On the seashore, stretching endless,
There stands a lighthouse, a beacon of light.
Staying alone, it faces the roaring waves,
Guiding lost sailors and ships aright.
It often watches thundering breakers
It doesn’t command them to be still
Nor chase the brewing storms away
But sheds light poised on a rocky hill.
How many stories a lighthouse has to recount!
Stories of havoc, plunder and shipwreck,
Tales of escape from the fury of typhoons,
Of love and romance enacted on the deck.
Each lighthouse holds a mystical allure.
Broader at its base and narrower on its face,
It has a cylindrical and tapering shape
And stands as a sentinel with a piercing gaze.
In each one, there’s a lighthouse shining within
It guards us from all storms brewing inside
Shedding light along life’s murky tracks,
Leading us to coveted destinations like a guide.
The cliff juts high, it towers over water
Its head is dyed with silver-green and orange grass
I got the camera eye of watching walker
To reach the future that next second turns to past
I like to see the strangers who can’t see me
I sniff the scent of lavender and clover
I’m envying the trees and bumblebees
That buzz around, and when the walk is over
I switch to you, to see your smile again
To hear your words, if you may share some news
But fortunately, everything’s the same
As yesterday, and all those days we used..
of meaning
and reason
Don’t fall!
Everything is broken
In a way you don't understand
Safe within your bubble
Isolated from your fellow man
Granted safety from your birth
As loathe as you are to admit
Privilege is a dirty word
But it's one that unfortunately fits
White of skin and comfortable
With the gender of your birth
How oft do you gaze upon us
And consider us of worth?
See the ones in charge of us
Aim gunblades at this half
Pray, are you just as incensed
Or give a shaky laugh?
If the sword or gun pointed
Doesn't aim at your head
But at those of your fellow man
Do you still feel the dread?
Are you content to stop and stare
As nooses are fashioned?
Knowing you've escaped today
The rest of us are shunned
Do the pointless deaths incense your soul
Stoking violent flame
Or when the victims aren't of your ilk
Is it just a silly game?
Everything is broken
In a way you could understand
If only you would reach on out
To pull up your fellow man.
On a racing abseil down a scarred, breathless face,
I surprise stalled, smelling the waxy comb
before hearing the anthem-buzz of stinging sirens.
To a zipping stop, there deep,
back in the dark out-of-sight
lay flashlight hidden, shadowed away,
a secluded cave of stone sweetness.
From out the needle-sharp, eye-biting karoo light,
the bees rocket dive like shining embers bright,
fire-honed, humming into their honey cave home,
swallowed into the dense sweetness.
As Life extrudes with centrifugal spin,
each to fingernail climb her
chosen rockface of cold hardness,
or
to flurry, fret and fly a million flights
from high forest or low scrubland,
all seeking the warm softness
of our own honey cave,
safe on an untroubled cliff.
Atop the edge where silence leans,
A figure stands — the dusk between.
No name, no face the canvas shows,
Just wind that hums what no one knows.
The sky explodes in molten fire,
A final gasp of day's desire.
It stains the clouds in crimson breath,
A masterpiece that flirts with death.
Does he await or does he grieve?
Or dream of flight he can't achieve?
The brushstroke speaks, but not too loud —
He’s part of sky, yet not a cloud.
He watches time with open chest,
The sun, the fall, the endless rest.
Yet still he stands, the final spark—
A question burning through the dark.
The Cliff: Huxtable
My Favorite Comedian
Was!
Mr. Bill Cosby.
Surprise!
Not Any
M
o
o
o
r
r
r
e
!
!
!
-Gray Squirrel
06-09-2025
The Cliff
Creation
Isn't
Over
Yet.
At Least From Our
Perspective:
Corporeal.
Everything Hasn't
Happened Yet!
It Might -
Who Knows?
Nobody Can!
***
That's The Point.
***
That's Why The
Unidirectional
Flow Of Time
IS THE Rule...
For Life...
For All The:
*Fun*
&
*Mystery.*
A Built In
Constant...
[Quantum]
Cliffhanger...
Will It --- ???
Will It --- ???
Will It What?
-Gray Squirrel
06-09-2025
On a cliff I stood alone
A night so dark, with no place to call home
The wind it howled, like a mournful sigh
As I gazed out, at the darkened sky
The stars above they twinkled bright
But brought no comfort, to my troubled night
The world below, it seemed so far away
As I stood there, with nothing to say
The cliff’s edge, it beckoned me near
A precipice, where tears and fears appear
I felt so lost, with no direction to take
A night on the cliff, with my heart at sake
The darkness closed, like a shroud around
As I whispered low, a sorrowful sound
The night on the cliff, it took it’s toll
Leaving me shattered, with a heart that’s cold.
Lonely is the one who only ever follows
Cursed is the one who chooses his own path.
For neither ever will be truly satisfied.
A problem such as this
Doesn’t seem to exist for a sheep.
Even on a cliff’s edge,
A sheep is neither hurt nor dead.
Perhaps only weighed down by his own coat.
Perhaps that is not only his predicament.
But is the case for all those around him.
Vision obscured by his own wool.
If he cannot see, why should the world around him matter?
He is the center of the herd.
Never a leader but never last.
However, a day will come
When time has passed
His life will be nearing the end of its rope.
He will be old and without hope.
And he will wonder why he never just sheared his head.
But, he is only a sheep on a cliff’s edge.
These problems don’t exist.
Sheep don’t have to take risks.
They stay in a herd
With a shepherd in tow
They will never know what lies off the path
Or a hundred feet below.
there's no one around you see
it's just me and cliff
ear buds help cushion the volume
my smartphone warns me
it could damage my ears
i put it at full volume
it's 9:40pm and the family are asleep
this could go on all night
cliff said he was proud he never adopted a
hedonistic rock and roll lifestyle and never wanted
to trash a hotel room
i've just trashed the attic
One nerve-wracking race
Is motor bike cliff climbing
Grand finesse with grace.
Behold sequestered by the sea,
not whale, nor seal, nor small sand-flea.
This is the face of old grand Ewe,
whom from the cliffs, has come to view.
Though slit-eyed stare, gazes at the ocean,
watching it move in glorious motion.
And then slowly moves across the land,
as trotters deep in arduous sand.
But none the less, the ewe finds the rock,
somewhere steady, to rest her flock.
And signals up with baas of glee,
as sheep come down, all primed for tea.
Yet when the waves do come to shore,
Ewe is perplexed by fish galore.
It flaps its tail, and moves its fin,
yet gasps for air with frightful grin!
For no chud nor chard to eat but bark,
blown in from prior stormy dark.
Ewe signals to the nearby scene,
and struts upon its golfing green.
And takes a bite and likes the taste,
and soon the whole flock emigrate.
Yet by the morn, when putters come,
the grass is gone, all in Ewe's tum.
And so sequestered by put and club,
Ewe takes her flock all way back up.
To grassy cliff, to rocky hills,
away from modern-day, beach side thrills.
But never will the Ewe forget,
The escapade, with no regret.
03.17.2024
CERAMISTA cliff leach
impermeable
& opaque
functional
translucent
vitrified
faience
undervalued
engobe
terra
signposts
burnished
& defined
The mountains of the mind
are not high,
peaks that raise no taller
than the spike of a moment,
and yet,
to climb them can be treacherous,
thoughts can be avalanches.
Better to just watch,
those bluffs, buttes, and cliffs
as if on an oscilloscope,
let them pass you by
as meaningless blips.
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