A load of Zen Haiku
Home - ==- -Retreats - ==- - Links - ==- - Blog - ==- -Feedback - - ==- About


the buddha of dung

the zen of dog

the zen of islam

the zen of not-zen

the book of nothing

the zen of non-collaboration

the zen of sufism

the zen of nihilism

the zen of disengagement

the hells going on

the zen of love and disillusionment

haikai on the edge

the zen of poetry

the zen of celebration

the zen of irony


the zen of cooking

the zen of tantra

the zen of masturbation

the zen of masculinity

towards the zen of sex


houses for the dead

ireland & the phallic continuum

fools for nothingness




The Favour Bank








'The living wash in vain.'

- Samuel Beckett

zen haik by anthony weir



Friendless and magnificent
above McDonald's:
the Harvest Moon.

Pond beneath a moonless sky:
Start and finish of everything.

Every year the leaves
are deported by the wind
to the camps of rot.

Its last blood-red leaves gone
how stiff the creeper
on the graveyard wall.

en haik by anthony weir 
Hoar-frost on the hair
upon the hot chests of the
[magic] mushroom gatherers.

In my autumn groin
mist and rain and river
are indistinguishable.

Dead tree slanting athwart the stream:
Ivy-stems entwine my life.

 en haik by anthony weir
After the storm, apples pass
from wasps to slugs to me.

Another robin in my mousetrap:
few of us fail to give humanity
a bad name.

Wagtail on the roof:
the wise man combs his beard
with a fork.

The weather forecast.
Millennia of wind and rain
- and now people shave.

Snail-trails in frost:
'A painter should study
the stains on walls.'

The crotch of a winter birch
love, like the Unicorn
is conceived here.

The skin of the wino
is a beautiful silk palace for lice.

Locked ward
and sunless winter day:
Home is where the mind is.

The moon in a veil
as if it had coldly evolved an ego.

en haik by anthony weir
Digging: a fine red worm.
Wisdom: to see everything
as from the grave.

Thinking about my death
I enthusiastically clean out
the septic tank.  

Dogshit on pavements:
the unconscious calligraphy
of prisoners.

Rotting leaves
lie on each other lovingly
in hecatombs.

Morning. My erection
does not belie regret
at my father's.

The day in silence.
At night the telephone rings.
It's a wrong number.

Between life and death
I am always hoping to climb
Out of myself.

Winter sunlight:
trying to pull my shadow
out of the shade...

Water on the knee...
Water on the brain... and now
Water on the moon!

Our lives intertwined,
my dog and I check up on
each other's fæces.

Community of luxury:
I drink the wine
while my dog chews the cork.

zen haiku by anthony weir 
Quiet rain. My dog expresses
so much silently - why must we
make so much noise ?

Every night, before
we go to bed - a brief
strip-show for my dog.

Ice on a puddle:
the brittle transience of wisdom.

zen haikai by anthony weir
Zen of orgasm:
the not-having is more
sensual than the having.

'Soul' is integrity.
Thus few humans - but all
animals - have souls.

A haiku: so what ?
So many haiku -
So what ?

Headless chicken -
creatures just as maimed
are masters of the world.

A puddle:
It took me fifty years to realise
how shallow people are.

 zen haiku by anthony weir
Moon -those who walked over you
are half in darkness
half in blinding light.

Full moon naked
above the naked tree
O for a naked mind!

A piss before bed
looking up at the night's bright
navel in the sky.

Pissing on the grass
in May, I am at one end
of a moon-rainbow.

Sa vieille maison;
le loup-garou derrière
arrosant une Pensée.

I have no nationality
but not-being
and not being without.

On a foggy day
you can imagine mountains
not so far away.

The silence between wars:
The science that is false.

en haik by anthony weir
Miru tokoro. Places to see.
Kita michi wa The road I came
Hakkiri chigairu. Is clearly different.

Cobwebs in fog.
I can't tell my end from my beginning.

Relentless blue skies:
the smug sameness of many
hundreds of haikai.

I met a man who claimed
to like my poetry.
I tore it up.

en haik by anthony weir

s by anthony weir

Beyond the Gate of the Moon
the wisdom of dead dogs
and the public latrine.


Haiku by the 17th century master, Basho.

Clouds pass overhead
And give all of us a break
From our moongazing.


Two stones on the grass
are all that remain of an
ancient snowman.


Restless night. Beneath
the glistening, sticky moon
Man rips the robes of time.


Once people sculpted
snow-wolves, snow-bears - now only
infantile snowmen.


Fried egg for supper.
Unblinking yellow eye
to ward off winter.


After the Spring bath
I start to scratch. Cleanliness
is next to fretfulness.


A nightingale's song:
life is a second-hand moment
stolen from death.



Senryu by Anthony Weir

After just one glass
I google - and get messages:
“Did you mean ------?”


In Memoriam Kurt Schwitters




The painful
accidents of life
teach us not to cling
to this drifting world.

- Ikkyu, 15th century Japanese monk, who also wrote:

My monastic friend has an unusual and endearing habit
of weaving straw sandals and secreting them on roadsides.


The green penis fathers no child.


At my dog's grave
no human life matters.

top of page

an e-Book of over 100 more poems, indexed, in PDF format.