Category: Creative Writing

A Place I used to know: A short story by Mike Cole

The drive was long. He had driven down this road once before, when he had moved. It had been day then as he eyeballed the setting sun. How strange it felt to be going back to where it all began. The funeral was to be held on Sunday and he wanted to get there a day early. He never got the chance to say goodbye and it haunted him like a ghost.

His headlights flickered and he saw a shadow on the road. As night came, the darkness engulfed the once peaceful country road. It was a lot of backroads on this drive and the area was littered with abandoned homes. Mostly farmland, but a gas station did pop up here and there. The closest city was 50 miles away, or in other words, his destination. He heard distant thunder, then came the rain.

Low visibility made it nigh impossible to drive and the wind made the rain pelt the car even harder. Hours passed and the rain didn’t let up. He saw a flash of lightning and decided to pull over for the night. And that’s when he heard it. A pop of the tire and the car slowly coming to a stop in the dead of night. His headlights flickered and he saw a shadow.

A bolt of lightning and the shadow was gone. He was trying to remember what he had in the back of his car, all packed away for emergency use. A tire he knew, but he couldn’t remember if he had brought the tools. He opened the trunk as the rain pelted him. A few adjustments and he’d be on his way. And that’s when he saw it, peering out from the forest. It was him, pale but unmistakable. A ghostly figure, torn apart. He rubbed his eyes just to make sure and then the figure was gone. Chills went up his spine and the wind began howling, indistinguishable from screams.

Rubberband: A poem by Mike Cole

We were born as a rubber band

And for a while, the universe kept us together.

But as time moved, the rubberband began to get pulled.

Each pull, stretching the rubberband evermore.

So in opposite directions we went until the rubberband reached its end.

And it snapped us back together for one last dance.

But it was too late, for the band had aged and when it snapped us back, it broke,

Flinging us among the stars

What if I stayed: A poem by Mike Cole

What if I stayed, would it matter?

A chance to turn back the clock, a chance to stop time.

What if I stayed, would it change a thing?

Would the church bells ring and would the birds sing?

Would we go back to where we were? Before the pain and before the hurt?

In another life maybe it could have been.

But now night comes and tomorrow will be dawn.

Suffocating: A Poem by Mike Cole

I took a breath to feel if I was alive

My life was mine to survive

It would easy to make this rhyme, all the way through.

But life is imperfect, just like you.

A broken smile, a glance at the wall.

You stand and yet you fall.

Where is your glory, where is your name.

What is to happen, when you play this game.

Tomorrow shines a new dawn,

And come tomorrow you’ll be gone.

So it is once again national poetry month and I’m ready. As I have done for a few years now, this is where I go through my poetry and analyze it myself. What I write and why I wrote it. This year, I am fairly exhausted as I execute my big plans. With poetry, a lot of it is a reflection into the soul. These next couple months are mostly about survival. Whatever it takes to get where I need to be. The first couplet reflects this. Often I like to make imperfect rhymes to reflect broken poems, this time however, I didn’t. It is simply a series of couplets with matching rhymes throughout. The poem itself is a reflection of dreams and how life doesn’t meet expectations. And with the last couplet, I reference leaving it all behind. It’s a line that’s hopeful yet cautious. While some of my poetry is a mix between life and fantasy, this poem follows more closely to where I am currently at. Leaving my hometown is in reach but getting there has taken many years of planning. It will require paying my debts and venturing deep into uncharted territory, a scary prospect for any soul, so the name is accurate. It feels like I’m out of breath as I make cash, plan housing, work on my skillset, and ultimately, a new life.

And… That’s it! That’s the poem and some of the logic that went into writing it. This national poetry month is about to ramp up. Get ready for a few more poems and a month of celebrating the art. As always, thanks for reading!