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As I roll out of bed: A short poem by Mike Cole

As I roll out of bed, sheets unmade

I look around, yet find no aid.

My foot gets caught and I fall

I hear a snap, and begin to crawl.

 

I wonder to myself, is this a dream?

Perhaps I’d believe, if I didn’t scream.

I reach for my coffee  while out of bed

Whoops, down goes the coffee on my head.

 

The heat would be refreshing, if it didn’t burn.

My, oh my, when will I ever learn?

 

Let it be told and not unsaid,

this is why I never get out of bed.

 

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The Hermit: A short story by Mike Cole

He could still remember the day the bombs fell. The heat washing over him and the radiation mutating his body till who he was before held little importance. He could not remember why they went to war and cared little to remember the world as it was before. It was a mess before the war and for better or worse, at least everyone was an equal footing in this brave new world. How many years had it been? 50 years? 100 years? Perhaps 200? In truth, it didn’t really matter. Time stops for no one. What was once a precious commodity in the 21st century held no sway after society collapsed.

Mother Nature had reclaimed what was once hers, although what was left was not as we once remembered. The radiation twisted animals into brutish creatures and those who survived the initial blasts were in for a surprise some 50 years later as the radiation turned cute little woodland creatures into giants with a taste for blood. The Oceans were no better. The Hermit had heard stories of sailors going out and having half their crew torn apart by 100 foot sharks and whole ships dragged to the Ocean depths by giant eels who could bring about thunder storms just from breaching the surface; and these are only the creatures that have been sighted, God only knows what lurks in the darkest reaches of the ocean…

And the weather? Where once people worried about the planet burning us alive (the bombs did that well enough), now a frozen wasteland, the atmosphere a radioactive blanket where light dare not tread. Truth be told, it’s amazing anything survived at all, let alone adapt to this new world; yet adapt it did. The Hermit’s skin was thick from the radiation (it having accelerated his growth) and over the course of about a century and a half, the 5 foot ten lad now stood at 10 feet tall. It is said he could lift 10 men with ease although no one can truly say for certain. For some reason, his body didn’t decay from the radiation; it thrived. Others were not so lucky. Those looking directly at the blast when the bombs fell were blinded instantly and while some survived, most perished.   Those living on the coasts (both West and East) were all but disintegrated, and those who did survive were turned into monsters. Their skin started peeling off, rotting as their body’s couldn’t adapt quickly enough to the rampant mutations. Over time their brains began to rot and their fingers grew into claws as their bones pierced through their skin. Half zombie, half alive, their blood-curdling screams as they found their prey sent chills down even the toughest of men; it didn’t help that the radiation made them much, much faster than any ordinary man.

In order to survive, humanity began to build underground. Those who heard the sirens and made it to the safety of long forgotten bomb shelters were all but spared from the horrors above. Nowhere else to go but down, they dug deep into the Earth and never stopped. They built intricate tunnels which turned into underground Mega Cities powered by the still beating heart of the Earth’s core. Those who were on the surface tried to rebuild cities once lost, however, between the cold and the mutated fiends, quickly learned that the surface world was no longer made for man and thus began their descent. And there remained The Hermit; a man with nothing left to fear and nothing left to lose, a wanderer out of place and out of time. Some called him a Guardian while others couldn’t distinguish him from those forsaken souls who now roamed the Earth; in the end, who can really say what was true?


Hi all, hope you enjoyed this piece of content! I’ve been super busy the last month having started work and all, so I’m glad I was finally able to put the finishing touches on this story. I’m still playing around with writing styles and working on creating vivid Imagery so hopefully you saw some improvement over the last piece of fiction I wrote. I’m also excited to announce that the blog is expanding! Expect a redesign coming soon and more photo focused entries (I can finally afford a camera, yay!) All in all, lots of good things to come. Cheers to the future and thanks for reading!

 

I tried to write a sonnet: A sonnet by Mike Cole

I tried to write a sonnet

I tried to write a sonnet, I really did.

Hours I worked, yet nothing truly clever.

Iambic pentameter brought that to a skid.

I realize now, a fruitless endeavor.

 

Stressed and unstressed can be tough, what to do?

My first poem never saw the light of day.

I watched the clock and time accrued.

Shakespeare was brilliant, what can I say?

 

If I had my way, every line would rhyme,

Yet I’m committed, this sonnet will be done.

The point of no return has arrived, climb!

All this time spent… I could’ve been seeing sun!

 

Alas, no more shall come of this sad affair.

Awake! Awake now! Wake from this nightmare.


So, if you follow my blog, you’ll be aware that over the last few months I’ve been playing around. Trying out different forms of poetry, starting with free form, then writing limericks, and now a sonnet. If you follow my twitter, I’ve also tried my hands at haiku’s. And I have to say, it’s been fun. With that said, the sonnet sounds easy on paper but is extremely difficult to execute. I wrote and rewrote this multiple times, until I threw up my hands and went from a serious sonnet to a humorous one. I might try again down the road, however, I am content with just writing poetry as I see fit; my research has concluded and I’m excited to officially bring poetry back to my blog. If you’ve been here since the beginning, you might remember ‘Fruitful Fridays’ where I analyzed a poem every week; well, it’s back (not every week, but hopefully at least once a month), except I’m doing the writing and you get to analyze! And as always, let me know what you think. My blog is designed for discussion and I always love hearing your comments!

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An ode to coffee: A limerick by Mike Cole

An Ode to Coffee

Oh, coffee, so bitter and sweet

A hero, to rescue those in defeat

When dreams end, you are there

You are a drink, most fair

But you shall be warned, never reheat.


My second attempt at a poem. I’m currently playing around with different formats and seeing what I like most; as they say, practice makes perfect! I also want to try writing more fiction, however, I am currently researching how to write stories, so it’ll be a bit before I try my hands at it again; it also makes me feel a little awkward and dorky, but hey, nothing wrong with being a dork. Next week I should have another post (it’s at 400 words right now) and I’m keeping it a secret as to not spoil the surprise. I also have a Patreon now, so feel free to support a recent college grad if you can spare a dollar a month. If not, that’s ok, I can still afford rice and potatoes.

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Fiction or not: The Forsaken

So it’s time again for a new series. This time, I’m trying my hand at writing fiction. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do but have kept putting aside until now. My idea with this series is to either write isolated, short stories or, depending on feedback and my preference, continuing stories if people want to know more about the worlds I create. Without further ado, enjoy.


It took him a lifetime but he finally realized the mistakes he had made, the moments lost. When his future was in front of him, he turned his back. He thought, “surely the future can wait if not for a bit longer.” Days turned to years and the once young man was now old.

When he finally did make his choice, years ago, it was with little thought. He was living for himself and the pay was good. He was a fisherman of the Western Province, where the fish were some 30 feet long <and these were just the babies.>

It was dangerous work to say the least and the world was not a kind one. The Ocean was a tempest from when Orak, the Giant Squid, was slain. When Orak died, it is said the heavens cried and the Earth grew cold. You see, Orak was a guardian of The Old.

The Western Sea was only referenced as The Untamed, its name of old lost during the Great Fire that engulfed the world in flames. What had once been, no one could remember except for The Wanderers, who some say have lived for hundreds of years.

This did not concern him, however. For he was a Forsaken and life was hard enough on its own.


Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment below if you have any ideas for future “fiction or not” entries. Let me know what you think and feel free to share this post!

Dailypost Challenge word: Tame

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