Archive for June, 2012


fleet of foot

on wide slanted lines

precious little artifacts

hidden in the moorish design

glistening azure tiles to the sky

white hot roof tops

and spice market flags

they shift and flap

high above the mud walls

and the summer fountain yards

beads turn over clutched hands

nimbly building prayers of glass

shattering spirited worlds

affecting far removed hearts

away in the fields of some distant land

and there, among the banyan trees

shade grows long with the day

turning and pressing the jam scented fruit

soon to be on its way

to coffee houses filled with steam

a taste between conversations

and the words they carry home

will fit like the scabbard blade

passing between lips

unknown they will digest

with a passing sleight of hand

a forehead kiss goodnight

the dreamers will have dreamed

they will awake

to mornings yellow light

hearing the sounds of silence

and the birds aloft in flight

crossing endless landscapes

around and round they go

always back to where they started

but they do not even know


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/20/12



sweet chocolate wind

look what you scatter about my feet

warm butter imprints,


and little moths kissing

stickers for children

for scratching and sniffing


feeling whimsical for a day

or a month,

or a year…


hands on my face

softer now

than the white oven baked

listening closely

for the humming and hissing

red hot radiator swishes

on the highway

in the evening


you move me with your green eyes burning

the next morning

after you’ve gone

your imprint still pressed on my pillow

like nectar on fallen petals


red polished nails that are broken

the phone that doesn’t ring

still waiting…

for the sound that will come

like giant footsteps on hills

just out of reach from the danger

for the tribesmen are swarming


it should come as no surprise

this honeycombed warning

it bit you on the neck

while in the fields you were roaming


so know her not

for what she really is

keep her tucked in the diary veil

for if she escapes

no one will ever believe

that you knew her so well


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/19/12


you have to fight for the yard-long miles

like the wind in the cross-long fallows

alight with the fire of folded magic

tendering your sweet resignations

like fingerprints that smudge a cloudless sky

for we are the lost ones weary

come from an ocean of stolen devotions

circling and diving we pray

the melting wax of vintage candles

forming a sidewalk, nighttime display

they tell a sweet secret story

born in the june of the day

paid for like the rhymes of an hour

in this spreading motion at play

but there will always be something

breathless and lost in the wanting

it is found in the heart as it matters

a little whisper that swallows

and when it comes up for air

from the pillowed window frame seat

it will look to capture the moment

proud of the bounty

that lays at your feet


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/19/12


on heads on hearts

on beds


in the death

are the catacombs

and the dark

where spirits lay

to find your soul

your mate

to be taken

from this place

on chests

resting softly

hands touching

so far apart

and knowing

the ways of differing arts

on mending

your days

a pillar of soft dust

in a thrilling display

to capture

and corner

and savor her ways

from lust

and longing

the fragile one fraying

on knees

and bended

before her touch

to wonder

not knowing

what there

lies beneath

a canopy of stars

to cradle and swoon

beneath her arms

clutching and bare

so it should be

on minds on matters

this feeling of freedom

in windows that shatter

and when that day comes

a vision in tatters

you will not be alone

but in the arms of strangers


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 7/8/12

“transit of venus”

calm wind

fly from stars

to the radio head

identify the tranquil beat

conjure the vibrant ring

and wait

for the transit is coming

planets sprinting across the face of the sun

a spot on the eye

the distance to be reckoned

catch now as catch can

or be lost for a hundred years

falling through this emptiness of mine

waiting for the band

in the darkness of sound

and when the stage lights

they grow and throb

look for the bright eyed faces

and the swaying of the crowd

for these are anniversaries

to mark the union of souls

born of astronomical degree

and when the sextant marks out the line

we will know the distance gathered

and the passage of time…


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/5/12

%d bloggers like this: