Anthony Weir

Rookie (13th September 1941)

Anthony Weir Poems

81. Mind 5/5/2006
82. God 5/5/2006
83. In Occultation 5/5/2006
84. Happiness Is Despair Having A Good Time 5/5/2006
85. Grand Style (True Story) 5/5/2006
86. Suppose Anything, Believe Nothing 5/5/2006
87. Midnight At The Crossroads Of Awareness 5/5/2006
88. Crinophily (Rue De La Petite Truanderie) 5/5/2006
89. Meat And My Mother 5/5/2006
90. The Beauty Of Perfection Is Impossible - But Anything Is Possible To The Imagination 5/5/2006
91. Unhappiness Comes 5/5/2006
92. Tantra-Mantra 5/5/2006
93. The Great Attractor 5/5/2006
94. Deep Down 5/6/2006
95. A Mound Of Refuse 5/7/2006
96. Gertrude Stein 5/6/2006
97. Morceau De Napoléon ('Who Dares To Speak Of '98? ' 5/6/2006
98. The Graceful Dead 11/1/2006
99. Our 'Democracy' And 'Freedom Of Information' 11/2/2006
100. Hero 1/2/2007
101. Parade 5/15/2007
102. Days 9/17/2008
103. These Also 5/4/2006
104. Love...Wine...Enlightenment 5/5/2006
105. Falseness Close To Kin 5/7/2006
106. Illusions In Three Parts (Haiku Sequence) I 5/8/2006
107. Canticles For U.G. Krishnamurti 5/8/2006
108. Progress... 5/14/2006
109. The Car Of Jagernathi 5/21/2006
110. Thinking Without Language 5/22/2006
111. Soul Is What You Call My Pain 5/23/2006
112. Date With Death 5/23/2006
113. About Wisdom 6/1/2006
114. Holy Grail 6/3/2006
115. Emigrant 7/8/2006
116. Trousers Of Internment 7/9/2006
117. Where Can I Put The Symbols? 7/12/2006
118. How Can An Irish Poet Follow Yeats? 8/10/2006
119. Coat-Trailing 8/14/2006
120. Miasma Of A Rotting God 11/1/2006
Best Poem of Anthony Weir

'The Scent Of These Armpits Is An Aroma Finer Than Prayer' (Walt Whitman)

I dreamed.
I woke in tenderness.
I dreamed of tenderness
as a ripe plum squirting
down my beard – tenderness
that turned to tide
which flowed through both of us
and in which we floated
through our cuddle-space
wherein our snug adhesion
the unseen ballet of our tongues
the breath shared by each other's lungs
were part of an epiphanic lace
of delicate and gorgeous things
that we in sacred, shared
humility presented to each other
as sweet kings –
and the smiling
exuberantly-bearded sun
was his
life-giving face.

Read the full of 'The Scent Of These Armpits Is An Aroma Finer Than Prayer' (Walt Whitman)

Lycandrophily

Like most werewolves I find very few
humans that I actually like.

Like most werewolves
I find only large quadrupeds and other
werewolves sexually attractive.

In front of the fire or out in the byre
we hug and caress and make slow,

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