The Runner- An elegy for Peter Holmes

Following the tragic death of fellow runner Pete Holmes on the weekend at just 24 I was moved to write an elegy for him. It doesn't do his positive attitude and eternal fighting spirit justice but it's just a tribute to a man who was a very influential blogger, so I thought I'd post it here:

The Runner

An elegy for Peter Holmes

The pistol fires. There is no sound,

As footsteps start to churn the ground.

One young man, no longer there,

Leaves behind his racing wear.

Forever reaching to the sky,

There was no earthly reason why

He journeyed to that foreign track,

And shoulder-high was carried back.

When last we met he boldly beat me,

Now the memories alone defeat me.

Our rivalry has turned to pain:

A fight against the empty lane.

I miss him most for what he loved:

A contest pure, unchained, un-gloved.

Not petty acts of spite or war,

But that which makes us something more.

The passing miles are silent now,

The watch alone can tell us how

The ailing seconds tick today.

His words no longer ease the way.

His faith was strong, and all his own.

Perhaps this comforts me alone:

He, the runner, will ever be,

Running strong.

Running true.

Forever free.

The poem, barring subsequent improvements, was originally written for Pete’s funeral. It took inspiration from his harrier spirit, and two moving texts: A. E. Housman’s beautiful ‘To An Athlete Dying Young’ and Pete’s favourite verse from the Bible (New International Version):

"I run in the path of Your commands,

for You have set my heart free."

Psalm 119:32

London dark poem

It's been some time since I've used the Blog, despite still believing it to be a great tool! For anyone who may or may not read this, due to its believe acquiesence, I post a poem about London, where I've been studying for the last few years. It's somewhat dark on subsequent reading, but perhaps summarised feelings on damp days there:


My dearest London
I’ll walk upon your streets again, my dearest London, when,
I tire of pleasant countryside where I have come to rest
And finally appreciate that town that knows me best.
When thrill of base amusement makes me leave my hideaway
To search for some dank alley where I’ll pass out in the day.

I’ll walk upon your streets again, my dearest London, when,
The cussing crowds all dissappear, and cease to squeeze and swarm
And sputtering, guttering poison fumes no longer keep them warm.
When acid clouds all reappear and drench us in a storm
And faces ill-remembered start to lose their shape and form.

I’ll walk upon your streets again, my dearest London, when,
With body gone and spirit free I finally walk alone
And streets become so empty I can rightly call them home.
When the darkness comes for me and light starts fading fast
I won't abandon you dear London; I’ll be here to the last!