Random posts by random folks
The saddest word
I ever heard
I heard of just today
that loving her
was to defer
more love to self some way.
How crude,
how worn,
how deep forlorn
that view of love so flawed!
How evident
of life that’s spent
in vanity’s own fraud.
If only you
could see right through
that lie you’re holding close
then you might see
despairingly
it’s not love that you’ve imposed . . .
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.
Okay.
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.
“Heads down!” they commanded. We all put our heads down and covered our eyes. Of everything that could happen in these situations, we always expected the worst. That was for the simple reason that the worst always happpened in these situations.
Their feet shuffled over the floor, any secrecy done out the window with. It seemed like each one would get closer and closer, only to tag their victim and move on. You could hear the exasperated sighs and heavy breathing of anticipation around the small room.
One of them drew near to me. Even with my eyes closed, I could tell who it was. The heels of his boots were too recognizable. I wonder if he even had to think about it. He came over and hit me over the head with unnecessary force, yet there was obviously a bit of restraint involved. Maybe I would live to see another day . . .
“Heads up!” a voice commanded. The room looked like a dozen souls just woke from heavy sleep with weary eyes adjusting to the lights once again. This was the moment of truth.
“You didn’t see anything?” somebody asked one of the others.
“No,” he replied.
“Well, then, who did it?”
He looked around at the lineup, unsure. Several pairs of eyes looked intimidatingly at him. A few seemed to tempt him to give them up, just so they could torment him even further.
“I-I-I don’t know,” he stumbled, eyes trained on Sally.
“You have to give an answer!” he was told, threateningly.
“S-s-sally!” he pointed. “She did it.”
“No.” With that one word, he sank down, defeated.
Now all eyes were trained on me. “Well, C. Who did it?”
I looked at the lineup. Sally was still in the running but I knew it wasn’t her. She wouldn’t risk a cooties epidemic. Al had a mischievous look on his face but it was obviously a distraction; he had figured out how to psychologically manipulate others early on.
That left two. The first was Woodrow. He sported a fancy pair of cowboy boots and would’ve wore the hat if permitted. He seldom had a mean streak though, just a penchant for orneriness. It wasn’t him. Not even close.
He smirked, knowingly. It was killing him not to laugh. I must have had a bump on my head or something. It certainly hurt, but watching him try not to laugh somehow hurt too.
“You guys have to start answering faster! We’re running out of time!” There was urgency in the teacher’s voice. There was betrayal in mine.
“Woodrow.”
“You’re out!”
I imagined how I would fight Mickey later on, use my size to my advantage. I would not hold back. Maybe punch him? Kick him? Tell him how he was a damned bully and I was going to lay the hurt on him?
After a few rounds of Heads Up Seven Up, the rainy day activity came to a close. They sent us single file down to lunch. Mickey and I sat together, of course.
“I wish they’d let us play outside in the rain,” he complained.
“That would be more fun,” I agreed.
“You know I tagged you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he said, taking a bite out of lukewarm piece of cardboard masquerading as a piece of pizza. I sipped a chocolate milk, realizing that vengeance may not be the best option. The table was already pretty lonely.
here comes the sun
to hide from again
with tattered umbrellas
and lukewarm lemonade
in either hand,
and when the night
should happen to fall
then let us drink deeply
from the moon shine
that flows down
to us,
laughing
that at long last
we avoided that beaming star
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I almost named this poem “Vitamin D(umbass)” but figured the satire was already too on the nose. Anyway, here’s a similarly themed poem from Instagram:
The only things people could tell me about Independence
involved Truman or the Oregon Trail.
True. They sometimes forget the other trails.
Folks came there back in the day
to get back out again.
Maybe that’s why they called it
Independence.
For a smalltown boy it just seemed neat
that someplace so close to home
had some history
you could talk about without the usual
feelings of uneasiness
one might feel talking about our town.
Independence had history.
Independence had a bookstore.
Why, they even had some businesses in that town,
a foreign sight from the outside.
I heard recently that the bookstore closed,
don’t know about anything else around there.
Left a while back. Took the gateway out west.
Try not to look back.
Out west, the likes of Wyatt Earp
or even Marshall Dillion
might kick you out of Dodge.
Don’t know, don’t care.
I just look up and enjoy the nothingness.
Funny.
Even the nothingness has more to offer
than the festering wounds
of a heart that moves
because of feasting maggots.
But I failed myself and looked back.
That is what I saw. Not Independence. Not the cities.
I only came back
to leave again.
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This and its companion piece “Midwestern” were spurred on by something general but not responses to anything in particular.
I grew up in Missouri (not terribly far from Kansas or Iowa) and ended up in the Dakotas after several years in Wisconsin. I find it necessary to preface both poems by saying that I have no ill-will toward the Midwest. I’ll call anyplace “home” that God has brought me to.
There’s good and bad in all places. But we can always do better, and so can the communities we know.
“Midwestern” can be found on my Instagram page. It is also included below.
Nowhere has to be somewhere
but somewhere between here and there
we lost our way again.
You joked that you “know where”
this nowhere was
and I smiled with a bloody lip.
We didn’t know where we were
or where we would end up
and the map we drew
cut off the roads to Rome.
Was this the beginning or the end?
No, where was this going?
Know where this was going.
The path lay straight ahead
but the ditches looked like fun.
No, not hers
though I had never seen her glow
like that
nor had I seen her float on air . . .
it was his smile, a dear friend
trapped in the ugly snares
of this vale of tears
and he smiles
with her.
That boy would find ten pounds of goodness
in a five-pound sack labeled “bad”
but he would not
keep any for himself.
My friend–and her too–here’s to you
and the many, many
good and happy years
ahead.
Be well, be good,
stay blessed
in Him
who brought you together.
There’s a corner
In my backyard
Under the oak tree
Where the shade
Hits just right
And the calming
Sounds of birds
Sing in the distance
I’ve seen possums
Sleep underneath
The grill cover
After a long night’s
Journey, and a
Cat and her kittens
Play in the cool
Of the shade
While cardinals and
Blue Jays land
On the ground
Looking for acorns
And insects.
The squirrel loves
To come by, trying
Hard to stay
Stealthy, but the
Fuzzy tail and
Suspicious look
Draw the curious
Attention of the other
Creatures in the yard
It is odd to see
Such harmony
In this urban jungle
But if oddities
Can equate to peace
Then I wouldn’t
Mind living
In such an odd world
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Author’s Note: I’ve been thinking about a lot of things recently and reading back on some old works from the past. In honesty, I’ve been using this blog mostly as a way to release some negative energy, for lack of a better word or phrase, but after the events of 2020, and considering how things have been in 2021 so far, I’ve come to realize that the old ways haven’t really been working for me. After doing some reflecting, I feel it’s better to just take the positives when we get them and share the wealth around.
–Clint, aka C. E. Knight
Each part of the knife
has a purpose–
the point makes holes,
the tip cuts into the finest slices,
the edge slices, dices, chops, cuts,
the spine provides balance to the rest of the blade,
the heel provides strength, stability,
as does the tang,
the bolster protects the hand that works,
and the fastener brings it all together–
each part of the knife
has a purpose.
One does not want a dull, rusty knife,
but a sharp and sturdy one
that will last a lifetime
or longer.
It needs care, it needs to be handled carefully
yet with knowledge of its function,
functions which are not more, less, or outside
its proper use.
Proper care, knowledge,
a proper balance
of fear, fun, and functionality
further show that
each part of the knife
has a purpose.
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I don’t know what the metaphor is specifically. I cut myself earlier while slicing bread but that was a serrated knife, not a chef’s knife ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Stay sharp, y’all! — the real C. D.
This sweet, old woman I revered
came into the Sunday school classroom
when I was a kid
in a leather jacket
and with a cigarette in hand.
“This is what the devil does,”
she taught, and jokingly attempted to give us
those nicotine smokestacks
for added effect.
“This is what the devil does,”
she said, parading around the small room
with a pair of sunglasses
she produced from her pocket.
We laughed. It was funny at the time.
It was not what we needed to hear.
It was not what the Bible taught.
The wolf in sheep’s clothing was not decked out
with a leather jacket and cigarette in hand–
we need not have looked far to find that
(and we could have asked how
one sweet old woman whom
we revered
conveniently had all of it anyway.)
No,
the sheep’s clothing was innocent looking,
tempting Eve in the Garden with a question,
“Did God truly say?”, or
tempting God in the flesh,
quoting the Old Testament scriptures
out of context.
The devil doesn’t want to hide out
away from church buildings–
he wants to inhabit them,
he wants confusion,
he wants to use the word of God
to lead astray
while the people chant “Lord, Lord!”
and have no idea
what they’re saying.
The devil is not wearing a leather jacket
with a cigarette in hand–
the devil often wears a cross around his neck
and teaches anything and everything
except the message of it.
The Spirit teaches truth
but the devil loves a gimmick.
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8 Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. 9 Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world. 10 But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you. 11 To Him be the glory and the dominion forever and ever. Amen.
1 Peter 5:8-11
The Unnecessary Blog 