Anthony loves the way words sound through silence. He is inspired by the nature of the world and the expression of art as humanity decrees to discover itself. He writes to express the overwhelming beauty of the natural world with the inspiring admiration of artistic creativity. Anthony derives most of his inspiration from listening to Classical Music and Jazz, since it is often the mood which invokes him. He has recently been published in, Jerry Jazz Musician, Literary Yard, Shot Glass Journal , and Highland Park Poetry, amongst others.

Strung Out

Crouched to attention
Hair torsioned from the
Neck of the violin insinuating strings
Ams melded from bony wood
In perfect harmony with the instrument 
Lachrymose semi-breathing notes resembling body
Braying emotional shards through tentative vibrancy
Through crotchety quivering quavers 
Intensely irate and consoled
Scything sound from mellifluous maple
Congealing into amber thoughts
Sweat seeping from the timbre
Bloodied by the end of the bow.

Evaporation

The post boxes will go the same way as the telephone boxes
Those red robed monuments that once decorated our streets
Preserved as mere follies in remote locations

The messenger pigeons are no more
Those dovecotes of the door
Replaced by virtual communication

The personal touch of the handwritten letter
That displayed the individual personality
Is substituted by the impersonal response

The material world is now immaterial
All earthiness aired out
Where not even money is real

You don’t have a feel for it anymore
It doesn’t carry no weight
You can even spend it if you haven’t got it 

The whole hold it in your hand element has evaporated
There’s nothing to get a grip on
No physical connection

Like those video cases that you would pick up 
As you browsed those rental stores
Studying the classic artwork

Admiring the covers of those album sleeves 
That encapsulated your identity
That was more of a song than a shout.

To the Beat

Look at us, 
Look at us,
Unable to look up from our phones 
Having to look into them 
Scrolling, scrolling,
Nonchalantly scrolling
Searching for something
Not noticing the world outside
The sunlight combing the fields

Like vampires the sunlight ages us
Not as attractive as we were in the shadows
All hunkered over like we’re mourning
The community or common unity 
Being replaced by the individual 
Selling the self with narcissism as a commodity
Taking better care of our cars than we do ourselves
Careful about what fuel we put in
While not giving a damn about how we fuel ourselves, 
Buying unnecessary things unnecessarily,
To keep us from knowing what we can do without.