Anthony Weir

Rookie (13th September 1941)

To The Ghost Of Willie Yeats - Poem by Anthony Weir

Users of glass have no transparency.

Beyond the tombstone palaces of sensual delight
the ultimate sensuality
is dying. Can anything else we do
in the self-regarding Punch-&-Judy show
of psychoclastic Normality
be harmless - let alone be good?
Words cannot be free
nor silence right...
I say to you:
The only art
that's true is how you mould your heart.

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Comments about To The Ghost Of Willie Yeats by Anthony Weir

  • (5/7/2006 11:33:00 AM)


    I say to you:
    The only art
    that's true is how you mould your heart.
    So true, well doneAnthony and you have a great style, Love Duncan
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, May 7, 2006

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 10, 2006


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