Life is a poem

Whose author forgot

To cross every t

And every i dot

Lot’s of it’s gibberish

Sentences poor

Scribbled by someone

Upon a fast tour

Of life which is rhythm

Sentience and grace

A sonnet by Shakespeare

A wise shining face


Life is a game

You play

All of the time

Life is a poem

Where you are

The rhyme...


Life is quite tricky

Life is a ball

You bounce on the ceiling

And then watch it fall

Hopefully plucking

It out of midair

Its crystal reflecting

Your face as you stare

At what it is showing

Beside your bright eyes

Scenes of serenity

And paradise


Life is a wonder

A willing to think

About all those things

That are gone in a blink


Life is just happiness

In spite of the suffering

Pain is the payment

We pay for the buffering

Between our outsides

And what’s lurking within

A cup full of happiness

Filled to the brim


The Buddha, of course

Held a different opinion

But transcending Life

Is another dominion

© David Anirman 2011 excerpted from "Shusaydu"

Portrait of a Poet

Portrait of a Poet

(Dreams from Twilight)
. . . for we are like the dawn, said Brother Eckhart,
disappearing before the sun of God. . .

Accustomed as I was to walk the valleys of my life
Without much seeing scenery unmarred by me
Nor caught in vortices of passions' fire
But rather with a secret ire
Walked my own way
Unseen by men. . . 
(Unseen and unseeing
Are selfsame sight
Of endless light
Of everywhere becoming night
And everywhere becoming. . .

Thus did I travel far
In circles 'neath the star
Of my own destiny
Yet nowhere could I find
An ending to my mind
As I pursued my fate
Pursuing me
Until we met and tumbled down
Into an ancient Moorish town
That seemed a foreign and most musty mart
Wherein I bartered for my heart
And bought it for a song sung pleasantly
From out the ashes of my reverie
And stole away. . .
Then did I quake within
To feel the cosmos spin
Upon the dream of lost tomorrow
Whose paint-peeled joys defended sorrow
And I did melt
Into the emptiness I felt
And fleeing, fell
Into the tomblike hell
Of stagnant flesh. . .

This then was I
Until the sky
Burst open
And I in wonder found
Myself hurled down
Atop the mountain
Which then I vowed to climb
And seeking up
Went down
Into the town
Deserted now by men. . . 

Ghosts do not live here
It is too still for them
Who need the breeze to move them on their way
So I did pause to pray
But could not find a word
For logic stands absurd
Beyond the ruin of pure Plato's dream 

I fled the town
And then became a trail
With hoof and paw marks in my dust
Of watercourses turning rust
With gold unpicked by men
Who here do not look down
Nor find a burden
Weightier than their vision of the unbeknownst
Beginning of the ending moment's
Twisting undulation into time. . . 

I walked the endless now
As horse before the plow
Of my desires
And fallow fields extended
Where e'er my mind pretended
Yet to flow. . .
Then, suddenly, within my eye
A lofty spire etched in sky
(I had not seen it as I neared
For I was so intent
On thinking where I went
I did not see my going
Coming home)

Gothic cathedrals
Untenanted, on mountain tops
Are not rare in this world
Like wrinkles in a looking glass
They're seen because they're there. . . 
But like the mirror's secret turning
A backward me to me
Who cannot see and say it me
I took the mountain for the deep
And found no church upon the steep
Side of lost reality

It was not there
But here where I walked in
In early April's late day sun
And heard the silent service sung
And felt the massive doors behind
The altar opened by the mind
Of emptiness

How vast the church of God
Magnificent the throb
Of life
Which overflows
The golden chalice of my woes
And spills about
Cascading gardens of my doubt
Where I am thrilled
And ripped asunder
By the now arousing thunder
Of the ever over under
Seamless vault of songing wonder

Art there was in magic splendor
Walls of crystal, jade, and amber
Lapis sky and emerald arches
Glass imprisoned Jesus marches
To the crucifix below him
Voices wail and women woe him
In the garden of their gloaming
Centered in eternal homing
And I creep silently as moss
Across the north side of his cross
Until at dusk I came before
The gate below the altar's door
And stood to watch the dying sun
Cast stained glass teardrops on the one
Transfixed above
The altar of eternal love
And left to hang
Upon the scarlet afternoon's
Obeisance to its essence

In purple twilight are cathedrals most wonderful
I lit a taper and with this
Lit all the candles in the place
Then sat me down before the altar's gate
To wait. . .
I did not fall asleep
Nor did I seem to watch
For in an instant
A storm burst forth
And drowned me there
While still I lazed
Upon the import of my days
And found it endless maze
Wherein one prays
For one
And on another

Of granite blocks was my cathedral built
And yet the wind blew through them
And through me
And suffered I to see
The candles, one by one
Extinguish. . . 
And all the darkness fell
About me like a spell
Of unformed fear and discontent
Whereby my soul itself was rent
Until I with a blinding heat
Stumbled to my trembling feet
And lit my taper thus to light
The candles and drive forth the night
But each when lit would flicker quickly
Flaming tongues would whisper sickly
Frightful words that sucked the wind
From moulding reliquiae who sinned
By being born

At last my taper too
Turned incandescent blue
And kissed me dead. . . 
Then I this body on the altar laid
And there was much afraid
Of demons and of storms
Of priests and ghostly forms
Of yesterday, tomorrow, and today
Where virgins lay
Upon the breast of time
And that great building shook
I stared but could not look
Through darkness
So I stayed
Until the fear itself grew tiresome
And I spit it out
Upon the dawn of knowledge

I rose upon the day
The church had blown away
The place where I did rest
Was tombstone for the blest
And so I left it without tear
Upon the mountain of my fear
My fickle and my foolish fear
My fancied and my flaming fear
My frozen and my friendless fear
My feral and my futile fear
Which followed all that followed me
Until I glanced and chanced to see
That it was nought but mirrored me
So turning back upon my dawn
I kissed my fear
And it was gone
And in that gold and hallowed east
I gazed across a sumptuous feast
And stopped
Awestruck and stunned
Before the dawning of the Sun
Of One

©David Anirman 1969 excepted from "A Millbrook Thanksgiving"


Ah! my friends, but such mountains
Places where Gebgaia fountains
Up as lovely visions playing
With the people there displaying
All their wealth as offerings
For the blessings all this brings
Now demolished, ripped apart
By the military's art
As if the horrors bred by war
Weren't somehow somewhere somewhat more
Then what we're not allowed to see
In the news shows on TV

Let me tell you of those caves
They were first by Shiva made
For His contemplations of
Great renown and earthly love
As ascetic god who led
Others to these caves and said
Live here, love here
Be contented
With your souls tightly cemented
To my own, here, through the earth
In these caves of solemn worth
Which no longer praise the skies
Because they have been pulverized

History is good to some
But for others it's just dumb
As the Kali Yug progresses
To like Kali eat successes
So it happened that the holy
Sages left their caves when wholly
Stupid men appeared and then
Killed them as they sat with ken
Of cosmic places in their seeing
Crowning their own human being
So then bandits took the caves
Lawless men and runoff slaves
Made them into hideouts where
Men with books and swords appeared
Took them over, made a fortress
So they might better suppress
Those who chose the ancient way
That blasphemed their wicked day

Would you like to hear the names
Of those caves, now in flames
In great mountains over there
Sacred places in despair
On the other side of earth
For what it's worth? 
The names were given so the flames
Kindled there could then be tamed
Freeing all who 'neath our star
Gaze with eyes fixed on a far
Vision breathing nectar and
With the earth would hope to blend
Into us but now are just
Dust to dust
In God we Trust
Even though His sacred places
Now are gone
Leaving no traces
But the names our ancient kin
Gave to them to honor Him
And Her who as Gaia shone
Resplendent as their sacred home
Named to show just how they glow
As their age's afterglow
Cave of Enlightenment
Banner of Sky
Crystal Bamboo Tree
For charming the eye
Sun Castle of Joy
Lonely Cuckoo
Lion and Tiger
Both of whom woo
At Sky of Peaks
On ancient sod's
Elephant Gate of Serpent Gods
And Silk Cave of Goat Mountain where
The Cave of the Goddess
Flamed to flare
Up as her in silken bodice
And the sweet tit
That had got us
To the Tongue of the Dri in Drin
And the Wrathful Vajra King
Shining from the Cave of Firm Root…
But who really gives a hoot
Pulverized patter is all that remains
Leave with a tear
And whisper their names

© David Anirman 2002 exerpted from "Masques: Poems of Privilege, Pillage, and the New World Order "