The following write up has appeared on the publication page of The End of Summer by Michael Holme (for which i am grateful for)
Right from the start of the first poem in this collection, I realised I was reading words penned by a writer very different to myself: “The first few times we met / was under a crossing of invisible bridges…” Whilst hard to picture, it seemed ironic, then not, crossing bridges separate, whilst it was established that a meeting had occurred. Andy’s words are sometimes simple, sometimes hard, and at other times plain obscure. I thought he offered a set of poems levelled at all manner of minds. My own poetry often mentions the season, more often spring than any other, and I like the seasons as a theme in Andy's poetry. Do not expect clichéd descriptions here though: “After Summer / autumn is always brushed / under the carpet / like a half baked afterthought…” Expressions such as “womb sunrise,” “forgotten shadows,” “splattered hammers,” “colliding motionless,” “like a postcard out of breath” and many more, make the poems the readers own. They offer an ambiguity that begs the book is reread with a different angle on previous suggestions. Some poems, for example, Out of Reach II, make me imagine parallels with the abstract painters, but not total abstraction. Again, there is left an offer for the reader to define the looser parts. In “Edge of the Flames” I recognised a poetry I was more accustomed to, and it’s presence in the volume only added to the overall richness. This, as an example, was admittedly, an easier read for me. But still offering gems like, “Before morning / the night was as vicious as ice / and the wind branded the windows / with a punk like sneer.” And the poet doesn’t always restrict himself to formal sentence structures, something I have never had the courage to do myself. Does it lack because of that, and the odd missing comma? I don’t think so. It’s like further food. For me the clearer works like “Divorced Memories” were favoured. Then I though, is that a laziness? And I loved seeing local references. I felt the last piece summarized much, in a hope and mystery perhaps?
Two short poems from my recently released book 'the end of summer' (https://www.amazon.co.uk/End-Summer-Andy-N-ebook/dp/B01LY7YR9K)
I
Summer will come again
and the rain will stop spraying
the air like spilled pepper.
Leaves will stop crunching on the floor
and sleet will stop reducing
your shoes to tears.
The wind still stop slamming
shut your back door
and poppies will stop dancing
in the wind.
The mood will soften before
totally changing
and the blood in the sky
will change to a different texture,
Stripping away
the mistakes of the past.
II
There is no summer left
like a seaside shop on reduced hours
with one eye on the horizon.
No more summer
with the heavens thumping themselves
together trying to wake the sun up.
No more summer
and no more blue whispers in the sky
wanting to keep on dancing.
No more summer
pressed up to your nose
whispering I love you in your ears,
Or a gate which had been
swinging open
which now shatters like glass.
I
Summer will come again
and the rain will stop spraying
the air like spilled pepper.
Leaves will stop crunching on the floor
and sleet will stop reducing
your shoes to tears.
The wind still stop slamming
shut your back door
and poppies will stop dancing
in the wind.
The mood will soften before
totally changing
and the blood in the sky
will change to a different texture,
Stripping away
the mistakes of the past.
II
There is no summer left
like a seaside shop on reduced hours
with one eye on the horizon.
No more summer
with the heavens thumping themselves
together trying to wake the sun up.
No more summer
and no more blue whispers in the sky
wanting to keep on dancing.
No more summer
pressed up to your nose
whispering I love you in your ears,
Or a gate which had been
swinging open
which now shatters like glass.