You make me the man I am

I am not half the man
I am
Without you by my side.

Every moment’s echo is thrice-trebled
With the resounding knowledge
That when we bask in the warmth
Of each other’s loving presence
Every single passing second
Is a second shared
And a second cherished.

It has been a while since my aching heart
Has held your head in my hands;
Stroked your hair
And felt the gaze of your almond eyes,
But it is tonight we reunite
And I become Thrice-trebled the man I am right now once more.

Redundancy

I used to play

To joke

To smile at jokes that someone once made.

I had a dry sense of humour

And I had many friends in the people I met in my day-to-day.

 

But once my cap and gown were safely packed away

And the next step in life was heading my way

I soon had to face the harsh light of reality

As wages had to be earned,

Egos had to be tolerated

And agendas – both known and unknown –

Pushed me through the plasticine mould that it saw fit for me.

 

And while I worked away, thinking

With only my aspirations, goals and dreams in minds

My voice was shrinking

My chest was tightening

And time was running out.

 

But my goal was there

And I knew what I had to do,

Or so I thought

As the days grew longer

And I grew ever critical of the smallest mistake

That no one would notice but me

And maybe my boss.

 

But my goal was still there, though ever smaller and dragging me on,

As I travelled upstream, seeking that final respite.

 

I was called into the board room shortly after 12.

I could see the sincerity in their faces,

I was just finishing a project.

 

As surreal as it was, I just remember exhaling.

I was free to explore at last.

My work, my life I could have it all back

No more toxic environment and endless tasks.

 

I could breathe. And most importantly, with my head held high.

 

I was made redundant at the beginning of March and have since worked hard to regain everything that gave colour to my life. I am now fully employed again, in an environment that I can live in. I have my weekends back, I am learning so many new skills and have learnt so many life lessons. This empty time on my blog has been the most important of my life and I hope to rekindle my passion for my writing and my connection with the blogosphere.
Happy Writing!

Day to Day

My routine with the world
Barely changes.
From the time that it takes to drag
My heavy self out of bed,
To the milk I pour on my malted wheats,
To the bus that I amble past the course of
To the tram that crowds my platform.

Every morning I feel the waking ache
Of a hundred people
Sway with the groaning beast that carries us down the track.

Radio News

As Sense: A collection of short stories has been out for 24 days now, I have some very exciting news. I had a radio interview (recorded on Thursday) and it has now aired. For the next seven days only the link can be listened to here:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p01dy030/Peter_Holmes_24_08_2013/

(You’ll have to skip to 50 mins approx.)

If you are interested in the collection it can be found and purchased here. I’d love to hear what you think!

Time to Publish

sense cover jpeg

Fantastic news, although I have been incredibly quiet, it has been with good reason. Within the next ten days I will be putting the final touches to a fabulous short story collection. All the news and updates will be published on this appropriately linked blog above.

The book will be called Sense, and touches on what it is to be human and to live in the technologically advancing society that we do. The blog’s homepage shows off a  pre-released cover, with the University of Essex’s branding who are endorsing the collection.

OUT JULY 31ST

Independent Man

Why fight the sheep,

When it is so easy to be carried along

By their soft wool

And steady bleating.

 

You see the black sheep,

And are envious of his wool,

But he still follows the rest

And fights for a place amongst the rest.

 

As you are huddled up

With them all surrounding,

The air thins

Despite the open fields.

 

Every sheep follows the dogs orders,

But it is time

– Finally –

To step out on your hind legs,

And test who you are

Against your own wits

And temperaments,

Accepting the judgements of others.

Take a breath of fresh air,

Feel your own surroundings.

 

Escape.

My Last Poem

What is the last poem that I’ll ever write?

Will it be at the hands

Of disinterest,

Or at the hands

Of death?

 

What will the subject be?

Love?

Philosophy?

Or both intwined?

 

If I were to become

Famous and lost in pages,

A hundred years down the line

Only for young academics to

Rekindle my lack of rhyme scheme

Would this be the last poem

– the last thought of mine –

To have resurrected life?

Time is at Every Turn

It was when I bought a clock

That I kept hearing it tick.

Even when it broke

– by my hand –

Its sound was always

One step ahead of my heartbeat.

 

Even burying it outside

And playing the loudest music

Never stopped the seasons

Or the rain.

 

Everywhere I looked

The second hand

Met my every move.