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Poems By Poet Anthony Weir  9/20/2014 12:53:30 AM
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  Best Poems From
  ANTHONY WEIR (13th September 1941)
 
 
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  53.     

DAYS

My correspondent wrote:
'I hope your day is being good to you.'
He is American, of course.

Days are often good to me.

But am I good to days?
Check out the Day-Abuse Website
to read about how horrible people can be
to nice, harmless, passing days
which just want to go by quietly
without too much noise, except
(what can they expect?) around volcanoes
which they learned about at Day School
from the Ancient of Days
who had a Santa beard and very hairy balls
and lived on top of cloudy pillars.

He's dead now.
Killed by Christians,
whom Jews might be justified in calling God-killers.
 
Anthony Weir
   
 

   
   
 

  54.     

Death is The Second Coming

Words are
the darkness speaking as light
pretending that comfort
is other than night.
 
Anthony Weir
   
 

   
   
 

  55.     

Deep Down

most of us are desperately superficial.
How can we think our way out of problems
when our problems arise from
the fact that we think?

(How do I fit the square peg of my
self-importance into the round
hole of my sense of futility, renouncing
both sadness and self?)

Time is god, is love
is sightless, dumb
creates. destroys
and tells us only
that we are noise.
 
Anthony Weir
   
 

   
   
 

  56.     

Deviants

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

Almost every day I feel that I'm
the only person who's awake,
while other people are sleepwalking
the world to nightmare:
the long, bad time for poetry
now born of its dung.

The trickle of blood is time
('O ancient, crimson curse! ')
Surviving birth was my third crime.

Although the 'Nuclear Winter'
would have been the gentler way
to kill the world we fundamentally resent,
the Bible-blood of history
and very recent history has shown
that war is justifiable
only to unreason and testosterone.
 
Anthony Weir
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Anthony Weir