CliffSongs

  Train of Thoughts   The last train was leaving, The last carload of sense, Carrying what vestige remained Of reason hopelessly clung to, And what remained Was monstrous Savage, Inane, A maze of paranoia and gleeful hallucinate, A carousel turning in upon itself, Twisting in farther to the deep recess of Unsound. The comfort was unbearable. Something in a pit walled off and distantly deep screamed and screamed – the insistence would be forever. He ran through the apartment smashing mirrors - He no longer could stand to see what He no longer knew, A caricature of someone he had been, A madman wearing his face but With the wrong eyes. Still, The descent, This final descent was Fulfilling Or inevitable or Hungered after. He thought they may all be the same thing. He thought he thought… He thought It hurt, He thought It was right, He thought He should stop thinking. If only… The last train was leaving, The las

  Begin the End   November skies graying into view, Ragged clouds and sun flickering over you, The wind sharpening, blowing through, Winter’s bleak taking its cue.   Harvests nearly all collected, Mowers put away, standing neglected, Torsos become sweater protected, Boots in the hallway for weather expected.   Kitchens smelling strongly of spice, Diets forgone for an extra slice, Small extravagances well worth the price, Children observing the list is checked twice.   Candy hoards suffer regular raid, Thick cobwebs cleverly arrayed, Popup frights hidden in shade, In preparation for ghoulish charade.   Cooling air and curling mist, Awaken the temporary occultist, Black clothing on the shortlist, A last fling immodest.   Which party to attend? Which costuming is this year’s trend? How will you this year unbend? How do you welcome October’s end?   The beginning of the end of the year, The beginning of the holiday cheer. T

  Illuminated   When the chemtrails are falling And some stranger comes calling, And your phone reception goes spotty… And the All-Seeing Eye Keeps on passing by, Somebody has the idea you’ve been naughty. And it’s become clear That Templars have been here, Oh no, you’ve been spotted by the Illuminati!   It’s an information beam, Or a Freemason scheme, Or someone equally as dotty. It’s an overlording theme, The secret regime, The covert Illuminatti!   Has your social media Gotten harder to readia, Does it seem like it’s very botty? Has all of your online Turned into all downtime, Have the communications gone knotty? Is there a new signal stream? Are things even stranger than they seem? Are there messages in the manicotti? It’s not imagination, They have your registration! Looks like you’re targeted by the Illuminati!   There’s a space laser beam, There’s always a scheme, Don’t worry that the logic is spotty. It’s an

  Small Hours   Sometimes when night passes into early morning hours, Sometimes when the moon is right, honesty gains power. Memories can come calling across the decades, And I am exposed to the mistakes I have made.   In the brittle AM, my sins can be laid bare, Remembering a youth when life was a dare. Living my life as some action-man had done, Now I wonder who paid the cost of that fun?   I’ve held all the wrong heroes, Across all of my times. False-facing mirrors, Absolving my crimes. Do I speak my mad sorrows Into the night? Or keep on riding Imagined flight?   Do I keep on pretending to accolades earned? Do I forego pride for humbling lessons learned? Do I keep on careening on the cinema ride? Do I accept some regret must pierce my hide?   I’ve held all the wrong heroes, Across all of my times. False-facing mirrors, Absolving my crimes. Do I speak my mad sorrows Into the night? Or keep on riding Imagined flight?

  Everything   Half-heard conversations, The glance to the thing unseen. Unfamiliar gestures, And talk of the arcane, Ah! Sweet suspicion! Now you know, The things that you don’t know. The hidden meaning in the number set, The clouds that look too right. The car that passes again, then again, The man in the hat looks your way too long, And the birds have not stopped circling all day. Everything is everything. Is that clover you smell? Did the phone ring only twice? Where is your regular mailman? Why is this the third time you’ve heard this song? You’ve gotten that same email, You can’t stop thinking about that one friend, The neighbor’s cat won’t stop staring, And the smell only gets stronger. It’s all happening – Everything is everything. The owl hoots in full day, And a toad crawls from beneath the steps. The pen you lost last year is on the table, Next to three eyelashes. The pictures on the walls tilt slightly left, And yo

  Entry   When we first got him back, he wasn’t… When we first got him back, he wasn’t. I begged him not to go through the Door? Portal? Dimension? It was none of those things. It was all of those things. But he’d built the machine, Built it too well, Self-contained, Dual everything, And triple the good stuff. His pride and the history of pioneers, Self-testing maniac engineers… There were four of us. When he first turned it on Johnson immediately started to lose it, He just kept getting worse. Eventually he… I should do something with the body. I should do something but Sylvie saw the opening and She’s never coming back here. I hope she is sane enough to make the report. State Department, Defense, somebody… I’m still here. Hoping I can figure out something. When Andrews went in he There was a low moan – It was all the fear I have ever felt In my entire life All at once Concentrated Spoken aloud It must have

  Inferiority   And they will put on the black shirt, And they will polish their boots, And they will punish you, For their inferiority.   You don’t see them, Or you simply don’t notice, But they have seen you, And they’re not happy about it.   Maybe they live down the street, Maybe they’re a few cubicles over. Maybe their car isn’t as new, Maybe they didn’t get that promotion.   Maybe their golf game isn’t as good, Maybe they can’t stop eating all those calories. Maybe their kid can’t hit a curveball, Maybe you married their desperately secret love.   Does it matter what fuels their dark dreams? They have been slighted by your existence. They yearn for the day when they have the power, The day when they can cut loose on you, all legal-like.   And they will put on the black shirt, And they will polish their boots, And they will punish you, For their inferiority.   Who peers through the curtains once too often? Who keeps

  Terrible Things   He could not speak. He could not speak Because of the terrible things. They hadn’t happened yet. He had to speak. They overwhelmed him, The terrible things. Cataclysms and confrontations, Concatenations of collapse, And catastrophe, And catastrophe, And catastrophe. Terrible things. He could not speak. He had to speak. He had no language. But he could paint. He painted. He painted terrible things. He painted well. He painted terrible things. They thought him mad. They thought him genius. They bought and bought. He painted and painted. And when the first painting happened… They knew. And they knew it was too late. Things were happening. Terrible things. And they asked: “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” And: “How were we to know these were warnings?” But He had no answer. He could not speak.   Cliff Lake 10/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Now What   You put us on this timeline. Don’t you remember? There was a moment. A nexus. You chose. It wasn’t something you could avoid, A choice had to be made. A choice could also have not been made, but That was then, And things could have been worse, yes? You thought so. Now we are here, Because of you, Because of me. I have made choices. Did we jiggle things slightly out of true, you and I? Probably. Did we cancel each other out? Here’s the thing: It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Other choices are being made, In other places, By other people, All the time. And they are all jiggling the mechanism In spite of us. So, I have made a choice: I have chosen To tell you about it. Now what?   Cliff Lake 10/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Proud American   The Proud American marched down my street, With his American Nazi flag, And a scowl for all to greet. And I thought that he had nothing to hide, Unless it was his suppressed Pride.   The Proud American marched past my door, With his Confederate flag, And he shouted, “CIVIL WAR!” He says he wants to make his America great, But to be this bold, He must first lubricate.   The Proud American the Capitol attacked. Going to jail for the criminal Who had already turned his back. The Proud American says he knows the truth. That he has researched at a single website, This Internet sleuth.   The Proud American thinks that memes equal votes, That if he yells often enough, Well, that’s all she wrote. The Proud American spouts other’s opinion, Believing it came from his own brain, And that he’s not just someone’s minion.   The Proud American has all his MAGA gear displayed. Chinese made and overpriced, That’s how this

  Thin Time   The equinox has passed again. The air cools, The rains sift colder yet, And both light and dark are bent strange. And you anticipate. You anticipate… What? There are things you cannot name, They may be unknown, They may be forgotten, They may be nameless always, Or you may not name them aloud, For that is perilous.   The bristle at the back of the neck, Are you hunted? Are you sought? Will hot breath follow? Or cold exhalation? Which would you rather? In this moment, That choice is not yours. Somethings, Some things that pass unrestricted Between the light and the dark Are not concerned with your preference, no.   Time and permanence are grown diffuse, Fabrics stretched to capacity, Filters unbound and untrue. Disreality closes on the world, And those things seen in the eye’s corner May really be there, Or were, Or are yet, Just beyond vision, Or worse, Understanding. The equinox has passed ag

  October Winds   October winds. Blowing by, Blowing through. They carry the hints of smoke, And the sacrificial spice of the turning leaf. Have you felt the underchill those winds bring? A presage of colder winds to come, But not yet, Not yet. Have you heard the low whistles in the graying eve? Lonely voicings just around the corner, And always sounding nearer. And do the spirits arrive unbidden, Uncalled, Arriving unseen, And causing the skin to prickle. Or have you wished for their whispers, From some gray unfulfilling, You do not acknowledge in full day? Glad discomforts! Though should you see their eyes… And what voices cry from the skies? Blown from impossible heights, Forlorn calls as if grieving flight. Arrowed and aloft, Heading to warmer feed. Will you follow? Or will you remain, Taking comfort in orange flame in the hearth, Or flowering in the trees for a time… Such short bloomings. All of these are borne on t

Hope   In the distance the horns sound, And the warm glow of a rising sun Bring hope to the beleaguered, The assailed, The innocents attacked For merely being.   Hear the marching feet! They close upon the goal: Throwing off oppression unasked for, Relief from requirements Made on them from without, The allowance to be themselves, And without interference Foist on them from the unquiet.   Listen to the hearted singing! Gladness made melody, Seeing the numbers, Seeing their smiles, Seeing the determination, And joining the throng. Raise your voice! The chorus only becomes louder!   In the distance the horns sound, And the rising sun brings its warm glow, And the hopes of a united people, Stronger for their hardships, Tempered by their troubles, Are bolstered in kinship, And in the revelation that we are one.   Day is come. Day is come at last.   Cliff Lake 10/19/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  A Promise   What is the urgency? What great fears have you? The internment camps have yet to be built, And you’re probably safe. Probably. Have you signed your loyalty pledge? Not been asked yet? No problem, The order will come soon.   Why so anxious? The Great Deportation has not begun. Not yet. But just in case, Keep your registration number handy.   Has your healthcare vanished? Or your Social Security sun-setted? Never fear! All that is still in the planning stages.   Have any voter rolls been purged? Well, maybe some… But you still have a couple of weeks left, right? Right?   And let’s talk about whose taxes will rise, And whose won’t. Listen, concepts are being planned, Don’t you fret.   Worried about those immigrants getting your free (socialist) benefits? Why, by some accounts, They can feed themselves – and do, Know what I mean?   And what about black and brown people getting jobbed? I mean JOBS, g

  Racing   The final sprint, The stakes outlined in stark contrast, The finish in clear sight… And where will you be? Where will it end?   Can one afford to rest? Is a break needed, Warranted, Is it required? Or is it the latest sign of a stumble?   Oh, the grind! The constant motion! The ceaseless scrutiny! The irregular weave! A heavy burden…   The questions. The interminable questions. The incessant review. A never-ending examination of content, Of motive, Of pronunciation.   Facts, facts, facts! The endless calls for verified facts! Is it not enough to show up? The facts are what you want them to be! The facts are what you need them to be! The fact is – You said what you said, That should be enough for anyone.   Interview after interview, They all feel the same, Until they don’t. Until the rooms are not filled with friends, With allies, With collaborators.   Do the skies darken? Do your prospect

  Hallowed Evening   The observance is upon us again: A reversed imitation of sweets soon given, A mutilation and An emptying. A nightmare born, A gruesome rictus fashioned, Made in glee, Proudly displayed. The rite begins…   Grinning ghouls orange and squat, Stand sided with cousins not yet carved – A ritual still performed with the knife, Children watching, And encouraged to participate. Harvest and sacrifice: Such is the custom.   Doorstop fiends on every porch, Filmy webs waving, Gaunt caricatures in seeming cavort, Hulking beasts cartoonish, Or horrifying, Or something of both, While the husks of the carven are inner lit, And watchful. A communion in frights.   Later, Suspect festivities commence, Games reminiscent of dreads, Mawkish disguises roam darkening streets, Diminutive creatures seeking succor unearned, Unrepaid, Yet expected, And accompanied by vigilant guardians suspicious. The ceremonial gorgin

True Horror   When the sun has bowed to the horizon, That slip of orange fire, A menace of near absence in flame, Now the long shadows twist too dark, Animate from sided sight, Groping arms flat in the receding light. Listen to leaves restless without wind, Whisperers of secrets you do not want to hear, A papery chorus made more clear in the dry air, Speaking the chill come too quick. What denial can you offer? In the failing glow What truths hold, And what may be made real, From the recesses of the mind and The dark splashes grounded and grown deep. The hissing leaves tell tales of gray, The wavering glimmers confirm all and nothing, Time is stretching interminable, And all is unfocused in sharp detail: A piercing fog reaching, Enveloping, Surrounding, To carry your understanding away from you, Leaving an empty husk of sensation only. Why do you remain? Is this what you wanted? To be diminished to mere reaction minus awareness,

  Beyond   There is a place that lies between, Not fantasy, but living dream, You may visit, but cannot stay, Yet live a year within a day.   I fell in there, or was I pushed, It seems there was a merest touch, A hint to let go of the bonds, An invitation to beyond.   There was a time that I could go, And learn the things no one could know. But this is now and that was then – I wish that I could go again.   So many voices, the chorus sings. So many verses of many things. Knowledge granted you cannot hold, Still, one of all things you are told.   I rested there, and still labored, Every being there was a neighbor. Bliss and worry became one, And nothing asked did I shun.   There was a time that I could go, And learn the things no one could know. But this is now, and I don’t know when – That I could ever know again.   A year or more I drifted there, Cocooned it seemed in velvet snare. Was I made whole or made undone? I

  Remember   He doesn’t remember favors. He doesn’t remember nice-nice. He doesn’t remember the good times you had… He remembers dollars – over a certain amount, Over a certain time period, That is, If you’re promising more… He remembers insults, real and imagined. He remembers bad press, real and imagined. He remembers glories that did not occur. He does not remember grace. He does not remember to be kind. He does not remember in kind… He remembers to capitalize on your mistake. He remembers failures others did not perform. He remembers how hot she USED to look… He doesn’t remember history. He doesn’t remember infamy. He doesn’t remember atrocity. He remembers to discredit others. He remembers to elevate himself. He remembers to misremember. He remembers when he was never quite good enough. He doesn’t remember failing, Over and over. He doesn’t remember loyalty. He doesn’t remember the law. He doesn’t remember anything That h

  Long Road   The pushing of one from here to there, Personhood light as a feather in the air. Fitted into alike container, Never needing now an explainer.   Stamp them out, all of them the same, Wonders why one needs a name. Wonders who I came to be now, Wonders if I can get back somehow.   The long road back to who I am. Going away was never the plan. But life interferes, With opinion in my ears, And it’s a long road back To who I am.   Do I fit in, am I okay? Will I always have the right thing to say? Am I taking the right medicine? Must I always wear this stupid grin?   Feeling like a powder keg, Constantly squaring this round peg. Being like everyone, but at what cost? Why do I feel that something’s lost?   And it’s a long road back to who I am. Leaving me behind was never the plan. But with all of the tears, Over all of the years, It has been a long road back To who I am.   Cliff Lake 10/14/2024 Copyright © C

  Hurrican’t Me!   I was in deep shit When the space laser hit, Operated by a weatherman. When the hurricane came, I thought it would be tame, But now I’m hanging on by a tether man. FEMA showed up, To do the cleanup, And preachin’ that DT Syndrome, So I chased ‘em off, My brain ain’t soft, And the bastards ain’t takin’ my home.   It’s a FEMA crap show, Take that money and go, So I can blame my poverty on them! It’s the liberal plan To make me less than a man! That’s my excuse for causing more mayhem.   I called up the TV, And you can believe me, Told them not to show up around my town. I made it real clear, They should not come near, Cuz I am ‘bout ready for a showdown. And I sent a email, They should all be jailed, For trying to push that crap climate change. Don’t they hear Margie Greene? Why don’t they come clean? I am tired of this Donald Trump derange!   It’s a liberal shitshow, And they think we don’t know

  Blown In   A wind blown in, Unmoving leaves, A touch of unreal, And a cold that cleaves.   How will you suffer the long chill? Can you hold on to your will? What gods have you left to implore? Who opened this unhallowed door?   A mirror cracks across the face, Now is rended time and place. A journey where being unbraids, Certainty and logic unmade.   A wind blown in, Some thing aggrieved. A touch of unreal, And your senses leave.   No ease given, no sense of time, Just this trek to benighted clime. A glimpse of that which cannot be, You the newest attendee.   Ceremony made in all dread, Profane announcements are now pled. Involvement you may not eschew, As the baleful eyes look you through.   The thing blown in, Your senses thieved. A touch of unreal, Actuality reweaved.   In a moment you disarranged, In a moment forever changed. Do you welcome this unbeing? Do you find yourself agreeing?   Where have

  Dawnbringers   It has the feel of imminent disaster, A coruscation of calamity As the clock ticks. Momentous catastrophe offered, And never withheld, Especially when refused.   There is the sense of a ferocious humor, Taking its amusement in rampage, A satisfaction only gleaned From the crimson rivulet, A monstrous glee lasting only instants, Before demanding satisfaction anew.   It lays claim to wherever it roams, Providing horror in lieu of proof. Its savage delights surface in nightmare, The gibbering giggles and cold cackles Follow from dreamscape, To landscape, Without escape.   You would suspect your lunacy If you did not spy its smile Behind publicized opinion. There it dwells, The cruel jests in corrupted media, Told by comedic counsel, With sharpened teeth, And the splitted tongue.   Watch them guffaw for you, As the laughter never reaches the eyes – For they too are chained to the terror, They would inv

  Twilit   The cooling twilight Brings uncertain light And the unease Of approaching night   A purposed mist Seems to insist Voices within Can’t be dismissed   Unwilling trance Unholy dance No way you avoid Profane advance   The cold twilight Bringing uncertain light Can you really believe What curses your sight   Your calm fraying Your fear weighing Why do you acknowledge What they’re saying   Memory twisted Sins are listed This is not the whole Of your life consisted   The chilling twilight In such uncertain light There is no time To make things right   Dead voices from your past Mistakes from the die you cast They come with the mist To claim their due at last   In the mist the voices call Listing your guilts great and small You may not escape They have you in thrall   The bleak twilight Is an uncertain light You are remade A creature of night.   Cliff Lake 10/9/2024 Copyright ©

  No Eyes   I am not as comfortable With intended blindness as some. I am not as slavishly devoted To ignoring the loaded gun. The evidence is piling up, And they’re running out of sand To force their head back into, Why won’t they understand?   The blatant lies, The bandage disguise, The childish snarks, The pillaged marks.   Demanded loyalty, And they refuse to see The declining score, All of this and more…   I am not as comfortable With intended blindness as some. I am not as slavishly devoted To ignoring the loaded gun. The evidence is piling up, And they’re running out of sand To force their head back into, Why won’t they understand?   The temps too warm, The violent storms. Places hit twice, The melting ice.   The drying lakes, What will it take? The washing shores, All of this and more…   I am not as comfortable With intended blindness as some. I am not as slavishly devoted To ignoring the load

  Together   I don’t want to vote for rage and insult, So I won’t. I don’t want to vote for fear and hatred, So I won’t. I don’t want to vote for racism, I don’t want to vote for suspicion, I don’t want to vote for greed, I don’t want to vote for misogyny – And I won’t.   I am not voting to punish. I am not voting to justify. I am not voting to legitimize. I am not voting to rationalize. I want to vote for care, So I will. I want to vote for hope, So I will. I want to vote for humanity, I want to vote for empathy, I want to vote for understanding, I want to vote for inclusion – And I will.   I am voting for accountability. I am voting for reason. I am voting for sustainability. I am voting for justice.   I am voting for me, And I am voting for you. We are in this together, All of us… It is time to remember that, We are in this together.   Cliff Lake 10/8/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

An Empty House   Hey Speaker Mike, Got enough likes From your social media stance? You do this fail, It could mean jail, If you keep up this Trumped-up dance.   Un-brown that nose, But the story goes, We all know who holds your leash. Thump that Bible, But you could be liable For not practicing what you preach.   Make the Dems look bad And ain’t it sad All the folks that are under water. Tell me lad, Do they know they’re had? That you led your lambs to the slaughter?   When the storm blows in, We will know your sin, We will count your cost in lives. When the storm goes out, It will leave no doubt You are just all shuck and jive.   You’re not saving face, You look a disgrace, If you don’t find a way to aid more. Do not choose loss, That man is not the boss, Time to do the job you’re paid for.   O Good Speaker, This can’t get bleaker, Better get yourself in action. Our patience is thin, Your prospects are d

  Shenan-agains   See the cyclone bearing down, See politicians can’t be found. Unless it’s in an interview, Best place for bullshit to spew   Fail the bills, then fail some more, Kill those bills you dirty whore. Pull the purse strings, close the vault, Then say it’s someone else’s fault.   The lies they tell, the lies they sell, Stuck in a dis-info cell. Fallen to the tyrant’s spell, Contributes to their rotting smell. Too many times gone to the well, Listen for the final bell.   See them all sing like a swan, See and then they’re gone. But they’ll ramble on ‘til dawn, About failed aid counted on.   Now the storm is breaching shores, Where the grapes of psychopath are stored. Where the tyrant is residing, Will they come out from their hiding?   The lies they tell, the lies they sell, Stuck in a dis-info cell. Fallen to the tyrant’s spell, Contributes to their rotting smell. Too many times gone to the well, Listen for

  Unhouse   There is a house that isn’t there. Not all the time. Don’t look directly at it – It will bend out of your view, And that hurts. Leaves an empty spot in your brain. It goes away, In a week or two, If you don’t look again. There is a house not always there. Don’t walk past at night, Not even with a friend. The noises it doesn’t make Cannot be unheard and Won’t let you sleep, Like icicles inside the ears, Or an itch that speaks murder. There is a house that should not be there. No one built it, No one lives there, They just pass by the windows sometimes. Like shadows of time biters, They hypnotize out of the corner of your eye. They would only borrow your existence, And return it to you emptied. There is a house that has never been there. Just a space at the corner, That doesn’t feel unoccupied, And seems most devoid of life. But no one ever buys the lot When it is vacant. And no one ever looks that way When i

  Lantern Jack Loses It   Lantern Jack was feeling black, His scare demeanor had gone slack. He could not freeze them in their tracks, He was afraid he’d lost his knack.   He needed to scare at hello, Or Lantern Jack was just some schmo. Lantern Jack needed scare ammo, Or Lantern Jack would frighten no bro.   Lantern Jack had lost his mojo. Lantern Jack would be a no show.   Lantern Jack and his black cat, Went out to where there’s toadstools at. Lantern Jack filled up his top hat, Brought them home to his big black vat.   Jack now set the pot to boil. Waited for the mess to roil. Jack added in some snake oil, And a pinch of graveyard soil.   Lantern Jack had lost his mojo. Lantern Jack would frighten no mo.   Jack put in exotic spices, And some powdered batwing slices. Said invocations once or twices, And stirred the stew with weird devices.   But then Jack’s bony big black cat, Took great offence, sat up and spat.

  Path   Moments in time in frozen dream, Of petty mind, or broken scheme. Or complex plan beyond our stretch, Each a memory to etch.   What fail recalled, reminded pains? What can overshadow your gains? Memory is not tied to fate, Regret harbored is simply weight.   The many paths we might have tread, The many words we left unsaid. Down the path of time we’re sped, Fleeing the tears we once had shed.   What could have been is now the past, That was then, the die has been cast. New days have now come and are gone, Pick yourself up – time to move on.   The many paths we might have tread, The many words we left unsaid. Down the path of time we’re sped, Fleeing the tears we once had shed.   You are not the only one, Regretting what has or not been done. The future is never disclosed – You’re on the path that you chose.   The many paths we might have tread, The many words we left unsaid. Down the path of time we’re sped,

  Darklings   Sheltering in lengthening shadow, A slither and crawl and slink is made to arrive, The darklings linger, And wait for their appointed turn. Moments they have only, Time snatched from the spans, A trouble they bring to the unwary, To the unguarded, To the unaware. Frights they have in abundance: Whispers from far places, Or the corner of a room, Or the pillow beneath the head. They may twist shadows reaching, Lengthened claws in the dark, While cackles circle the mind, Or bone-scrapes sing discordant. Vagrant mists may arise, Animate and translucent, Seeking entry with cold tendril damp, Or gyrating in mad seduction. Unmelodies may strain in dissonance, Deranged themes to unwind the wit, Laying bare dreads thought forgotten. All these the darklings hold to wield, Horrors concocted in planes unthinkable, Reaches out of sync with time or reason. They have but a little while, Therefore their dires are potent, Brewe

  Too Easy   The tell: The slavish fealty reveals. Our nation’s principles mean nothing To the unprincipled. The complaint: “Why may I not lie?” Outlandish claims on attempted repeat – Some things simply may not fly. The undercurrent: “We are being replaced.” Every bad thing is laid upon the border, The corporate sponsor can do no wrongs. The image: Polished and groomed, Slick as goose grease, And as untrustworthy As the thinning ice he occupies. The mistake: Challenging an honest man. When talking from both sides of the mouth, At least one side Must speak at least some truth. The claims: Assigning merit and blame On the candidate, And forgetting she Is not yet in charge. The implication: She soon will be. The failure: To represent oneself worthy, By simply upholding the key doctrine Of the nation you would lead. A clear choice defined by a moment. Thank you, J.D. You’ve made it easy…   Cliff Lake 10/2/2024 C

  10 th Moon   When the shadows grow long, When the air cools swift, When green goes red, And the goose cries overhead, You feel the change, And your senses heighten.   The clatter of baring branches, The flash of yellowing leaves falling, The low whistles of wind in the eaves, These herald the change, Keeping you watchful, And waiting.   What do you wait upon, Or is it whom? No matter how often you have lived this, These swift shifts promise unsurety, Variances in sight and sound and feel, And the nights darken more deeply.   Moonlight comes clearer, Sharpening edges and outlines, Night sight precision Induces more uncertainty than clarity, Accuracy is not associated with night vision, A certitude that must not be trusted.   So too are night noises more evident, Palpable in their sharpness, Seeming both too near, And not far off at once. A deception in distinctness, Unmeaningfull when heard.   The changing weat