Poetry and Creative Writing for All

Tony Gardner

I have been writing for over 45 years, Starting with what I hoped to be song lyrics in the 1960's. The Beatles were not my inspiration, country music was, and I have always tried to write honest, simple and direct poetry, with no pretensions. I was born in Guernsey, and that has always been an inspiration, but have lived the last 8 years or so in West Sussex. My work has been published in poetry magazines. both the Guernsey and Sussex local press, and it has also been heard on local radio. Also I have recently self-published a small volume of my poems.

The Water Lanes

Out of mingled childhood mem'ries,
Myriad warm and lovely dreams,
One stands out above all other,
Down the water lanes a stream
Twinkled, singing through the Eden
Which we took for granted then
How I wish I could recover
Those sweet sylvan hours again.

Dappled sunlight through the branches,
Bird song rich from every tree
And the chuckling, happy water,
Dancing down towards the sea
Still I smell that warm, soft dampness,
Still I taste upon my lips
Cold, clean water, full of magic,
When I laid full length to sip.

Happy days and simple pleasures,
now seem very far away
But in memory I wander
Down that path towards the bay.
Then all those idyllic hours,
When life knew no care or pain
Live once more as I, in fancy,
Walk the water lanes again.

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Fool On The Stool

Who's that fool upon the stool
What's he think he's doing there?
Don't he care who's watching him
While he's crying in his beer.

He's been in this bar too long
At least as long as I've been here.
Don't he know that she's not worth
All those teardrops in his beer.

She never cared for him, I know
And he knew it from the start.
He's only got himself to blame
For his blue and broken heart.

I look at him, He looks at me
And it's feeling kinda queer,
In the mirror is the guy
Who is crying in my beer.

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The Cottage

Tonight in our cottage on the seafront
I sit and listen to the angry sea
As it pounds the granite wall across the coast road
And I half believe that you are back with me.

That wild west wind is carrying the sea spray
Across the road to tap upon the door
And it's so much like your your own small hand was knocking
That I half believe you are back once more.

I guess it's just the sea that tries to fool me
For I know that you can never return
Still I wait in our cottage on the seafront
And I sit and watch the fire brightly burn

And I see strange pictures in the flickering firelight
And the wild wind plays strange tricks upon my ears
Oh, I wish that someone else was here this evening
To calm my mind and still my foolish fears.

And I wish that someone else was you, my darling
I wish your head was resting on my breast
But our forty happy years were cruelly ended
This morning when we laid you to rest.

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The Stable

There's always a warm and a magical feeling
Of soft living creatures and smell of the hay
The stable is special, no wonder our saviour
Was destined in that manger to lay.

Jesus, the saviour of every poor sinner
Who showed us the way that we all ought to live
Despising the wicked, embracing the goodness
And when we can do it, forget and forgive.

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Lost Love

Jo and I grew up together, through days without a single care
We laid on banks and drank the water, from the steam that tumbled there
In spring we waited for the cuckoo, thrilled to hear the first notes ring
Watched the goldfinch on the teazle, brilliance flashing on his wing

In Arundle below the castle we would find the mistletoe
Planted where the big grey thrushes wiped their beaks a year ago.
Worms we dug in Shoreham Harbour, caught us fish we sought upstream
Angling on the banks of Adur, every country kiddie's dream.

Jo went on to univers'ty while I stayed here on the farm
We sent cards each year at Christmas, with greetings rich and warm
She came back from the big city, full of politics and 'art'
Disdainful of the country treasure she once held close to her heart

Our paths had parted true and surely, we lived close but rarely met
I thought her head was full of nonsense, she thought me a yokel yet.
And so it seems it will continue, childhood dreams have gone astray
But how I miss those lost long rambles down the valley to the bay.

Where two fresh and sun-browned children played beneath that cloudless sky
Those days are gone but mem'ries never from this poor, sad heart will fly.

Submission Guidelines: Poems of no more than 30 lines in length each will be considered.