CliffSongs

  Sunset   What thought do you give to a setting sun, Life’s fire fading, To allow the creep of darkness, And unsure vision once more. What promise have you of morning, Save the mechanics of the unrelenting universe, A stately march irrevocable, Unguided by the hand of man. Are you so trusting then, In things that have always been, That there is no monstrous will, Capricious and unknowable, That will not stay this range, This hurtling progress, That reaches nowhere, That is everywhere? Too often have we stumbled upon the unknown, Surprised of our ignorance, Finding ourselves more lost than ever In the growing expanse. Yet ever do we forge forth, With prejudiced purpose, Confident in knowledge mistaken, Unproven and disassembled in discovery, And having fallen, Get up once more, Certain of our capacity. Still, the sun sets on our puny toys, So destructive, yet the source of our pride, As we careen through a vastness, We lon

  A Foul Passing   It stands before them mouthing dire prophecy, It would enact should it come to that. Thus it feeds on the adulation of the unclean, Made soiled by their own hand. For its soul is empty, Or gone altogether, Sacrifices have been made. More are to come. And they stand before it, Willing and desperate, Needful of meaning.   They sacrifice compassion for ideals of cruelty, Reveling in drama they create for themselves. Hollow lives drawn in neon and tinfoil, Too aware they are ingenuine. For their souls are empty, Or are sold outright. Sacrifices have been made, And they will give more yet, Desperate for meaning.   So they follow their silicon savior, More plastic than themselves. For it represents what they cannot be, As it too cannot be, As it too is false, As it too has nothing, Is nothing, Just a voice made of smoke and foul wind, Dissipating and seen through at last. Loudly it cries against the reveal

  Upping the Anti   He scans the pasture, sees only green. The field, he kens, is not picked clean. He distracts them, deflects the shock, Then resumes fleecing the flock.   Disingenuous, says he’s the ram, Coerces his sacrificial lambs. Led to their slaughter, hear them repeat, The lies they’re told, such easy meat.   And the wolf says, “Follow” on constant repeat, And the wolf lulls them into sleep. The wolf has fooled them all complete, And the wolf is followed by the sheep.   A shepherd with a jaw that’s full of tooth, Mouthing anything bereft of couth. They follow him and barely pause, Thinking others will get the claws.   He will farm the most littered field, Even paltry gain is still a yield. Co-opting pages of Holy Writ, This Antichrist is full of   And the wolf says, “Follow” on constant repeat, And the wolf lulls them into sleep. The wolf has fooled them all complete, And the wolf is followed by the sheep.   The

  Seven Year Storm   A turmoil too long, That we have outlasted. Losses we’ve taken, We now are this few. Some working to save us, Some lost in themselves. Gains have been meager, Gaining members, Losing resources, Lost in the featureless squall, Blown to this place by the Seven Year Storm.   A tempest unending, A wind blown from Hell. Searching for high ground, Mudslides ridden back low. A hint of the sun, That we barely remember. Clear daylight a dream, Long weeks in between. Yet it’s six weeks now I think, That the gale hasn’t screamed, Rebuilding this place after the Seven Year Storm.   A global gale opened, By thoughtless meddling. Careless consumption, The driving fury. An engine shaped, By ignorant refusal That any should be mindful, Or accepting of blame. So many benighted, And all unprepared. They found themselves menaced, And were swept away by the Seven Year Storm.   How far have we traveled? The

  Our Stand   And how do we sit idly by, Waiting for the system, To readjust to actual equality? How do we watch the law fail fully, And always on the side Of the corporate entity? We don’t want to. We don’t have to. It’s time to stand up, brother. It’s time to get up, sister. Because we don’t have to stand for it.   The ivory towers Are full of the decay Of the dream enshrined, Then bought and sold, By the least thoughtful among us. Jackals they are, Feeding on spoils, We make for them, Leaving bare bone, We quarrel over among ourselves, While they grow fat, Never knowing they are the disease, Spoiling the garden We are all dying in.   AWAKE! See them as the crime, And the criminals they are! The canker on the side of the billions, Crying of their hunger, Their desire of peace and plenty, Withheld by those who will not share, What they have too much of, And do not appreciate. We are the billions. What will t

  In Justice   Justice pulled up in her miscarriage today, The liar got in and laughed and rode away, The rest of us with empty pockets were left to stay, Justice waved bye-bye from her miscarriage today.   He flaunts the law and inflates himself, While the scales remain dusty on the shelf. Skating again, he slides like grease, Equality is surely deceased. A malignance all can clearly see, His malfeasance allowed seems a surety.   Justice arrived in her miscarriage today, The cheater got in and laughed and rode away, The rest of us with empty pockets were left to stay, Justice drove off in her miscarriage today.   Poverty or near to is the only real crime left, God help you and yours if you are somehow bereft. Work the mine, toe the line, I hope you don’t mind doing time, If you don’t have the means to pay your lawyer overtime. Just one of the masses, no money for upper-classes, Breathe in deeply the airs made of their lighting gases. G

  The Paid For Press   What unjust word slips past, A seeming misjudgment? What canard allowed with a wink? Who platforms the vile? Are there two sides in reality, When one is the people, And the other is Mammon? What service is performed, When one serves corporate greed? Is equality met at one percent? Is the free press so paid for, That it has abandoned principle, And the masses it must inform? Now that the cheat sits at the table, Are we to eat the wormed offering it serves? What value can be had thus? A lie is not an opposing view. A liar does not propose argument. A lie is a lie, No matter how loudly proclaimed, Or how long or how often, It is presented. Raising the deceiver’s seat To the elevated position, Does not elevate the lie, It merely gives it the appearance of reality, But the actuality remains, And always will be, That the lie remains a lie, And liar is still lying, No matter the position granted to her. A

  Decision   The time had come. The decision before him. There could be no more delay. Action had to be taken. He had awakened with this hunger, It must be fed. He had planned well, He had come to this place, To satisfy the need: Not just a hunger, But a thirst also, Concurrent and insistent. It was all laid before him: A brew specific to his tastes, A circle as complete as he had foreseen. His options not many, But options there were, How to satisfy the need? He could be selective, Singular choices savored. He could fuse all in one mad rush! Yes, YES! The choice is made! The moment has arrived, Resolution forces his hand! His arm darts forward, And taking up the donut, He plunges it into his coffee! He can barely wait to see how it turns out… His day has begun.   Cliff Lake 3/24/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

  Victory   They ride back from the field, These victors. The battle costly, Yet won and over. The war ended, The foe vanquished, The price paid, Their people freed. They ride to their homes, Warriors and victors, Heroes perhaps to some, Weary soldiers in heart. Peace is before them, And hard work, The restoration of their land, And the healing of their spirit. They will rest now, They will be paraded, They will be toasted, They will be medaled, They will be sung, They will count the scars they have won, They will dream of the screams of the slain. Still, the war is done, The war is won, They have survived, And they may rest, These victorious, The remainder of the fielded force, They may rest. Both of them have earned their rest. Glory to the victors.   Cliff Lake 3/22/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Justice   To the executioners block he walks, There is no hesitation. The deed done by his hand, He would not lie to escape this fate. He would do the thing again, He walks without remorse. Was this justice? Or had that been served To they that he had taken. He sees her, Those eyes pierce him, Maddened now, A mind broken, A life spoiled, She will live this way, Low reviled these days, By those she must live among, Though she be the true victim. What joy in life she may have had, Forever taken. But not so broken she, That she does not understand his deed, She smiles and it is too sad, Too twisted, By what now raves within her, She is forever torn. Her arm shoots up, And a single bloom clears the barrier, Angling for him, The last gift he will receive. He manages a nod, And what passes for a smile, The last gift he will give. It is little enough between them. Is there justice here? His last thought is   Cliff L

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

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

  Used Up ‘n Dried Up   You scurried away from your ancestral home, Let’s face it boy, you’re out there on loan. Your markers cashed in, no more favors to call, Winds of change blowing cold, house of cards to fall. Livin’ in a hotel, bumming dollars from the poor, Sellin’ your Chinese trinkets, maybe try it door to door. Your hands in everyone’s pockets, no more spare change for you, Keep on beggin’ at the dockets, that is what’s left to do.   “You’re on your own, kid.” That’s what they said. “You’re used up ‘n dried up; you’re bled.” “You’re out on the street, you’ve used up your cred.” “You’re on your own, kid.” That’s what I said.   Oh, how you fell hard for that dictator, A long-time, well-known master baiter. He always had you pegged as some petty clown, Just look at how he has jerked you around.   “You’re on your own, kid.” That’s what he said. “You’re used up ‘n dried up; you’re bled.” “Look at this crooked path that I led.” “You’re on

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

  Other Side of Town   On the other side of town, I don’t go there no more. On the other side of town, There is an always locked door. On the other side of town, Where I can’t put my feet. On the other side of town, I just might happen to meet, The other half of my life, Who made her retreat. Now the other side of town, Leaves me incomplete.   To the other side of town, Where I never will go, To the other side of town, Where the land lies too low. The other side of town, You’ll always hear me say, That the other side of town, Is too far away. Yes, the other side of town, That’s where she stays, On the other side of town, Where it’s dark all my days. The other side of town – The other side of town – It’s draggin’ me down, The other side of town…   Cliff Lake 3/13/2024 Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

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

  Michael’s Song: A Plea for Grace   The fog of lies still seems to compound, Though we long for the dawn in the day. A light shining may still be found, Though it seems so far away.   The path to the daylight is forward, There is nothing left to deny. It is time for you to row shoreward, Your time of redemption is nigh.   Would you choose to be heartless? What part of you has died? Would you still choose this darkness? What deed have you to hide?   The pall of withholding surrounds you, Decisions made in pure spite. One man’s greed need not confound you, You need not partake of that blight.   So many lives slaughtered needless, Red stain grows on your hands. Do their screams of horror sound heedless? Where will you make your stand?   Would you choose to be heartless? What part of you has died? Would you still choose this darkness? What deed have you to hide?   Michael, the world is calling, They too make their prayers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  The Dolt Chronicles   The story written in disarray, Wonders what you’ll say today. Manipulated from the start, Destined always to fall apart…   Pinned your hopes on the outland poser, Letting him pull the wool over. Set you up for the committee blunder, Then the rug gets yanked from under…   How does the story go? Did you ever really know? Somebody told you so. So, it’s on with the show…   An agent stuffed full with rubles, Now the center of your troubles. Playing sleight of hand in the game, Can’t you tell what’s in a name?   What will you tell the puppeteer, How to appease foreign overseer? Thought you would achieve great renown, Time to apply your makeup, clown…   How does the story go? Did you ever really know? Somebody told you so. So, it’s on with the show…   Thought you were protecting, But you were defecting, Part of the infecting, Here comes the correcting…   How does the story go? Did you ever real

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

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

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

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

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

  Not Like That   Now ol’ Joe he had a plan. To help Ukraine like only we can. To push back Putin, defeat the madman. And fix the border at the Rio Grande. But the Republican says:   “Not like that! Not like that! This is how we make your plan go splat. This is how we keep our wallets fat. Not like that! Not like that! Hey motherfucker, not like that!”   Now you wanna keep your Medicare, Use the funds you donated there. Social Security would be fair, Just like the liberals do declare. But the conservative says:   “Not like that! Not like that! This is how we screw the Democrat. This is how we keep our wallets fat. Not like that! Not like that! Hey motherfucker, not like that!”   Wanna have a country that is sane? Wanna see common sense reign? Wanna see us go down the drain? Then vote the conman in again. Not like that!   Wanna get war weapons off the street? Let your kids’ lives be complete. Comply with 2A, but discr

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

  Chant of the Ever-Spiraling Dipshit   Down is up and round is square, And shoes should be worn in the hair. And 2 plus 2 will equal 3, In the new autocracy. Let’s be clear, I am so smart, I put the horse behind the cart. I let him push it with his head, I beat that horse, but it’s still dead. See me in my merry dance, See the bulge behind my pants. See me make up all new facts, See me when I take them back. Looky, looky, over there! See me criming, you don’t care. See my posts, THEY’RE ALL IN CAPS, See me on constant attack. See me get away with it, So you can all do the same shit. Know we are all the same sort, Guess we all end up in court. See the truth depreciate, See the new ones you should hate. Evidence hid in the weeds, Tending only to my needs. When I sense that I am done, Don’t think I won’t cut and run. And leave my kids some golden trust, If they aren’t under the bus. Now my little song is through, Someone tell

Easy   The birds sing and cheep, While the trees whisper “Sleep.” And the squirrels frantically gather. The sun-dappled leaves, Shift in the breeze, And where would you be rather?   A fox in the clear, Then some startled deer, And a rabbit, small, brown, and frail. Past chipmunk’s den, Brook babbles in glen, And you wander away from the trail. It can soothe you, Doesn’t use you. Isn’t this what we are meant? There is rest here, Can be blessed here, Take our leave of industrial torment. Beneath the wise trees, Your soul takes its ease, This medicine of Nature’s splendor. The troubles you knew, Become lost as you, As you harken to sleepy surrender.   No funds here are transferred, No alarm you need answer, Beholden just to the earth. Released from city sprawl, Be one with the All, Return to your innocence at birth. It can soothe you, Doesn’t use you. Isn’t this what we are meant? There is rest here, Can be blessed here,