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Poems By Poet Anthony Weir  10/23/2014 2:10:30 PM
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  ANTHONY WEIR (13th September 1941)
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People called Sioux - a Holocaust Poem

Was Shel Silverstein just being crass
in the lyric sung by Johnny Cash -
or was he being amazingly, subversively,
unamericanly ironic?
The boy was not a boy, but a lot of men and women
their name not Sue but Sioux,
and ethnically cleansed by some of American Democracy's
many land-grabs and pogroms
carried out by racist rednecks
and Ulstermen with bombs.

(many more than 9 million aboriginal Americans were killed in every possible way by Europeans)
Anthony Weir



'Seul le silence est grand: tout le reste est faiblesse.'

Much preferring
music to meat
I live mostly in well-fed silence.
Anthony Weir




Once you have understanding
throw that understanding away
and look for a new one,
like breath after breath,
for having is clinging.
True happiness comes
when you no longer hold on to happiness:

for the spirit needs desolation
as much as the body needs death.
Anthony Weir



The Secret Society of Suicides

Let us dress up
in hairy brown blankets
disguised as god's testicles,
bump into people, crush them

and crash into many-towered skyscrapers
of vanity



beneath the mountains of bone
among the skeletons of trees
upon the sickly seas
of not understanding understanding
Progress is death's pseudonym


This Liberty you vaunt
is sold with terrible compulsions

This Peace that you manipulate
drips out of dreadful mutilations

This Civilisation that you serve
is wanton devastation
All your Heavens and Utopias of luxury
bleak and full of angry comfort

We are raped and raping
Hope is the crime and mother of crime

We are always on the way, and never arrive
Some infinites are very small
Happiness is an imaginary number
and a by-product
(with what evolutionary worth, I wonder?)


in hairy black blankets
masquerading as god's testicles
and bump into people and crush them

and crash into many-towered skyscrapers
of vanity

was the birth of civilisation
and in destruction of destruction
it slowly dies, ever more demanding

The only true achievement
is renunciation

and not understanding
is also understanding
Anthony Weir
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Poems By Poet Anthony Weir