Origin Story

I know you

I walked with you

once upon a dream

or so I thought anyway–

it all grows confusing

when I stop to think about it.

So I try not to stop and think about it

but I do

every now and then.

I’ll take a detour

on a road, a path,

an avenue

of questionable memories

in my brain.

Disorientation takes hold

and it all grows confusing again.

I know you

but it isn’t fate

and it wasn’t the past

and my mind never could have

come up with a dream

like you.


The Eyes Have It

The eyes have it.
Yours didn’t.
Do I stay
or do I go?
I didn’t know.
Now we both exist,
we live our lives–good lives!–
but we cross paths
with passing glances.
I don’t need to know
but I sure want to.
Do we course correct,
do we connect, do we
throw all caution without care,
do we carry on
as two unpaired?
What’s the story
hidden there?
Is it one
you want to share?






Occasional Prose

Human Nature (Things Heard and Said)

I was just headed to my car when another car slowly pulled up behind me. It was an older woman behind the wheel. She had a prominent frown on her face but you know what they say about the books and the covers and such.

Where’s the car wash around here?’

‘Which one?’

‘The car wash!she reiterated.

‘There’s two that direction,’ I explained to her, pointing north. ‘One on the left and one at the right.’

‘I’m looking for one called the Spa.’

‘That’ll be on the right,’ I said. ‘Alright, see that light right there?’

She nodded.

‘You’re going to go straight through that. When you get to the second light, you’re going to take a right.’

‘So go through the first light, turn right at the second?’

‘Yes ma’am. There’ll be an Aldi up there by the Spa.’

‘I’m not from around here so I won’t be looking for that,’ she assured me with a hiss.

‘Fair enough. Hope that helps. Have a good one.’

‘Yeah,’ she muttered and drove slowly to the end of the lot. She had to turn around and headed out of the lot just as slow.

I got in my car and started towards those two intersections too. I was headed to the left though. I figured she would already be at the car wash since I didn’t leave the parking lot right away. But sure enough, we met at the first intersection.

You realize how incredibly boring this story is, right?

I do.


I was in the left lane, she was in the right. The light turned green and we started for the second light straight ahead. Couldn’t miss it if you tried. I looked over a couple times to get her attention but she was like a horse with blinders. She was on a mission. And when we got to the light, I made my way to the left turn lane.

And she made her way to the right?

Nope. I watched that grumpy old woman haul ass through a yellow light, headed straight.


One Way Street

The city burns as Nero plays

but you would rather face the blaze

to fight for riches–ash and soot–

cheap treasures trampled underfoot.

You made it there, why can’t you leave?

Weren’t you the one who did believe

that all the roads did lead to Rome?

Then why can’t they help guide you home?



The twinkle in your eye

was no reflection,

it is the winds.

I know you, I said.

I recognize the storm.

Would those eyes bear tears or rain,

a blissful mist

or natural phenomenon

without rival?

You were always a calming storm,

but I seem to bring out

its destructive side.

Won’t you rain on me, storm,

won’t you talk to me?


The Point of No Return

To forget the sins of the past

is folly

all present things considered–

like where would we be?

what would we know?

who would we know?

Wouldn’t dare leave that

to chance or fate,

sun, moon, or stars.

You think that I’m a fool

but we’re both standing here now.

So now I must know:

did I forget something

or did you?

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


The Sound of Falling Trees

Look here, now look and hear . . .

People carry cardboard signs, the remnant of old trees,

painted with large letters: I’M UPSET

but for what? It was not specified.

Pillows wet with tears

scream quietly in desperation

for the pain to end

and the silent cries uttered

from desperate hearts

echo through the body’s exterior:

looks of tiredness, anger,

shock, and apathy.

No letters, many signs.

Someone has a twitch in their eye,

another shudders at a touch,

yet another smiles

because that will at least mask

the silent yells.

Starving mothers, fathers, siblings

give the only morsel

to the child.

Multitudes stand silent

and wait.


And wait.

A noise is heard ’round the world,

“Help!” Help who? Who needs it?

No one said they needed help . . .

If a tree falls in the forest

and no one is there to hear it–

Yes, yes, most definitely yes,

the forest reaches

beyond the bark

of our own trees.

Look here, now look and hear.