Biography of Tony Walton
Tony Walton lives in a rural corner of north-west Herefordshire, England, close to the border with Wales. A graduate of Trinity College, Cambridge, where he read English Literature, he has been writing poetry since 1998.
All his poems posted on this site (with the exception of the latest 'The Last Dance') are from his fourth volume of poetry 'Particular Realities' which is, as yet, unpublished.
Tony says: 'Please read my poems out loud.'
'Poems are rough notations for the music we are.' - Rumi
'Where is the love, beauty and truth we seek but in our mind.' - Shelley
'There is no poetry where there is no ethics.' - Fidel Castro
Tony Walton's Works:
'Rough Notations' (2006)
'On Yatton Hill' (2008)
'Such Sweet Music' (2009)
All published by Tigerfish Books and very reasonably priced at £5 each (plus P+P)
Full details from email@example.com
Tony Walton Poems
Seashells From The Seashore
Lost, these words, at what a cost: cast like boats afloat on seas that seize the moment of their brave conception. No man can tell what wave will carry,
Roads To France
And finally I realised that all roads led to France: The sunlit farm, the bloodstained combe, the whisper of the aspens' dance, All pointed clearly down the road I did not take by chance.
Cry Out In Your Weakness
Cry out in your weakness and your fear flows forth. Follow the pain of it. You will gain of it. You will gain in freedom from your loneliness.
These are my scars Where I did myself harm. I cover them up But they're here on each arm.
The Last Dance
They had the temerity to dance at a wedding. They had the joy and love of dancing and of course the natural desire to celebrate the wedding of friends. It was temerity only in the
The Jackdaw's Lament
The wood in the night was castle-black, and it kept Its moonlit secrets well: It housed the predator who crept Through long-limbed ramparts while the world still slept;
Rilke's Advice To Our Child
The sitting gambler sweeps the board. Be still; And, by happy mimicry of this life, We shall truly find ourselves within it; For there is nothing in it means us ill.
Portrait Of Dylan
Laughing in Laugharne, and languishing too, Anguishing over where inspiration had gone; But time enough for a hand of cards at Browns With Ivy and Ebie and Billy, his brother,
Rattlesnake Warning: A Translation Of 'P...
The rattlesnake cry of the keys drives you without mercy from the kingdom of dreams. It doesn't matter that you have chosen better company, where you walk with her
Halima's Coloured Drawing
In Halima's coloured drawing everything weeps. Why did they kill my sister? A red rose weeps blood. The clouds weep blood. The sun weeps blood.
Neda, you played a part greater than the one you intended. You wanted what was broken to be mended by the peaceful protest you almost attended;
Specialist Joseph Dwyer
He came home a hero, an Iraqi war vet - and yet he never came back home at all, as he was, because the things that he saw over there in the war shook to the core his every belief in what it was for; and his grief
He was like a fist, she said - and held her fist beside her face to show us what a fist was like: it was like her son. Always so clenched with me, she said,
The Jackdaw's Lament
The wood in the night was castle-black, and it kept
Its moonlit secrets well:
It housed the predator who crept
Through long-limbed ramparts while the world still slept;
With neither man nor beast to ring the warning bell.
The jackdaw colony that Konrad Lorenz took
From egg to thriving flock,
And wrote about them in his book