Anthony Weir

Anthony Weir Poems

I dreamed.
I woke in tenderness.
I dreamed of tenderness
as a ripe plum squirting
...

In the Beginning
God burst like a Balloon
Showering the World
With dirty shreds
...

At the Conference of
Poetry Police
An observer who claimed
That a tree was worth
...

The animal garden
Is now a murder-hole.
Language was always the Labyrinth.
Civilisation is striving, spurning
...

Man in a shower.
His only reality
the removal of reality.
...

December snow falling
tells me to stop thinking.
...

Just another little organ
of the Great Conspiracy:
poetry as pathetic part
of the entertainment industry
...

Nature's red in tooth and claw
But we are black of heart.
There's more 'soul' in a jackal's paw
than all our works of art.
...

The greatest achievement is to become
unmentionable to the unspeakable.
'Now' is glimpses of the always
framed by never.
...

My invisible, other true friend, Brother Zoti Lamort,
unknowable, ever-present, everywhere
like a vast four-dimensional carpet,
asks me silently why I have to be human,
...

We're told that writing was invented here:
lists of weapons, foodstuffs, kings, kinsmen,
laws and penalties.
Here lived the first Man-God, Gilgamesh.
...

Obviously, song came before speech
and moans came before song.
Whales sing refrains and antiphons,
compose sonatas.
...

Farming is more swords
than earth-savaging, earth-exhausting ploughshares:
exile from Eden,
starvation and infection,
...

Miserable wars
if love is not the reason
Miserable wars
...

In the absurd
eventuality of re-incarnation
I should be desirous
of returning as a bower-bird
...

In just one respect they tend to deviate.
In other ways they earnestly collaborate,
conform depressingly.
The same is true of dissidents and poets.
...

translation of a famous sonnet by Pierre de Ronsard (1524-1585)
from Sonnets for Hélène

When you are very old, at evening, by the fire,
...

On warm, still nights
I hear rocks groan in their sleep.
I am mumbling sadness
unable to love or to weep,
...

Through language we lose
our innocence,
our animal integrity.
Through knowledge
...

Anthony Weir Biography

Now over 80, having lived my life entirely dissident, vasectomised, refusing to be employed, married, and to have anything to do with 'normality' (mostly in Northern Ireland) , I now live in a quiet part of a mediæval village in SW France, in receipt of an Allowance for the Impoverished Elderly (ASPA) . My house overlooks a beautiful sylvan glen with a small lake. I exhibit my art-works locally, and have translated poems from other languages - see my website www.beyond-the-pale.uk. I also have a blog: dsdnt.blogspot.ie The most common comment about my poems on PoemHunter is 'PROVOCATIVE' - which in Literary New-speak means 'shocking' or 'outrageous'. This is very satisfying.)

The Best Poem Of Anthony Weir

'The Scent Of These Armpits Is An Aroma Finer Than Prayer' (Walt Whitman)

I dreamed.
I woke in tenderness.
I dreamed of tenderness
as a ripe plum squirting
down my beard – tenderness
that turned to tide
which flowed through both of us
and in which we floated
through our cuddle-space
wherein our snug adhesion
the unseen ballet of our tongues
the breath shared by each other's lungs
were part of an epiphanic lace
of delicate and gorgeous things
that we in sacred, shared
humility presented to each other
as sweet kings –
and the smiling
exuberantly-bearded sun
was his
life-giving face.

Anthony Weir Comments

Auban Saint-antonin 01 October 2012

Some of these poems are mind-altering - and there are over 150 you can download free from this website!

1 1 Reply

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