When the Poets Run Out of Things to Say

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


it’s not love that you’ve imposed . . .

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.

Occasional Prose

A Most Dangerous Game (Things Heard and Said)

“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.

It was Mickey.

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.


“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?”


“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.


Mooning Around the Sun

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,


that at long last

we avoided that beaming star









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


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.


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.







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.


At the End of the World, Turn Left

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.


That Smile

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


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









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


A Heavy-Handed Metaphor about a Chef’s Knife

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.










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.


The Devil Loves a Gimmick

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.)


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.











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