CliffSongs

Dreamlife   In the dreamlife we held, We once heard the tree-song, To lull us to restoration After the long labor Tending to mother world And to the kin Sharing this earth And this life.   Tools we fashioned To ease our labors That we might loll beneath the boughs, Or laze by the shores. In the dreamlife we held, We became enamored Of our own cleverness, Coming to believe That life is not its own magic, And that we are the creators of wonders.   The lack in understanding Of the dreamlife we held Has led us to The fading of the world. How must we live now, How do we endure? Is this the passing of all things, Is there a cure?   Reminders there are, In deep wood, Out on the deepest ocean, Or caught in moon-ray Seen in glimpses Or found in your deepest sleep. In the dreamlife we held, Rooted memory dwells, Silver-edged, And too real to be entirely forgotten.   What path leads? What return may be followed?

  From the Ashes   Blindly in their towers, Corporate greeders sour, Scarring Mother Earth with deep gashes. Lied to by their shills, Handing us the bills, Still, they will deny the climate crashes. They look the other way, And shorten up our pay, Scarring us with credit debt lashes. They look upon us lowly, As we are buried slowly, And leave us half alive among the ashes.   In the ashes we are consigned, In the ashes we’re left behind, In the ashes here we grind, In the ashes we're not blind.   Trickle down lying, At fault denying, Satisfied the machine steady gnashes. They see down their nose, Saying we chose, Telling us that we thrive in their trashes. How do they slumber, Knowing our numbers Are they prepared for backlashes? Losing their power, Now is the hour – Afraid when we rise from the ashes.   In the ashes we are consigned, In the ashes we’re left behind, In the ashes here we grind, In the ashes we

  A Remembering   A remembering. He’d had a remembering. He did not want it. There was darkness in there. It was trying to get out.   An unordinary memory, Alive yet, And hungry. How had it come to be his? It felt Outside, Though he remembered his part, Though not how it ended, For here it was, Attempting to be once more.   Why was this his? Why was he meant to carry? Was he always to remember? Or should he forget?   To forget, An easing perhaps, A passage away, Or a means of escape?   The remembering, Not painless, Not at all, But less burdensome, Than allowing the thing To be free, And be invested in another, Or several others, Or more than that, And to find himself burdened With the guilt of the robbing of innocence.   So, he remembered. Then reminded himself To remember again soon. Soon. Too soon. Always too soon. Cliff Lake 8/31/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Dawnbreak   Long we endured the starless dark. Long we kept alive the spark. Long have we kept on keeping on, Long and long, we have awaited the dawn:   When the dawn comes, After the long and troubled night. When the dawn comes, When we step back into light. When the dawn comes, We will see what we’ve been fighting for. When the dawn comes, And we share the sun once more.   Long have they thwarted people’s will. Long have we fought our way uphill. Long have we been played as pawns, Long have we looked toward the dawn:   When the dawn comes, After the long and troubled night. When the dawn comes, When we step back into light. When the dawn comes, We will see what we’ve been fighting for. When the dawn comes, And we share the sun once more.   Long have they ignored the people’s need. Long have they succumbed to soiled greed. Long have we been fooled by misery’s spawn, Long has our strength gathered in the dawn:   Wh

  Pilgrimage   In a time beyond Time, Where sight has no meaning, And what is heard Was never spoken by Man, There the Truth dwells, Sung by silver bells, There you might understand. Light is always found there, Casting no shadow, No dark to conceal evil deed, Music is made there, Find all your aid there, And all of your fantasy freed. Old knowledge is told long, You heard it once, Spoken in the winds of dreams. It is the tale of your other life, Sung by the ivory fife, Buoyed by all that has been. Does the scent of the campfire Carry you on, Do the leaves whisper mysteries? Do you wander in daylight, Blinded by old sights, And sounds of all your histories? In the space between stars, Where you once knew more meaning, And light and music are one, What have you to share, This opportunity rare, Though your voyage has just begun. In a time beyond Time, Where sight has no meaning, And what is heard Was never spoken by

  Broken Eyed   Overheated or flooded, Look how we treat the land. War-torn and hot-blooded, Look how we treat the other man. Countries split down the middle, Ideologies instead of plans. No one to play second fiddle, No one to lend a helping hand.   Everything is so broken today, Who will apply the soothing salve? I wish I could see things a different way – These are the eyes I have.   These are the eyes I have, Seeing too little, Seeing too much. These are my eyes so blind, And I see all the broken things Beyond my touch.   Extinctions happening every day, Misinformed minds in a whirl. This mad scramble; in our own way, We are a cancer in this world. Creatures we think so little of, That cannot speak, so have no say. Why do we think we’re so above, As we wander so far astray.   Everyone is so broken today, Who has the soothing salve? I wish I could see things a different way – These are the eyes I have.   These

  A Miracle Ear   Shots ring out in Butler, PA, News that too soon fades away, Don’t need no Fed investigation, That might include some negation.   What did the secret stooges serve? Underperforming in a skewed curve. It’s okay folks, nothing to see here, Focus on the Magic Man and his Miracle Ear!   What the hell was that full stop? Are we supposed to eat this slop? Whadda ya gonna tell us now? Whadda ya gonna tell the cops? Assassination attempts Don’t include photo ops.   Maybe he was a Republican, But he followed Christ and collected guns, Was he also Antifa, that isn’t clear, But look at New Jesus and his Miracle Ear!   What the hell was that full stop? Are we supposed to eat this slop? Whadda ya gonna tell us now? Whadda ya gonna tell the cops? Assassination attempts Don’t include photo ops.   So, let’s all be good Republicans, It’s over now, over and done. We don’t need no FBI around here, Cuz, we have a Fat Sav

Final Battle   One final battle. That’s what he had left. One final battle, That’s what he could endure. One final battle – Not to win or lose, One final battle, The victory was in the doing. What had brought him here? Life. What could he take from here? Living, For there was no greater contest than that. He was girded in simply being, He was shielded by his every breath. The conflict before him, Was as every one previous: The winning was in the surviving, The loss was in the looking back, And the reliving a wrong. One final battle, A mantra. One final battle: A purpose. One final battle – The way forward. There is no cowardice in retreat, If one means to fight another day, If one means to fight through another day. For what shame is there in living, If one does the living As well as they are able. What shame is there in dying, If one has served life well? One final battle, He is ready. One final battle, He i

  A Quiet Roar   The silence. That’s always the first tell: One learns to listen For what is not heard.   The stillness surrounds, A lull for the unwary, What is unheard, Continues.   What has gone unsaid? The silence between the words, May tell more, Than what was purposed.   What meaning has the unspoken? What goes untold? What has yet to be said, And what lies between?   Have you said everything? Have you said anything? Have you spoken much, And said nothing?   Have you heard everything? Have you heard anything? Have you listened, And heard nothing?   What is left to be said? What is left to be heard? Why bother saying anything? Why bother listening?   There is much to be heard In the unspoken. There may be less to hear, In speech going on too long.   There is too much talking going on. There is too much silence after. Listen for those things left unsaid, Hear the silence between the words.  

  See a Man   See the empty man: Full of himself, Devoid of content. All is surface and shine, And what depth may be, Is replete with hunger, And a lust for What has yet to be attained.   See the clutching man: No denial of self, For the self is all, And central, And is ever starved, And ever fed, And never slaked. All in pursuit of bitter gain, Lost finally in internment’s dark embrace.   See the wanting man: Who wants for nothing, Wanting everything, Wanting more, Wanting adulation, Wanting recompense, For those things undeserved, And of little use.   See the dying man: Clutching at cold comfort, Inanimate pieces gathering dust, Plastic and packed away, Possessing him, As he counts them again, In support of his worth, Before the last breath escapes him, And he too is packed away With whatever May fit into a six-foot box, And that no one wants any longer. So it goes…   Cliff Lake 8/24/2024 Copyri

  Ass Backwards and Upside Down   Time moves on, it’s getting late in the day, Things aren’t going exactly as planned, And I’m baffled, not bewildered by what you say, Is there anything for which you stand?   The two sides of your mouth, Get together to tell one lie, How can we tell what you’re about, When there’s nothing you abide by.   Ego-dizzy and inside out: You’re the only person that you’re about. You opened your mouth, let slip the plan, Re-bag the feral cats if you can. Ass-backwards and upside down: We won’t follow you to crazy town.   Stumbling through the words you don’t mean, Drilling down into bizarre as you spin. You will never get away clean - Your bullying façade is wearing thin.   Is tomorrow a good day to start another grift? Still trying to sell your victim plea? How many more facts can you shift? The more you talk, the more we see:   Ego-dizzy and inside out: You’re the only person that you’re about. You

  Call To the Wild   Are they always lost to us now?   Where are the legends of mankind’s youth? Did they exist, where is the proof? Found in the mists between awake and asleep, Whispering tales from our dreams deep.   Sing under moonlight! Will they heed the call? Do they silently cry watching our long fall? Or perhaps they see and longingly wait, To rescue mere mortals before it’s too late…   Are they always lost to us now? Can we find them, do you know how? Can it be that they fear to be seen? Who drew down the shade in between?   Flee to the forest, find your faerie ring! Under the moon’s rays you must bravely sing! Cast fear and inhibition aside! Let your heart fly, there is your guide!   The oldest of forests hold the best chance: Your instinct will take you through ancient dance. Together we can put forth the call, Can we bring them home to save us all?   Are they always lost to us now? Can we find them, do you know how

  One Thousand Horsemen   The call of an ally, A friend of old: “We ask your aid! Will you be bold?”   “Ancient terrors, Assail once more! Will you honor The oaths we swore?”   One thousand horsemen answer the call,   One thousand horsemen riding tall. One thousand horsemen, they prepare. One thousand horsemen, forth they fare.   “We have no word, Are we not heard? Are we forgot? Do you come not?”   “The terror hails, Our people quail! We are beset, Will you come yet?”   One thousand horsemen upon the hill, One thousand horsemen, duty they fill. One thousand horsemen make the climb. One thousand horsemen, are they in time?   “What do we hear? Is succor near? Have you arrived? Will we survive?”   “Hail faithful friend! Fear not an end! Our hope has come, Sound the war drum!”   One thousand horsemen, banners raised! One thousand horsemen, unafraid! One thousand horsemen, charging in! One thousand ho

  Wool Brothers   The loss of the sense of self, To be a part of the whole, To be a part of a something, To release the burden Of thinking for oneself, How intoxicating!   Take a deep breath of irresponsibility – Now you are truly free! If you are not accountable for what you do, Then you can do no wrong! If you hold no liability for lack of action, You are blameless for the results!   Follow the leader, He knows what’s best, Why question someone Everyone else believes? That road leads only to exclusion, To loss of esteem of the group, To having to provide self-care.   Doesn’t it feel comforting To hear what you believe Repeated endlessly By everyone In simple language You don’t have to ask about To understand.   Wear the shirt, Wear the hat, Look like them! That’s where it’s at. Individuality is for someone else, Why express yourself, When it can be done for you?   Thinking is hard.   Cliff Lake 8/20/2

  The Real Fake News: Ninth Yard   Mike Lindell, the pillow guy, claimed he would try to infiltrate the 2024 Democratic Convention by shaving his moustache to disguise himself. So far, no Mike Pillow sightings are reported. In unrelated news, an unattached moustache has been seen in downtown Chicago spelling out “Libtard!” and threatening passersby with a straight razor.   Donald Trump, in an effort to sink the Democratic ticket, is threatening to begin endorsing Harris/Walz. It is said that upon hearing the news, Jamie Raskin did a spit take, while Lindsey Graham had to ask for a second box of Kleenex.   Having found themselves out of the news cycle for nearly a week, Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene have scheduled a bare-knuckle bout. The event is to take place near the swing set during recess.   Catturd™ is reported to have recently realized that he has named himself after feces and is investigating rebranding. Purportedly he is considering “Dumbass™”, “Trum

  Wounded Sleep   I might have been three or four, When I took my first, not only scar, And I got my first, not only ride, In the back of a police car.   They called me a brave little man, Because I bled but did not cry. And I wish I was as brave as then, Because every night I die…   Some wounds go way too deep, Yet are not made by the knife. Some things just send you reeling, And the worst pain in your life, Could be the open one you’re feeling, When you try to sleep at night.   I have had my share of fights, And I have lost a few. But more I’ve had of sleepless nights, And there’s little I can do.   No stitches can close some wounds, They stay open to air. And you bleed soundlessly in your room, While you helplessly lie there…   Some wounds go way too deep, Yet are not made by the knife. Some things just send you reeling, And the worst pain in your life, Could be the open one you’re feeling, When you try to sleep at

  Rickety Ride   The busted machine, The loss of wheels evident, Running on greasy assurance And overheated air, Clicks, clanks, and grinds Too close to every precipice, Alarming the patrons, Its driver drunk on his own exhalations, The passengers hoping he makes a turn Before they all hit The big blue waves dead ahead. Hijacked tunes blare from buzzing speakers, Unpaid promises barely heard, And clearly, blearily misunderstood. Garishly colored slogans, Borrowed from the wrong times, And their worst heroes, Make no pretense to education, But promote imitation virtue, None aboard can or will practice. The sought destination Is now a hill This underpowered conveyance May drive past, But hardly climb. The riders begin to suspect They no longer head toward lofty seats, And high positions, But instead are inclined to dark obscurity, Dim remembrance in some low place, Relegated to a footnote few read, Less remember, And tha

  Dirty Windows   I remember so much from back then, Goals and ambitions, keen on the scent, The prize just out of reach and then, Confidence fails, that’s just how it went. Too many times I let things pass, So many things I let happen, I let them go Regrets are windows filled with dirty glass There was no way I could ever know.   I wish I would have been myself then, I wish I had been me. If I had been who I am, Well then, we would see.   If I could have been more of this, less of that, If I could have spent more of my time, “If” and “or” are things I could pick at, “If” is a word I did not rhyme…   I wish I would have been myself then, I wish I had been me. If I had been who I am, Well then, we would see.   Too many times we let things pass, So many things we let happen, we let them go Regrets are windows filled with dirty glass There was no way we could ever know.   I wish I would have been myself then, I wish I had bee

  The Who You Are   Who is satisfied as they are? Have you come to what you want to be? Or have you stayed right where you are: Forever young and forever at sea…   How do you know who you will be, The question heard from afar. No more, no less than those you see, How will you become who you are?   Did you think you would come this far? Are there yet things that will never be, Do you still care that there are? Have you failed that finally?   How far ahead did you see? Have you absorbed your scars? There are people you will never be, Have you become who you are?   Have you ever seen yourself from afar? Did you guess who you would be? Do you see yourself as you are? Or are there things you will not see?   Have you come to who you will be? Do you think you’ve gone too far, When will you let go and be free? When will you become who you are?   Who is satisfied as they are? When will you become who you are? How will you becom

  Last Words   He had done it, He had written the last words, The last words anyone would ever write. He had lived too long, Far too long, Never knowing why, Until the moment came, Until the last words were written, Needed written, Were written. He wrote them, And there was nothing left to say, For there was no one left to read them, Save for himself, And he already knew what they said, And why. He wrote them because.   It had begun slowly: They began taking books away, They began letting the computers read, They began letting the robots write, And when those things were complete, They stopped teaching altogether. When the robots did it all, There was nothing left to do, And people stopped doing anything. The Leisure Centers opened then, Advertised as Total Comfort and Ultimate Pleasure – Production became unnecessary, Reproduction became unnecessary When stimulation became Simulation. The Leisure Centers were blea

  Mystic Management   Secret knowledge, Arcane journal kept hidden, If you know, you know… Mystery ritual accessed by bank account, Credit score spirituality, University cash and carry know-how.   Spare me your enriched documents, What safety do you withhold? How dare you argue special learning, If you will not share without payment, If you choose to exclude. Do you question why I question?   Or have you misread? Does your understanding stumble? Have you fallen to your ego? Mistakes are made, Science moves forward despite you, Despite imperfect perception.   Missing understanding, Challenged by the unworthy, Or are they uncredited? Gird yourself in mystery then, Make your claim impenetrable To the uninitiated unpaid. Now you are protected, Now you may remain unchallenged, Now your superiority is secure. New knowledge need not assail, New discovery need not be accepted, Secrets you claim protect, And you may stand fir

  Brokentown   They would not speak of the Great Horror, So many years since have passed. They do not speak of the Tragedy, Too fresh in the mind; the die is cast. They do not speak of the children lost, Nor speak of their shared crime. They daily will ever count the cost, A broken town from a broken time. I chanced there once, a petty thief, I thought to be passing through – But Fate’s smile has hidden teeth, And Karma’s Wheel can roll over you. And though my sins were petty, They were of a myriad score, And I came there all unready, Stepping full through Twilight’s door. The man at the counter bid me well, But his eyes wished me away. The tense of his neck Spoke what he would not tell, I feel his glare crawl my back to this day. These streets seemed teeming and empty both, Citizens passed with their eyes cast down. Yet others seemed more excessively bold, Full glares with sharp teeth beneath a frown. Night arrived on swift silent

  Sunset Skies   Birth comes as the dawn, In our beds tended with care. What growth can we attain, What fruit will we bear?   Morning passes too soon, Bright promises bloom, But flowers fade with too much sun, The drying of them ever looms.   Sunset skies Ever before you. The dawn has gone, Night comes, And we all sleep.   Mighty oaks standing firm, Pines swaying in the breeze, What lessons must we learn? How do we avoid a freeze?   Roses climbing, pretty and thorned, The sunflower standing tall, Are we too sharp and yet adorned, Are we to become brittle and fall?   Sunset skies Ever before you. The dawn has gone, Night comes, And we all sleep.   The sunset sky is warm and fades, Warm yourself with its last rays. All have left, none have stayed, Even the sun too will fade away.   Sunset skies Ever before you. The dawn has gone, Night comes, And we all sleep. Sunset skies Ever before you. The daw

  Salvation   The forest was cursed. Everyone knew that. No one went alone, not often… Children would sometimes sneak off, And when they returned, if at all, They were changed. More solemn, more thoughtful, And such strange thoughts… Ideas about the world That spoke against the gods, And the priests, Or built even stranger devices, Things that clicked and whirred, That did the work of two men or even more, But which burned merrily at the Solstice bonfires, And thus ensured the protection of the village. On a time, Four children ventured into that forest together, And these returned changed also, And it was thought to separate them from one another, In the hope that they might return to themselves. Some years passed, then all four went missing again, And days later returned with a large contraption. It needed but two beasts to pull it, Yet harvested an entire field in just one day, And not the usual five. The village elders met tha

  Night Flights   Circle logic robot menu on the phone, No getting through, he’s left unknown. A useless two hours without a break, Left with sour stomach and headache.   He feared that gravity kept him down, Heavied his head without a crown, He feared he would never reach the clouds, An unknown image among faceless crowds.   Lofty visions ended so soon, Rising and popping, fragile balloons. But nightly thoughts in his head dance, Elevation, given half the chance.   To rise afar and away, To escape toils and decay. But morning comes and his head clears, And so it goes throughout the years.   Then the daily grind pounds again, That ceaseless crushing without end. A murder, he thinks, of his dreams, It’s only in his head he hears the screams.   But though the machine grates him every day, It does not erode those dreams away. Before and as he sleeps he flies, High-flown plans that reach the skies.   Must he live always in dre

  They   They slime through, Seeking victims Placed in their path, By merest circumstance, Or enforced rejection By a society That will not abide singularity.   Parasites, They leech misery, Hopelessness, They fatten on despair, Celebrate anguish, Makes ready the disaster, For the harvest of heartache.   What greased creations are they? What has birthed these putrescent? Where have they oozed from? They are a culmination, A climax and completion, A conclusion and payoff Of the fostering of greed.   Look to your most swinish, They smell of ravening, They reek of craving, Empty-eyed they are because There is nothing that can fill The void they are. More of everything will never suffice.   They have mucked their way To the high places, That they may mire all, Seeking to soil Every just thing and soul, As they have nothing clean of their own, And are not fed by virtue.   Their filth has dirtied humanity,

  The Problem with Jones   The problem with Jones Was that he never listened. Well, he DID listen, But not to you. He always looked like He was hearing something else, Something you couldn’t. You know that irritating head-tilt? The one that says, Are you sure That you know What you’re talking about. Jones had that. He had it all the time. Then he would tell you What you’re thinking Right as you thought it. The problem with Jones Wasn’t that he wasn’t listening – It was that he heard. He heard the things, The things you never said. They took him one day. You know who. He was there. Then he wasn’t. It’s been quiet here for weeks. And I don’t know what I’m listening for, But I’ll know it when I hear it. Smith is having an affair. How do I know that? Carl is fudging the books and Vikki… Oh Vikki… The problem with Jones is He isn’t here.   Cliff Lake 8/10/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Tricks   Buy into illusion, Embrace the confusion, Work until your emotions are raw. Follow the leader, Be a good breeder, Most of all forget what you saw.   Wear all the same faces, Get back in your traces, Be the things they say that you can. Don’t call for help, Don’t think for yourself, You’re a number in your part of the plan.   Everything is a trick, Everything is a lie. Usurped power and children cry. The flashing numbers, Electric dreams, Hear the hungry children scream.   The border is dear, They’re getting too near, Everything will go down the drain. More and more every day, Suck on what they say, They just want to soften your brain.   Everything is a trick, Everything is a lie. Usurping power, civilians die. The flashing muzzles, The madmen’s dreams, Hear the dying people’s screams.   And it’s all just a trick… And it’s all just a lie… They lay it on thick, Then one day you die…   Cliff Lak

  Unboxed   Who is it there in that box, Constructing your own paradox, Is it you? Defined for all of time, Do you mind, Is there nothing you can do?   Is that you in such a state, Did you not anticipate, No need to come unglued. Did they affix the lid, What aspirations have you hid, Do you forever brood?   Is that you lying there, Reclining in your electric chair, Have you read the clues? Have you gone cold and stiff, Fallen off the final cliff, Are there collected dues?   Is there nothing left to find, A mortality of mind, Or is this simply the blackest blues? Exit that box, get up, get out, Show them what you are about, Stop waiting to hear your cues. That box you’re in, Some kind of garbage bin, Is something you can refuse. Time to rise, Make clear your eyes, The way forward is as you choose.   Heal now your heart, Make a brand-new start, Find the match to light your fuse. Big things to do, Each day is

  A Broken Eye   Broken eye, It sees the world in pieces. A fracturing of what was, What cannot be again.   Old pictures seen anew, A cracked vision spoils, Seeing fissures and wounds and schisms – What clarity! A gift unwanted – No returns allowed, Until the unwinding of the mind.   Broken eye, Bent against lies unraveled, Tears become infrequent, Tragedies upon tragedies, Eventually exhaust the well, But the eye remains, Some things cannot be unseen…   Broken eye, The carmine filter gone, If it was ever there at all, Allows the information too quickly, Too clearly, Too much. Broken eye, Only broken out from complacency, Broken out from smug satisfaction, Broken out from blindness To all the pain without that may be seen… Not so broken then, But breaking… Maybe there is a tear left yet, Maybe…   Cliff Lake 8/8/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Twisty Traveler   Traveler from gaming fails, Ducking, hiding from the jails. “All for me” philosophy, A leader in dishonesty.   Don’t judge too harshly mental skill, At least you complain loudly still, Easily stoking petty ire, Sucking praise as the vampire.   Traveler of the Twisted Road, Duplicity, You didn’t think it showed. Splitted tongue speaks and then, Your words come back haunting again.   P01135809 – You thought we’d forget in time. Kompromat your spent coin, Worse less than nothing where you’re going.   Don’t just take these words of mine As pretty insult meant unkind, Your actions have caught up to you, About to drop the other shoe.   Traveler of the Twisted Road, Duplicity, You didn’t think it showed. Splitted tongue speaks and then, Your deeds come back haunting again.   Cliff Lake 8/8/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Must Be Me   Don’t you feel like you’re lonely Sometimes in the middle of town? Don’t you feel like you’re the only Fool hangin’ around. Don’t you feel like you’re used up, When it is time to start? Don’t you feel like bruised up, And you have lost your heart?   You don’t feel that way? No? That’s not what you say? No? Then it must be me. Yeah – That is just like me.   I think that sometimes You must get the blues. I think that sometimes Sometimes, Sometimes You must feel you’re used. I think that sometimes It’s all a mess, I think that sometimes You just can’t impress.   You don’t feel that way? No? That’s not what you say? No? Then it must be me. Yeah – That is just like me.   Cliff Lake 8/6/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Fire   We picked it without a second thought, Orange flower burning hot. Destructor when gets out of hand, Destructor in the hands of Man. To tame it we do aspire, Or see it climbing ever higher… Have we too long worshipped this pyre? We’ve finally set our world on fire.   Fire, fire, burning clean, Fire consuming what has been. Fire will play out its part, Fires we should never start.   The heat is rising from our blazes, The heat is feeding all our crazes. Fires larger than we fathomed, Fires set free from the atom. Long after our time here is done, Earth will be burned by our sun. Do we wish to soon expire? Consumed already by some fire?   What blaze is set within us, What inferno in our eye? Must we always be thus, Why do we do not try?   Fire, fire, burning clean, Fire consuming what has been. Fire will play out its part, Fires we should never start.   Cliff Lake 8/7/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Earth   She has held us to her bosom And we have torn her in return. She has fed us, she has watered us, Now we watch her burn. We have put the fire to her, Set poisons in her flesh, When she’s finally had enough May be pretty soon I guess –   Sucking fluids out the ground, When will the well run dry? Watch the air turn oily brown, Still, we wonder why. Is your AC running Did it break down again? Are you broiling, not sunning, Shovel more coal on that fire then!   What will you do when the big storms roar? Where will you go as the oceans pour? It’s far too late to close the barn door, Mother isn’t gonna take it anymore.   Tear yet another mountain down, Spray all the fields with poison gas! Let the pollinators be drowned, Eat those corn chips and grow your ass. Industrial waste and fracking pools, There’s money to be made real quick, For faster cars and bigger tools, What will you breathe when the air’s too thick?   Wh

  Sky   It opens above you, Do you penetrate the depths? Blue and deep and where it leads Is unguessed yet. Or stormy gray, And lightning bearing, Or flatly white, And snow is sharing. There the Moon hangs, A pearl for all, Beckoning with silver light, Hear her call. And when she hides Her shining face, We see the stars In their profusion Take her place. And in the day, The Sun takes his turn, To gently warm, Or fiercely burn. Above us all the vault expands, To mind us all, How small is Man. A mite he is upon the Earth, The vastness above, Measures our worth. Take your assess then of the sky, Remember then we are but motes, In that vast Eye.   Cliff Lake 8/6/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024