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Poems By Poet Anthony Weir  7/11/2014 4:38:19 PM
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  ANTHONY WEIR (13th September 1941)
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Erech/Uruk - Iraq

We're told that writing was invented here:
lists of weapons, foodstuffs, kings, kinsmen,
laws and penalties.
Here lived the first Man-God, Gilgamesh.
Here children beg for ballpoint pens.
Here there is no fence around the ruins,
no turnstile, booklet, shop or guide.
Here there are no tourists, toilets, postcards
or Keep Off notices.
Here is the first city.
Here urban evil started
to gyre its tentacles across a world
which now it strangles.
Here was the New York and Washington
of seven thousand years ago -

the best of man is his ruins.

Not far away is Hamurabi's Babylon
whose ruins were so recently reconquered
by American Marines,
and turned into a huge base
with helipad and roads wide enough
for trucks, the shards of pottery
and threshing-floors
covered with hardcore and gravel
dug up from elsewhere.

The best of man is his ruins.
Anthony Weir



Ever, ever more victims

(for Dr Robert M Sapolsky, vivisector)

The baboon
Desperately holding the pig's heart
Going septic
Which 'scientists' have plumbed in
To his neck
Cannot cry
'My God!
My God,
Why hast thou forsaken me? '
Anthony Weir



Every moment is a moment of instruction

I write on time's hem, the brink of extinction,
the end ever nearer as leaders and led become madder
and fuller of power and products
None of us more than 10%
conscious and 9% rational, our species
the irrestistible error of crass evolution.

Is the mercy of dozens of hydrogen bombs
more likely to cover the Planet of Pain
than the long, cruel whimper of famine
and drought, the ruthless
destruction even of air?
we think that Creation must live only through us -
but humility is our nearest approximation to sanity.

I write, before being hurled
from the brink of extinction, poems which just a few hundred beings
in all the uncaring cosmos will read:
the beginning of wisdom's the end of our world.
Anthony Weir



Evolutionary Thoughts

The animal that lives in the kidney
of the octopus
was once more complex.

We have fewer genes than rice,
and we are outraged when chimpanzees
attack our children while we cut down
their forests.

Because we invented words
we are slaves of language;
and we are willing slaves of number
in the bright abattoirs of slumber.
Anthony Weir
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Poems By Poet Anthony Weir