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.
I have one thousand eyes
There are two on my head
Nine hundred ninety-five in my mind
Three of them are dead
Two see a screen
Ten see a light
Five see a glass
Moonshine or insight
I have two voices
One rests in my lungs
One covers my heart
Squeeze the ba-dum
One speaks so quiet
It is asked to speak up
One screams to the abyss
That it will never give up
I have six legs
Two lay so still
Two hold me up
Two aim to kill
Two legs find a ledge
Two eyes follow, stiff
One voice tells my conscious
"There is a cliff."
The brightest yellow ball is dilute on the vast blue horizon.
The heavenly peace that the restless breezes create is indescribable.
It might be the last day for overthinking minds, unsettled feelings, and unwelcoming miseries.
This huge wave will eventually erase them forever.
What...? Why does this chameleon mind get shocking, frightful,
suddenly thinks about the good things, unlike any other day.
It is always professional at making things difficult.
But what can I do?
RIP............... to the people on that cliff.
Emerald Waves crashing, lapping,
frolicking on the tranquil seashore….
I watch, I reminisce, I close my eyes…
alone, standing on a cliff!
A Buddhist temple on the sublime shore,
chimes soaring from above,
I drown myself in a tranquil reverie,
inspiring my creative imagination.
Aha, I remember my serene childhood,
remember the days when revelling
on the shore with the playful waves,
hear the blithe giggle of my little friends,
each day was a blissful experience!
I stand on this cliff,
there is no noise except the waves rising and falling,
From this height, the world seems an enormous wonder,
My whole life seems to manifest itself,
I feel like a traveller from the ancient world,
walking through the ages,
crossing seas and oceans,
hills and dales of the universe…
Am I walking for thousands of years,
In search of love, kindness,
and inner Peace!
As I watch the magnificent waves out at sea, on their journey back to me, I think of all the brave sailors and fishermen who became victims of the fury I see below. The violence portrayed and the helplessness of a tiny ship caught off course. Tears moisten my eyes.
Lamenting over the erosion that years of this phenomenon has caused, and knowing Mother Nature knows best.
Forceful, mighty waves relentlessly smash against the cliff face, creating bountiful bursts of explosive white foam erupting against the rocks.
A magnitude of surging, tumultuous sea water bursts mercilessly against the battered land giving forth a silver mist sprayed high, to be returned to the angry sea.
The ocean like a furious banshee, pummeling itself, smashing against the rock wall, powerfully swirling a torrent of vivid froth, slowly disappearing as the ocean retreats once again.
Like an almighty cauldron, curling and twirling, stirred by the sea, it came bashing, as a torrential torrent pounded endlessly.
The wielding waves crashing and wafting spray, offered no mercy, so from my clifftop vantage point, I walked away.
Somewhere partially due east
Of Hunching Cliff
On the Jurassic coast
Where the Old Lighthouse
Used to stand it's ground
Battered intermittently minutely
Against the wave's and constant tide
With only the steeple rock formations
As any form of barrier or protection
Without it's blinking search light
Now sleep's ever more come
The darkness under cover of solent night
It no longer greets any ships or shoals
All it does and is left to do now is
Rot and crumble away and be covered in
Crustacean shell's and a wreaking scent
Of salty thick white sea mist
That serves simply as to keep the
occasionally passing odd
1 or 2 trophy hunter or ghoulish
collector
From further quickening it's imminent
demise
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