By Anthony Ward


Summer is the time of year most find relaxing.

But I find it tiring.
Too much buzzing and busying around.
Too many bodies sprawled across the ground.
While the heat’s too hot to warm to.

Pride is the peace of mind most of us hope for.
Yet I find it induces stubbornness.
Often deterring us from doing the right thing,
While persuading us to do what we wouldn’t normally do.
Leaving us bitter and opinionated.

Money is the reward most of us desire.
While I find it completely worthless.
Making us feel all the more poorer.
Our lives only enriched
By the accumulation of more.

Possessions are the things most of us want to own.
That I find end up owning us.
Preventing us from being at liberty
From wanting for nothing.
While keeping us imprisoned within our cells.


Beauty haunts us.
Reminds us we are living

Makes everything seem unreal
And everything else fake.

Suspends us in the moment
Hoping we can live forever.

Inspires us to be individual
While bringing us together.

Beauty can never be secretive.
It speaks for itself.

Always makes its presence known.
Leaving nobody ignorant of its immediate effect.

Beauty makes us feel most alive
When we find it difficult to live.


If I, as I am now,
Could go back to how I was then,
What would I tell myself?

Would I want to be the way I am
If I were to know what I was to become?
Would I become who I am if I didn’t accept who I was?


Slow and steady brings longevity,
Fast and loose nurtures brevity.

And you find yourself racing time,
Sprinting towards the winning line.

But before you do, you’re feeling spent,
Wondering where the time has went.


Nothing could disturb the adulation
Resonating in his mind.

His ambition made infernal
By his own divinity.

Residing above all others
As his world turned upside down.

Where he remained like a seed,
Dense and dormant in the darkness,
Weighed down by the world on top of him.

But once exposed to affection,
Began blooming with potential,
Rising high, spreading far and wide.


I not very good at explaining,
I’m better at expressing.
I understand things I cannot comprehend,
Finding it difficult to figure out what’s gone in,
Despite this sense of knowing
What’s precariously on my tongue
Remains sound within my head.


One moment I’m complaining,
Then it stops raining
And the sun is straining
Between the clouds,
Until it bursts
Into a clear solution,
And my problems become resolved,
As I become dissolved,
Within nature
And less involved
Within myself.

The Garden

The garden becomes overgrown
Over the years,
No longer subtle as it was,
Looking familiar,
And yet similar all the same,
Shaped by the seasons,
And turned by time,
Resembling my reflection,
In comparison
Of how I remember
I’d like it to be.

Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of establishments, including, Shot Glass Journal, Jerry Jazz Musician, Literary Yard, The Metaworker and New Note Poetry.


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