Biography of Anthony Di'anno
Anthony Di'anno was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire into a run down one up one down terraced house with an outside toilet, two impoverished parents, a shivering sister and a bucket already waiting. He lived and played there among bright multicultured cobblestones through the sixties.
Through the seventies he lived in a three bedroomed semi detached council house on an estate that backed onto woods and a working quarry. His parents were hard working and his sister had stopped shivering. By the end of that decade another sister and brother had been added to the mix. Not only did Anthony have a garden, streets, woods and a quarry to explore there were also girls, two paper rounds, a Saturday job, several packs of angry dogs and a violent peadophile.
Come the eighties Anthony had two sons and a wife. He had also joined the army. By the end of the eighties he had lost his wife and sons, his shivering sister had died, he had discovered alcohol and was now homeless.
During the nineties Anthony rebuilt and destroyed his life several times.
He has spent the last fourteen years living with his third wife, peacefully, contentedly on the edge of the North Yorkshire Moors National Park. They are outdoor people who keep themselves to themselves.
Anthony believes that empathy will save the world and hopes to be a poet one day.
Anthony Di'anno Poems
Ode To A Blade Of Grass
Oh! whispering blade, ever hath your kin, Swung and danced over grabbled graves of mine, Where nightingales are oft enticed to sing, To those mown down in regimented line,
It Haunts Me Still
Many years have passed yet diminished not, The youth that skipped upon your smiling face, The memory burns ever unforgot, As though branded into permanent place,
I stand naked though I am fully dressed, Her bright searchlight eyes can see right through me, Each burning need is lit by her, possessed, Each captured breath scorched by fiery beauty,
One Simple Question.
Where are your indignant and outraged words, That condem chemtrailed skies and toxic seeds, That point out the decline in wild songbirds,
A Day at The Coast (Painted)
A golden orb floats up from the ocean. Frost on a branch expires in a spiky wet motion.
People come people go, every one, Trespassing flowers with breezes that blow,
Teardrop beads curve along a cold wet cheek, Molten wax trickles from a vibrant flame, A candle lit through dark mid winter bleak, Lights your reflection in it's picture frame,
Sunrise Sunset (Painted)
Scarlet painted maple trees, Bleed into a crimson dawn.
I Am The Sun. I Am The Rain.
I am my own will-o'-the quantum mist. My tempted fate abroad it's far flung door.
Growing light, may thy being ever shine, Not be cloaked in grey falsely conjured cloud, But unabashed across the reach of thine, Through lilted wood where bird and insect crowd.
Now That I Am Dead
Please try to love your new life even more, Having been so loved in the one we shared, When soft memories knock upon your door, Invite them in, tell them how much you cared,
You are a witch, a miserable hag, Vicious and nasty, a bloated old bag,
I live where shimmering white tangled waves, Sweep sparkle strewn, bright glitter sprinkled shores, Where pure fresh fallen summer rain engraves, life onto purple heathered, peat streamed moors.
Bright eyed, soft feathered, loved beyond limited word. My heart strings are tethered, to you beautiful bird.
To The Rattle
Contained, nay confined, within the walls of this leathery heart of mine wrestles a love divine.
A nemesis that thunders around my bower.
Seeping through the crack where rhyme fails to connect with reason. It yearns.
Oh how it yearns to be free of this prison it so despises.
It bleeds such a sorrowful song along the haunted corridors where mawkish crows enter into noisy debate with careful doves.
It pumps my heart.