Bad Dreams

Hang the bad dreams

on the clothesline

to whip in the wind,

stuck in place

as they would do to you,

and iron out

the woe trapped in the wrinkles,

pressing them into


with look and smell and feel

of summer warmth

Poetry · Stuff

Window Dressing

Wouldn’t you, couldn’t you,

shouldn’t you agree

that there’s problems with the site

and not the dressing?




There are quite a few people on WordPress just giving up their sites. Many of the ones I know of (many, not all) are fed up with the app and block editor. I don’t blame them for that–I took a posting hiatus late last year with the same issue. The editor seems to be getting worse these days.

I only bring this up because while that’s getting worse, the font on the Reader has gussied up. That’s great! But in addition to that, every contraction is showing up separated on every post I read. Has that been happening for you all too?

It’s their platform and they can do what they wish with it. I would be upset if I was shelling money out to host this site but fortunately I’m not. I just wish the right person(s) in charge with updating WordPress would value functionality over window dressing.

Here’s a screeshot of the app after this post was published.

Waiting, Wanting, Needing

She dances gracefully

on the wisps

of non-existent memories

in my heart,

spurred on by music box melodies

of songs yet to be written.

I want and I beg

for her to leave,

to trod on the worn-out

welcome mat

on her way out,

but the thought of her leaving

hurts me in another, yet familiar, way.

My head bobs,

my foot taps.

Some pollution of ignorance

still travels through

my veins.

It wants her to go


I need her

to stay.


back in time

if i could go back in time

to take back those words i said

in haste

then i would ask for forgiveness

in light of my mistakes

with remorse and all alacrity and

with apology and action, still vulnerable,

because love is still

and it’s always there

as it’s the past’s and future’s present

from one soul to another

in patience, in kindness, in selflessness

to love more each day, your love being

the only thing i’d want . . .

if i could go back in time


Say So

Where are you?

Have you made camp

near lakes and rivers

of the bitter tears you’ve shed?

Are you trapped inside

your head again?

Are you suspended

in the humid air

of deep breaths and sighs

trying to land?

Are you landlocked

in the past

and trying to fly?

I can’t rescue you

but here’s my hand

to grab onto,

a shoulder for leaning,

an ear to hear,

a candle burning–

I’ll look for you

if you wish,

if you say so.


Looking at the Clouds of Rain

The clouds on the horizon look

like snow capped mountains,

something I haven’t seen

in a decade or so.

Their shape is implanted

in my brain.

These clouds are real

but they are not mountains.

The mountains seldom change.

Right? Right?

Perhaps I’ll see them again

one day

if the clouds don’t drown me first–

I know they’re still there.

Reviews · Stuff

“Is Creativity Dead?”

Does that sound like a test question? Probably. We attempted to answer it though. On today’s episode, Clint and I talked about how stories don’t change while they are constantly changing. He would normally make the post here, but we’ve included a few extras today. So if you have thoughts on the subject, there is a poll below. There’s also a little “behind the scenes” bit on the second slide of the Instagram post.

Episode 8 of the Unnecessary Podcast can be found on the following sites:



Google Podcasts




(If anyone is interested in reading their poetry on the program–by pre-recording an audio file, having it read, or some other method–feel free to contact us on the contact page or email cdanders91@gmail.com )

Hope you all have a great weekend.

God bless!

C. D. “Cory” Anders


Breaking the Ice

It’s not that I don’t care

but that

even the languages

we all share in these poetic words

are delicate mirrors

into ourselves and others–

it serves a purpose, let’s us see within,

but it’s imperfect, not quite accurate,

and the slightest disturbance

can shatter it into deadly shards.

It’s not that I don’t care

but that

I get excited to share my imperfect words

and break the thin ice instead.