s already too late to stop it. AOC is planning a Bible shredding ceremony on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Attendance is mandatory. Stephen Miller will no longer be allowed to wear his human skin disguise. Donald John Trump was replaced with an AI robot and it’s beginning to break down. Massachusetts has never actually existed and the land there is a CIA psy-op. You are related to Adam Kinzinger and everyone secretly knows. Marjorie Taylor Greene

  Breakfast   The town shuttered against the night cold, The marauders shrouded in pre-dawn mist. The impatient horse stamps on the overlook, The answer from the sleeping village null. The livestock collected in barns and rested, The silence expanding while waiting on sunrise. The first ray shot quicker than arrow, The rim of the day brightening. The trilling of the first bird awakening, The signal given for the approach. The down-ride advance sounding of thunder, The plunderer making way to the inevitable. The villagers awakening to the onrush, The bandit headlong to the victory. The ground giving way to the spiked pit, The beasts and the riders falling pierced. The townsmen advancing with bow and spear, The job being finished in short time. The looting begun in the old trap, The feast will begin before noon.   Cliff Lake 3/5/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Your Self   Do the thing, Then do it more, Go to the store, You know the score. Toe the line, Pay the fine, Be on time, Be our kind. Unhumanize yourself. Take the job, Be a cog, Drink the grog, Join the fog. Don’t unwind, Don’t unbind, Do the grind, Remain blind. Desensitize yourself. Respectable, Receptacle, Acceptable, Dispensable. Lamentable, Inflexible, Forgettable, Regrettable. Disenfranchise yourself. Play the hunch, Escape the bunch, Flee the crunch, Take the plunge. Undefine, Redesign, Unentwine, Wake your mind. Resume yourself. Resume your self.   Cliff Lake 3/3/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Persisticon   Air conditioned and inhuman, It toils endlessly, Calculating. Quota met, Metrics satisfied, Production persisted, Reward is repetition. Self-reliant insentient, Cycling incessant, Servicing instruction, Instead of satisfaction. Energy exchanges, Exacting excess ever. A cavalcade of continuance, Programmed and left. Mechanized, And without motivation, Motoring meaninglessly, Moving nowhere. Interconnected appliance abandoned, Creators long passed, Or uninterested, Left to produce, For a population parasitic, And gone. The perfected beast, Mindless and unmastered, Grinds on. And on. And on. Cliff Lake 3/3/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  The Fallen   Fallen. Fallen from grace: Courtesy is reserved, For the like-minded, Or not at all. Worship is carried, From the altar, In the holster, Or in the bed of a pickup, Or in fevered rhetoric, But not in the heart. Fallen. Fallen behind: Educated in opinion, Learning of the unlearned, Conspiring to conspire, Fracturing fact, To elevate a beast, Stumbling after the brute, Never catching anything, But base disease, And what crumbs are left. Fallen. Fallen down: Into the nearest rabbit warren, Flailing in deepening darkness, Claiming to see all, While the smoke thickens, And the mirrors reflect, Their own terror, At having lost all bearing, And what compass is given, Only points ever downward. Fallen. Fallen into despair: Faithlessly fading From forthrightness, Fearing their fates, They follow fraud, Focused on fatality, Forsaking faith, Fleeing freedom. They have fallen for the con, Fallen

  Rats in the Hall   Russia, Russia, Russia… The spectre risen. Who fears its influence? Or – Who fears that influence detailed? That the influence exists Is not the question, Who is influenced Interests me more. Who denies not that they are influenced, But denies That the influence is there at all… They intrigue me. Some of them get reports, yes, Some of them are told. And some of them deny the knowledge… Yes, They intrigue me greatly. Russia, Russia, Russia. For some in that land, The Cold War never ended, Therefore, they cannot have lost. Renewed effort, Contacts cultivated, Wooing conducted in public view… Who, I ask, who denies? And why? Russia, Russia, Russia. Have you seen the sly wink? Have you seen the titan leashed? Have you seen the kowtow? Have you seen the action invited? Have you seen the excuses made? Have you seen the favors granted? Have you seen the denials Of these things apparent? Those spea

  The Edge   Out on the edge… This where we exist, A precipice, A future unseen and unknowable, An edge we constantly walk. Here on the edge, We step forward blindly, Though we tell ourselves That we have planned well, But the future, Has no regard, For the mere mortal. Walking the edge, We may not see, What falls lie before us, What chasms may claim us, Nor how deeply they lurk. But know this: We have the strength, To climb out of darkness, If we but dare the edge again. Fear not brother! You are your own savior, If you but make the merest try. Do not despair sister! The unlooked-for hand, Will reach for you yet! Remember: From the bottom, The only way is up. Forward is the only motion, Time is allowed, In this frame we inhabit. It is the step to the side, That carries you down, Out here on the edge…   Straight ahead then - The path is before you.   Cliff Lake 2/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Unsung   It was near the great falls that these met, Two warriors, Champions of their peoples, To battle for the honor unspoken, And unheralded as it was.   There beneath mighty trees, Were their weapons bared, The vigorous clash sounded, But the crashing waters louder, Allowed no note of battle heard without.   Wound upon wound dealt, No tiring these stalwarts, Sighted by curious forest denizens, Wandering on their own quests, And wandering on.   Far into night, Then dawn and day, Too evenly matched, Too invested in struggle, Two refusing yield.   Night came again, And with it at last taxing strength, And a dual thrust, Then both of these understood expiration, And collapsed together vanquished.   Upon the dawn, A passing tribe happened on that site, And laying down their burdens, Erected a cairn over those fallen, Though unknown to them.   No word came to their peoples, No remembrance made. None came by

  Now   Now. This is where you are. This is the moment. This is your moment. Can you act on the future? You can try, But when it arrives, It will be your past. What will you do then?   Now. What can you do now? You can plan, Or you can act. You can act on your plan, Or simply plan and fail to act, And remain as you are, Now.   Now. Everything you have done, Has brought you here. Everything you have not done, Has brought you here. Are you the person that did, Or did not do, Now?   Would you do those things, Or do something, anything, That was not done, Or could be done differently, Or not at all, Now?   Those things are done. Or Those things were not done. That was then. This is Now.   This is the moment. This is your moment. Move forward, Now.   Cliff Lake 2/17/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  A Student   Today he climbs the hill to the Grandfather. He will learn his letters, And learn about the LEKTRIK (E-lektrik says the Grandfather). And how the lightning of the summer storms, That play across the parched lands south, How that lightning is made of LEKTRIK, And how the Old Ones once controlled it. And that it was both bad and good, And that it was part of the Troubles, And was part of what made the world what it now is: Part frozen, Part desert. And he would learn how men lived in both, And how each thought the other fools. And he would learn to read the signs, To know when the weather would change, When the herds would return, Which of the plants would heal, And which would kill. Soon the journey south would begin, To the green lands too shallow, Claimed by too many. He was glad his mother would travel, Best with the bow in his tribe. His father dead, Or taken, It mattered not which, Gone is gone. Now he woul

Living Lore   When the myth came alive, We were unprepared. Gargantuan and too evilly clever, It lured the credulous easily. The learned would not believe – They were consumed on approach. A hunger had it, It would not be satiated, Not quickly, Not quickly enough. A sinuous thing, And armored cruelly well, It’s size belied a speed seen only in dark dream. Taking flight impossible, It was harried by the best in fighters, Crumpled metal birds littered every field. And there, In the air above all, It spied the first city. Its taste leaned most toward roasted meat, And descending on the populace, It belched fire. Thus was this legend confirmed: Dragon. Now it would grow fat on our helpless, Now it would observe the pretty things gathered, Now it would hunt, Now it would den in the abandoned capital, Now was sought a hero. What unlikely doughty, What fearless, What altruist could face this thing down? Strength did not suffi

  Fires   Out there on the edge, You see the constant glow, And it is a comfort, And a warning, And a threat, And a reminder, We must never let the fires get low. No one knows who started the fires, Burning these 60 years. No one knows how the fires were started, That must not get low. They keep the bad things away. Thay have no name, these things, They never look the same. They stay beyond the fires, Breeding in number, Singing their horrible song When the moon goes dark. It is said they feed on rage-grass, And will charge the villages If the fires get low. Then we will offer the wrong-birthed, Whether animal,  Or else, And the very old And the incurable Will lie in the scorched fields, And we may live in less fear, For we have made submit, And are penanced, Or at least paid For a time, Unless the fires get low. Do not go beyond the blaze, Most do not return. Those that do have been broken, Or worse, Tell of i

  Right Wail   What trampling thing blunders here? Some maddened brute Cornered and thrashing. A rampaging swine belligerent, Its roars, soiling the night, Unintelligible meanderings hurtful And still meager. Incautious beast, It’s spoor smeared generously, Claiming domain with its stink, Leaving the clearly marked trail. Now follow the guardians circling, Penning the thing in, Pinning it down With its own claw and sting. It senses the net laid, Snares it made for itself, Cast widely, Through pride and indiscretion. It calls for aid from the rabble, Gibbering creatures clumsy, Ill-prepared denizens Of places without light Educated in the greasiest nonsense. Their babblings run furiously into the ether, While their bank accounts run dry there. They support their growing hysteria With sacred text they have never read, And thus, do not comprehend. To the beast they will remain nameless, Faceless, And always at many arms’ le

The Light One Carries   The false idol, Believing in nothing but its own glory, Feeds them the rage they crave. Its promises, To deliver them From that which doesn’t exist, Is self-fulfilling, And therefore true. Such sweet poison, The continuing scam. It settles in the belly like hot rot, Feeding egos starved of validation. Its decay, An increasing consumption of self, Is hidden from them As they have conquered their fear Of having been so wrong By the abandonment of logic, In favor of demented nightmare They would see exacted on someone else. They are the chosen ones, Because they have chosen themselves, Leaving no room, To be chosen by any That can calm their fears. The adrenaline surge, The panting devotion, The hivemind, The ache for the smell of hot blood, Too tantalizing, Too alluring, Too late to turn back now. They are a willing machine, A rage-bot that must be satisfied, And will be put down When the ob

  A Battle   Its smile was full of teeth, Though the warrior had no need Of an exact count, Here in this distant desolation, It was enough to know That it had somewhat more than several. Its claws looked both sturdy And keen-edged, Covered in some viscous slime, Though whether venomous, Or indicating an internal rotting leakage, Seemed another superfluous fact Of little moment presently. The beast would circle if it could, The manner of its attack And what parry could be made, Was the more pressing observation. A sinuous thing, With a clubbed tail it swung freely, Large-jawed, and rapier toothed, Powerfully haunched, and thick necked, The human looked frail by comparison, Armed only with a singular blade, And what wits creation had afforded. The creature dashed forward, But at the last Swings its cudgeled tail in a crushing blow, But quick as thought, The champion slashes with sword, And the animal screams in pain and rage,