Category: Poem

Tasted like honey: A poem by Mike Cole

He took a sip and it tasted sweet,

She took a breath and felt the heat.

Like lovers they danced and steam began to form.

Miles apart, a desire was born.

A dream, a sigh, a chance to deny.

And yet neither did, the trance had its hold.

It’s been interesting to write love poetry to say the least. I’ve played with Dark themes and more excitable themes. This poem is a personal favorite as I’ve leaned into the more figurative and image driven. I’m a fan of imperfect rhymes and free verse. Coupling lines together is enjoyable, but there is just something about the mismatch at the end that really speaks volumes. It creates an emphasis on the last line, adding a sense of finality to what is a fast moving poem.

You Never Knew Me: A poem by Mike Cole

You never knew me, nor I you.

Two strangers, passing through.

The wind whispered as we walked,

No words uttered, no words talked.

So strangers we remained, only ever passing.

For in love, nothing is ever truly lasting.

A poem I’m sure many can find themselves acquainted with. Unrequited love. The brief, fleeting thought of acting on attraction, but letting a moment pass. It’s beautiful but ultimately tragic.

With this poem, I tried to capture an idea, a moment. It emphasizes what is unsaid and plays with the idea of saying more, without explicitly stating it.

The lines are coupled, following a simple AABB rhyme scheme. I like to weave tints of tragedy into love poems to make them more human and with the end of the poem, you get a sinking feeling. The flow is thrown slightly off rhythm and lacks much of the excitement of the earlier lines. It is abrupt and signifies that this is truly an end, not a beginning.

Love Letter Never Sent: A poem by Mike Cole

He held the letter in his hand,

as he watched it turn to sand.

In the wind it blew,

holding words she never knew.

Fire that burned ever bright,

shifted towards perpetual night.

November Wind: A poem by Mike Cole

He felt a chill as the air grew cold

The leaves blew gently

He closed his eyes

This November was colder than usual.

He chopped wood and carried the bundle back to the fireplace

The wood crackled as it burned.

He thought back to Novembers long before, and was left, wanting.

A time where the warmth of the fire was felt throughout.

Where his jaded smile was once whole.

Yet only the cold remained. Waiting for Winter, silently and alone.