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Anthony Weir

It is very difficult to find The Real Thing

I had a friend
who had a friend
who had a stone
for a friend,
for a teacher:
a master
of silence.

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The Welsh word for 'England' is 'Land that we Lost

More beautiful
than a beautiful thing
is the ruin
of a beautiful thing.

The most beautiful thing is
not to have been born

and, having been born
and reborn, death
is the only decent thing.

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Shade more than man

My bones were formed by sorrow
as shrines are built by doubt
Sorrow of being
Doubt of becoming
Sweat upon sand
Tide in, tide out
Inevitable
invisible
shipwreck in fog
I make soup for tomorrow
lost like a dog
between doubt and sorrow.

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Crinophily (rue de la Petite Truanderie)

I would like a lover
who looks like my teddybear
who will ask me to do
what I want to do
and travel with me
to the inner and the outer.

As for sex
I have no preference -
but not many women look like my
teddybear,
though I saw a splendidly
hirsute lady in Paris.

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Time and Dog

Time flies
Time heals
The poor in spirit
The meek shall inherit
Time lies
Heavy
Time lies
All the time
Time feels
Nothing
We lie
All the time
We feel
Only feeling

Nothing feeling
Nothing doing
Apart
Apart
Throw discretion to

[...] Read more

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No poetry after Auschwitz and Nagasaki

Conclusion escapes me
slinking away like someone who witnessed
a Mafia murder

and ending up nowhere:
the mined no-man's-land of ideas
where lights swallow the moon
like Viagra.

My shadow: a one-dimensional
even-more-substanceless me
a peninsula
not of regret
but of grief.

Freedom is meaningless
when you're dead
because you are freer
than freedom.

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Sirius

Sirius shines
the dog star
low in the sky
the brightest star
revolving round
a small dark sun
which no man has ever seen
like a body
round a soul
or words
around a man
or a man
around his words
or a man
around a man
or words
around a soul
like a body
which no man has ever seen
a small dark sun

[...] Read more

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Megalith (Homage to the Macedonian poet Mateja Matevski)

The forests have shrunk back to the forest
holed up with the howl
of the last wolf -
the sound of time dying.
The seas have drained back to Sargasso
soup-thick with their dead:
the stench of time threshing.
And some of the old stones dragged and stood up
at the flinty beginning of hatred
by the river that once was
still stand, only half-wrecked,
their fissures expressionless.

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Rue Saint-Denis

In the Paris street
famous for at least 800 years
for comforts and deformities of flesh
a pretty, very sweet
and almost-fresh
young whore approached me:
I'll pleasure you
for just 100 francs, she said.
You have a tender face.
I touched her gently on the arm
and smilingly declined
her old recensions of the intimate
freak-show by which some choose
and some refuse
to propagate the race.

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Names & Numbers Games

A man who kills five people
is called a psychopath, a serial killer

A man who kills ten people and himself
is called a terrorist

A man who has a hundred people killed
is called an entrepreneur

A man who has a thousand people killed
is called a politician

A man who has ten thousand people killed
is called a Minister of Justice

A man who kills a hundred thousand animals
is just doing his job

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