Anthony Weir Poems

Apart from everyone
I listen to the crows
And admire the blood-red
Japanese Quince flowers in April
...

We kill ourselves every day
At grubby tables in the café
At the polluted racks of newspapers
In corrupt circles and sordid intrigues
...

The forests have shrunk back to the forest
holed up with the howl
of the last wolf -
the sound of time dying.
...

Flowers are flowering
Larks are larking
Badgers badgering
Pines are pining
...

Sirius shines
the dog star
low in the sky
the brightest star
...

Barrel
Slung between powerful thighs
Marvel
Fixing my humble and envious eyes
...

A rent of flesh -
Two tissues shot -
One moment's gather -
The ravelling rush -
...

Great is Death
We are his
urgent breath
his eager pus.
...

Beyond-the-Pale
does not do similes nor metaphors
nor family
nor birthdays, nor Christmas
...

Passing between The Slaves of Glory
Tabernacle and the vast, last fast-food
outlet, still considering
the irredeemability of Man,
...