CliffSongs

  Last Ride of the Sedition Caucus   Gathered in your enclaves With colleagues you barely trust. Hoping to keep your necks saved From the prosecutor’s thrust. You play the pantomimes out, While your arguments combust. Call up another inquiry with a snarl and a pout, Another sham that blows away like dust.   The horse is dead, What do you beat it for? The horse is dead, Why do you feed it more? The horse is dead, What do you need it for? It won’t carry you so far, Just exposes what you are…   So you all just sputter and fume, While you stab one another in the back. While all the adults in the room, Sigh and brush aside the feeble attack. Your own lies you eagerly consume, Running headlong down the wrong track, Attempting to avoid a shared doom With the rest of the maniacs.   The horse is dead, What do you beat it for? The horse is dead, Why do you feed it more? The horse is dead, What do you need it for? It won’t carr

  Musing on Doors   Indictment Man, You and your confederates, Reduced to nuisance politics, Affect less and less, Spiraling the lot of you Into a trap you helped make. It’s complete closure Is not so inevitable, no, As it is ordained.   See the many You have spurned. See the many You spurn today. Who among them Holds the Ikeys to your future? Rather, who among them Does not? Pleas going unheeded, Confessions another matter, We see you very well. The darkness before you Is a door that closes only once… And will never reopen. You fear to be On the wrong side of such a door. The inevitable has no such cares. And though such doors loom wide, They but lead to smaller confine. Maybe there will be TV…   Cliff Lake 9/19/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake

  A Peace   And he came among the clamor of them. And at the sight of his face They rested.   The earth had grown both wild and weary. A garden of many wonders too abused to weep, A people of many gifts too misused to sing, Now they just shouted, Or screamed. Born into lives of low, inexorable torment, Or born into lives that command such delights, Each loudly proclaiming their existence, Until There was no repose for any.   And he came among the clamor of them. And at the sight of his face They rested.   Then one did not strain To hear the rustle of the bird in the bush, The scrabble of the chipmunk on tree bark, The stamp of a far-off deer warning, For a hush had come. A long strife ended and with it The tumult such strife brings. Then there was no more shouting, Nor were the sighs of oppressed heard.   He had come among the clamor of them. And at the sight of his face They rested.   His name was Death – And he b

  Shouting Things   The shouting things that surround. A multitude of voices, Pick your poison or your prison From the many choices.   A rampaging beast, It’s claws dulled through ineptitude, Empty of substance as it has ever been, Loudly proclaiming it’s cause, While stripping away its own veils.   It’s minions promise protections That they may not secure, And will not survive. They huddle and plot new devices, Flailing attempts to keep hidden the web That they fell into out of simple greed.   These are the shouting things; Empty lives trying for meaning Through propping up The emptiest among them.   The beast lit large yet, It’s shadow larger still, It shouts loudest of all, Yet for all the volume It says no more than it ever has. It is indeed only a larger empty.   The trapped tiger roars loudest Just before it’s end. The paper tiger burns brightest Before it is reduced to ash And allowed to blow away in the cle

  Brandon Dark   The books burning down in Miami, The shenanigans in Tennessee, The situation sometimes looks real stark, But now our Brandon’s gone dark.   The pro-life enforcers filling the court, Razor blades in the Rio Grande. The 2A creeps shooting wide of the mark, Let’s go Brandon, Brandon get Dark!   Everybody put your hand in, Democracy is where we’re landin.’ We don’t need no stand-in, Let’s go Dark Brandon!   How long will the right Go to the extreme, Can’t they walk in the light, Must they remain mean? Claim they walk in Jesus’ steps, But wherever they walk, They just leave a mess.   Transphobic marches in the red states, Hatred and misery accelerate. MAGA craving monarch, But we got Brandon, and he is dark!   Everybody put your hand in, Democracy is where we’re landin.’ We don’t need no stand-in, Let’s go Dark Brandon!   Cliff Lake 8/28/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

American Taliban   Only their beliefs, their Christian right, Exalting themselves to imperious height, Dressed in red and they are oh so white. Grooming your children while they can, The American Taliban.   Desiring minority rule, They want preyers in school, As over 2A they drool, Their intentions cruel.   Only these beliefs, these Christians, right? Exalted in their desire to smite. Each taking the title of Jesus’ knight, Only the self-righteous in their Klan: The American Taliban.   These Bible misquote fools, Ignorance their tool, For prejudice to fuel, And it just ain’t cool.   I can’t believe this Christian Right, Still exalting the might of white. Still enacting their every spite, Un-Christ-like hatred they continue to fan, The American Taliban.   Cliff Lake 8/27/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Real Fake News IV: The Mockening   House Republicans are reportedly searching the Biblical Book of Revelations for “Any references to Hunter Biden or maybe Pelosi.” Representative Gaetz told reporters, “We thought maybe she was the Whore of Babylon, but she’s married so I guess not.” Marjorie Taylor Greene wouldn’t answer questions.   Marsha Blackburn, one of more than 30 Senate Republicans to demand that David Weiss be assigned as Special Counsel now says it never should have happened. Said Blackburn, "I see now that back then I didn't know a damn thing and I still don't. That's my level of commitment!" Marjorie Taylor Greene wouldn’t answer any questions.   RFK Jr. wants his own indictment after falling out of the news cycle. "In some ways I’m a bigger POS because I'm a Kennedy and I'm a complete idiot, and if I have to break a law to get elected, then I'll park in every handicapped spot and jaywalk constantly until I’m taken ser

  P01135809   There’s a new defendant come to Fulton, He’s got RICO company. He’s gonna get his guilt on: Election conspiracy. He can’t be counting on his Rudy, Bad to the last drop. He must be soiling his booty, Cuz Fani will not stop…   He’s Atlanta bound and down, And his train has run aground. He fucked around and found Out and out he’s a clown. A loudmouth minus his spine Georgia’s tired of his line. Pride of the Republican Party: P01135809   Now he’s shorter in his stature Than he told the clerk And he’s really so much fature, I guess lying’s just his quirk. And he glowered for his mugshot Like a petulant little kid. It’s just another thugshot, And he’s gonna do his bid.   He’s Atlanta bound and down, And his train has run aground. He fucked around and found Out and out he’s a clown. A loudmouth minus his spine Georgia’s got you, you swine. Pride of the Republican Party: P01135809   No more proclaimed vip

  Blinded Bargains   “Do your own research!” She screams for the TV. While she Breitbarts her Boner garage for everyone to see.   “Hunter Biden! Joe’s a briber!” “They’ve weaponized the law!” In the meantime, blinding herself To the criming we all saw.   She can’t stop with the conspiracies, And the rumors that are spread, There aren’t enough hammers To get the facts into her head.   So, she totters along asleep, And her mind so deeply broke, Cuz she couldn’t have been so fucking wrong, And she doesn’t want to be woke.   And the pastor screams about the demons seen, And how rainbows have gone bad. And he passes the plate and they celebrate, While they’re all of them being had.   They cannot see and they cannot hear Anything outside of their chamber. And if by accident they do, It’s so easy to disremember.   So, they hand their money over Because they’re never going to learn. But to them it doesn’t matter, As long as

  Main Event and Sideshow   The first act was played. The spectacle presented.   What was seen:   The cruelty remains. Lessons go unlearned. Obeisance and obedience overmaster.   Plans remained unspoken, There are no plans. There is retreat into conspiracy. There was gutless deflection. There endures evasion of fact.   The first act was predictable. The spectacle was the disappointment We’d hoped for.   But what of the sideshow?   Here too was the kowtow familiar. Here again the distortions made absolute. Here was introduced A more sinister contrivance, A specter of extermination, A projection of internalized fantasy. A sideshow more than distraction, But a script for action Taken against a phantasm Hatched from desperation And desire.   The first act was played, And was not more than playtime.   The sideshow was a whisper To be heard in the darkest corners.   Eyes open.   Cliff Lake 8/24/2023 Copyr

  Time-slip   Did time just…      slip just now? There’s really no way to be sure, is there? Time doesn’t just go away, Or drop out, Or skip, Does it?   Did time just                                        Slip just now?   I came into the room to        I was in the middle of   Time is a constant. Measured atomically. Displayed digitally. Delivered electronically.                      Some days are just longer than others.                                Slip just now?            Did time just                       Some days are just shorter than others. Time is fluid. A minute can take an hour to pass. Hours can fly in minutes. Time is inconstant.   Did Time      Just                                         Now? Slip just     What have you been doing all this                                                                             Time?                  Did just time slip this now? How will you ever

  The Unbinding   The thing that is not a thing – For it cannot be, not in this world, Not in this life. It cannot be there… There it is.   Here it is.   Do not ask why this is. It is. A not-thing Emerging from the depths That now also exist Though a moment prior This was only abandoned property Possessed of simple rumor And crumbling foundation.   Now is an incomprehensible term – The gulf and it’s uninhabitant Spread before you Surrounding and permeating, Swallowing and absorbed. An incursion, An infringement, The unholy intrusion, A trespass. And violation.   The book forbidden, A relic sought, Or a call satisfied, Falls from the hand It’s reek no less stinging, It’s feel no less viscous, As if it’s form Now embeds the skin, And you are one.   What has been unleashed? What imperfect containment Can recapture? What heroic salvation Is to be performed By anyone less tainted? Or do these thoug

  The Teflon Prayer   In these days of the Tribulation, We pray for the Great Defendant, For he is beset on all sides, By documentation and evidence, And flippers and leakers, And may no longer Live beyond consequence.   Hear our despair That one so mighty In impolite behavior And shady dealings, And self-victimization, And winking prejudice, And flagrant misogyny, And strongman kowtowing, And blatant selfishness, And outrageous disloyalty Should be equated To such as we?   How we exalted him! He is our powdered savior – Glistening on the golf course, In the fullness of his pants. Have we not made for him Garish cartoons of impossibility? Have we not made of him A paragon of all that he is not? Have we not purchased The Chinese hats, And flags and coffee mugs, And bumper stickers and shirts, And tattooed his likeness Near our genitals for our comfort? Was this all for naught? Have we debased ourselves And p

  Serial Set   The urge that wants satisfied. The red in the brain. The fade as they expire. The hunt that releases. A call that cannot be let lie. It begins.   All must be precise. Timing is imperative. Planning even more crucial. Anonymity in public thrills. Stalking close enough to scent. The strike occurs with exacting rigor.   The puzzle that remains. The taunt of the search. The shadow of the sleuth. The false telltale. The eventual dodge. The biding Until the next round.   Cliff Lake 8/17/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  Home Repair   The house we have lived in May be more hollow than we knew: Cobwebs in the corners Blowing into plain sight. Skeletons in the basement, We thought forgotten Or buried too deeply Now wake and walk, Wagging accusing fingers, That we may heal past hurts And allow them to rest easy. We are in arrears to generations.   Was this house built on rock? How solidly do we stand? The footing I thought I knew Is challenged from on high, And from the lowest depths. The fissures in the foundations Exposed to sight And the burrowers are busy. Very busy.   Is our house so ramshackle? Can it be shaken down By the most imperfect? By children so wayward That consequence for brazen misdeed Committed in the light of day Become acts to celebrate? Allowed and seen as strength Instead of the craven corruption That eats at the walls And the flooring That the weaker among us Require that they too May sleep in peace.  

  My Blues   Since you left my brain has been on lock Or on fire with too much crosstalk. Every day is another sleepwalk, My dreams in permanent dock. My thought can’t get past the clog, When will I escape this fog? They say the sun is shining, But all I see is gray. When will I get out of my way?   When will I get out of my way? Will the skies ever clear someday? Will memories ever fade from replay? When will I get out of my way?     I can still see you walking out the door. And I keep on asking what for? What was it I could not complete? How was it I could not compete? My mind stuck in the backlog, When will I escape this fog? They say the sun is shining, But all I see is gray. When will I get out of my way?   When will I get out of my way? Will the skies ever clear someday? Will memories ever fade from replay? When will I get out of my way?   Cliff Lake 8/14/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  The Me   Am I still me? Asked the stray thought In the fuzzy zone I was sliding through On my way To a softer consciousness. An irrelevant question, Given a few years, And inevitability.   But I AM still me, Or rather, I am still a part of the All, Retaining some memory Of things happening In my small space That I have named Existence. Me.   And when I pass, what then? I will still be a part of the All, Though the shell now be Inanimate. For a time then I will still resemble Me Though there is no longer A consciousness to respond To the question.   Am I still me? The question remains irrelevant Though I am conscious So far. Knowledge Experience Gain Loss Each has played it’s song on Me. Even the shell has changed, And changes still. But memory remains… Most of the memory remains.   Am I still me? In a few years That question may not matter. Or will there be A new place to ask the que

  I See You   In the wind, this shady smell, Watched you broadcast your dividends, Making plans you wouldn’t tell, Misstating how you were just friends. My suspicions you try to quell, Results that you did not intend, Took too many trips to the well, Now you try to make amends.   And I see you. I see the mirages that you sell. I see you. I see you very well.   I saw you breathing in the poisons, You never took time to exhale. Took a ride on the crazy train, Before you went way off the rails. You let yourself be led astray - You took a room inside the jails. You had been seduced by The sausage grinder’s tales.   And I see you. Playing that game with the shell, I see you. I see you very well.   You cannot shade your history, The convoluted tales you tell. You have lost your mystery, All that’s left is farewell.   And I see you. The truth you cannot dispel. I see you. I see you very well.   Cliff Lake 8/12/202

  The Muster   The call goes out, To distant kin Future in doubt And war begins. A foe raving, An unhinged drive Our end craving, We must survive. The call to muster Our numbers small No heart lackluster We stand or fall. We gather now, Both young and old No qualm allowed, We must be bold. The charging steed The glittering helm The foe in number To overwhelm. The spear is settled, And sword in hand A test of mettle To save the land. The call of horn For courage fanned This brotherhood And a last stand. The charge now sounds, Speaks our mandate. So forth we ride, To meet our fate. No life in thrall We start our run, We heed the call, It has begun.   Cliff Lake 8/12/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

They Noise   Now the beast harangues, In the chamber won. And repression hangs, And the people shunned. Now the gavel bangs, And the damage done: Another right restricted, For everyone.   Are you tired of the noise? Our opinions thrown away Like we’re broken toys, We are no castaways. Democracy is destroyed A little day by day. Are you tired of the noise? Get out and have your say.   How the paid rat sings The praises of criminality. How readily would he bring Heaving brutality. Taking brutes ‘neath the wing, To bring us to a finality Of a barbarous king And a rule of totality.   Democracy is destroyed A little day by day. Are you tired of the noise? It’s time they heard our say. Are you tired of the noise? Our opinions thrown away Like we’re broken toys - We are no castaways.   Cliff Lake 8/10/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

The Infection   A corruption embraced, A toxin celebrated, This venom pervasive, It touches all and creates monsters.   The game was blacked out: An agreement profane, Conspired between league and broadcaster, But avoided through subscription. A contagion of solace.   The neighbors jubilant: A luxury machine, A 60-month loan, And the coveted fixed rate. The blight accepted.   What corruption embraced? What pervasion celebrated? What venom unavoidable? What underscores all activity, Turning man and woman profane, Heartless and grasping?   The child famished: All bone and distended belly. The disembodied voice underscoring, Reminding some exist outside the system, Denied the revered contagion.   Heat may destroy infection, Warmth may prevent pestilence. The heart beats hot, Humanity expressed is warm.   Gold grows cold and hardens, Freezing the spirit. Acquisition fever closes the eye, Cools the heart, Infe

  Loudly Latent   The empty engines of chaos, Fueled with the half-truth, And expelling ever-warming exhaust, Revving now louder As they seek to consume The oxygen in the room.   Bolted to their convictions, They do not seek movement: The anathema to their stasis of belief, For they have become addicted To the production of clamor, In place of advancement.   These are the apparatus Of the conservative: Exhalations in cacophony, Vapors composed of speech, Assurances inconsequential, But proclaimed at length.   Thus do these partisan Retain their residence: Through obfuscation, And the split tongue. Become a politician, And you can double your standards. Cliff Lake 8/8/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  The Hours   Now is the hour. An alarming hour. Now is exposed the wickedness. A degeneracy so perverse, So pervasive, So unparalleled, That its exposure Induces panic.   Now is the hour. A desperate hour. Now is the lawyerly nightmare. A defense so impossible, So impaired, So unimaginable, That its execution, Informs nothing.   Now is the hour. The unforeseen hour. Now is the realization. A retribution for a life lived So uncaring, So unbalanced, So unlawful, That its inevitability Marches unimpaired.   Now is the hour. The hour long awaited. Now is the consequence: The repercussions inexorable. So impassive, So impugning, So imperative, That its dismissal May not be tolerated.   Now is the hour. For one man, The minutes tick away too quickly. There is a sense That he will soon have plenty of time. Now is the hour To give him time, Lots of time…   Cliff Lake 8/5/2023 Copyright © Cliffo

  Arraignment Day Boogie   On Arraignment Day, The defendant wore his longest tie. On Arraignment Day, The defendant piled his hair high.   He’d spent the weeks before Complaining on his fake Twitter His aides quaking outside the door Of his favorite posting shitter. He threatened threats Voluminous and dire: A barrage of confessions Guaranteed to backfire.   On Arraignment Day, The defendant wore his longest tie. On Arraignment Day, The defendant piled his hair high.   He called upon his Kevin To make the nightmare go away. His reasoning reminiscent of Inhaling too much hairspray. His statements raved and ranted, Called justice officials “thugs.” But most just took for granted That he was doing all the wrong drugs.   On Arraignment Day, The defendant wore his longest tie. On Arraignment Day, The defendant piled his hair high.   So, he walks into the courtroom Accused of criminality, To allow Smith to illume Hi

The Marks They Left   The shit on the walls. They smeared shit on the walls.   That’s what I can’t forget. That’s what I can’t forgive. And that is what I can’t identify with.   These creatures call themselves “patriots.” I can’t even call them human. They were nothing more than a ravenous force, That didn’t know what it was hungry for.   And the defendant knew that of them. He knows that of them now. He gathers them to him, An army of vermin, diseased and putrid. This is why they love him. He makes them feel like they belong. Yet deep down they are aware, That they don’t belong. That they have been cast away, Because they smear shit on the walls.   They have attached themselves To someone that respects nothing, Just as they respect nothing.   Even animals walk away from their excrement, Yet these play in it. It is a part of them, So, they spread it where they will, To leave their scent behind.   They are the shit on

  The Inquiry   The accused was charged with Grand Perfidy And Acts of Deceitful Malfeasance. But wouldn’t appear alarmingly, For lack of evidence and reasons. But crime had been committed, Of that there was no doubt. The accused was certainly wicked, In what way would be found out. A witness was soon located, His appearance was marked down. But his time was then vacated, He had business out of town. But from the local tavern, A man from the back room, Said he could make the pattern, If some facts could be presumed. And there was new evidence, If a certain one was allowed to speak. He would provide some relevance, Before his execution next week. It just might be that he knows a thing, That sheds light on the affair. Just think of the clarity he can bring, Even though he wasn’t there. And so, the Grand Inquisitor, Made room upon the docket, For the confirming visitor, Who was now firmly in his pocket. And so came the day, Whe

A Retelling   “Look, but do not touch!” they are told. And so, they watch, Not impotent, But commanded.   A battle fought long ago, Hard won. Dimensions shattered, inverted, Or made void. A lone globe sequestered, It’s life now part and parcel To the cold clockwork, Penance for daring to exist.   Graceless now, the defeated grumble, And foment. The Despoiler, Anguished of a future He will not escape, Makes ruin his home and yield, If he cannot forge, Then he will fire.   His minions ache at their loss, Boon and beneficence They thought to take alone, Now a memory that can only pain, For they once knew beauty boundless, An infinitude of symmetry and delight, That now scrapes at their spirit, As they count down the days and the hours, To their utter invalidation.   These do the bidding of the Unchaste, Their abnegation never complete, It is a torture to exist, But they fear not being at all. Thus, they spoil al

Return to Grace   She said she was a seeress, And could show me what was lost. And asked that I be fearless, And could I bear the cost? And peer behind the curtain, And see forgotten when, For she was not uncertain, That they could be again.   She handed me the philter, A brew mossy and dark, I drank it unbewildered, My surroundings made sure to mark. Her smile some faint disquiet, Her eyes steady and sure, The room darkened to violet, Until all became obscured.   A light before me opened, A landscape did then unfold, A music came like snow then, Soft and light and cold. It gripped me and it held me, It’s singers came into view. Something then unspelled me, These carolers I knew.   Fair and proud and stern and tall, They moved in easy precision, Their melody had me in thrall, But I regret not my decision. I strode my way toward them, Their ranks parted and made way, Then I was one among them, And we marched until midday.   We came to the encampment, The foe arrayed below. But we fell t

  Corrections: Ode to Shaye and Lady Ruby   They are light-sensitive, these charlatans, Operating from shadow, Eager to conceal labors grisly, Gritted, Gargantuan in their malevolence, And titillated to an audience cruel, As the misdeeds of a rival.   They would champion the desecrations They celebrate in private banquet. They would herald their cruelty as boon. They would espouse their atrocities As recompense for the infractions They assign to their detractors, But practiced by themselves behind the veils of piety They shout in the streets.   They make bewilderments In session they call For just that purpose, Smokes and smogs to conceal their rot: Confusions manufactured from vapors. They will not abide the pierce of daybreak, Illuminations breaking through the mists, They weave about themselves as concealment From accusations they can no longer evade.   Too strident become their calls. Too often their obscurements fade. T

  Extinction   No bright meteor, no cataclysm, Just some pink clothing, And a rainbow or two, And the dinosaurs know they are through.   Clinging like lizards To outmoded systems Failing between their hands, Bleating how everything is all right As they scurry across the burning lands.   See how the dinosaurs rage. See them being upstaged. See them ineffectually outraged. See the dinosaurs as they fall into old age.   Now see them buy the items Just to burn them, See them lie to themselves And each other about their virtue, See them frenzy without a clue.   Now watch them as they seek to rend. See them as they their violence defend. See them as they fail to comprehend. See them fearful of their approaching end. See how the dinosaurs rage. See them being upstaged. See them ineffectually outraged. See the dinosaurs as they fall into old age.   Cliff Lake 7/23/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  The Last Song   When the last bird ends it’s song, Who among us will hear it? Who will learn from it's plaintive call, A sorrow told in notes crying, Mourning the breaking of a world That it could not save by singing.   When the last flower blooms, Defiant against the poisons, Who will smell it's perfume, Vibrant among the decay surrounding, A defeated call to the bees Who once visited and are no more.   When the last fire sputters, Deprived of the air, It had mindlessly consumed, As it burned away the evidence of us, Who had mindfully created it, And did not care enough.   When the last bird laments it's last song, Will it agonize it's passing, Or bemoan it's lone existence? Will it ache for a world it never knew? Or grieve the passage of life wasted? Or will it merely be a bird singing?   When the last bird ends it's song, Will we know?   Cliff Lake 7/23/2023 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023

  The Real Fake News Rides Again   Putin apologists within the GOP are asking into a purported Russian retirement community being built for disaffected Americans to live in near Moscow. Tucker Carlson is reportedly very interested in a first-floor suite as he says, “It’s just a lot more convenient for carrying groceries and the like and I believe a fall from a window at that level is survivable.”   Alina Habba, a lawyer closely tied to Donald Trump, was found in a closet at the site of a tornado that damaged a Pfizer warehouse. A spokesman claimed she’d been there since last week after proposing that the company sue the AMA and WHO “For reasons”. The spokesman continued, “After being asked to leave she tried to exit through the maintenance closet and just stayed there. I think someone was bringing her sandwiches but really, we’re just embarrassed that she was even here to start with.”   George Santos today called a “media event” that no one showed up for. He then called in

  Under Control   The alarm on the phone Tells me the day has begun. A calendared event I have given to the machine to hold. My watch measures my motion, Keeping my heart ever clocked. My steps watched and counted, And a suggested longer stroll.   Suggested only. Apps under my control.   The traffic lights assign my progress, Camera-mounted, speed detected, Seeking the unbelted, Watching as the autos roll. Warnings sound from the dash, A tire slightly over a line. Airbags at the ready, Safety comes with its toll,   Allowances made for control.   Keycard programmed for entry, Thus, the workday begins. Make sure my badge is visible, I am who am in plastic mold. Log in to my machine in code, Numbers more trusted than a smile. Assignments are delivered digitally, Records allow no loophole.   Electronically kept under control.   Minutes counted for consumption, Activities compartmented by number. A record of my incomp