Archive for March, 2013

Where do my poems come from?

Often times people ask me where my poetry comes from. In particular, my sister posed this question to me today. I really don’t spend any time thinking about my process or the way I write my poetry. However, since my sister asked the question, I decided to make a reply. And like my poetry, this explanation sort of came to me in a spontaneous way. I think it is a fairly accurate description and perhaps those of you who have taken the time to read my poems may appreciate this?

“It is sort of a mystery where my poems come from. I think that they are mostly some sort of waking dream that takes the form of words. They are abstract and thus like a dream they require interpretation and yet they tell a story. That story, however, depends very much on the reader and how they interpret the poem. In that way the reader can make the poem his or her own and I think that is a beautiful interaction.
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/28/13


“by the dawn’s early light”

oh wise one
come to me from your spirited mountain top
from where the fire of currency has turned to ash
from where all is lost in a frozen hush
carry yourself to my lonely hills
here among the prickly pear and the nightshades
take your breaths of water from my sacred pools
bathe in the dust of this valley
for this is where we all shall live
here among the spires of lime and stone
sharpened to a blade of grass
yet so thoughtful and sweet
covered in blankets of grandeur
sworn to a life of secrecy

oh radiant one
rush down upon me
fill me with your warm embrace
take me to where the sun also rises
to where the daffodils plunder and grow
away from these faltering seconds
away from these scattering winds
for your voice is the answering echo
cast back to me from afar
it warms me like laughter and kisses
and fills me with dreams that glow

oh loving one
if you cannot conceive of such things
then perhaps i am mistaken
for here in the arms of my slumber
i live in the realm of your magic
and sometimes though i am taken
by thoughts so far beyond delight
i know that i must awaken
to the sound of dawn’s early light

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/28/13


she is waiting at your doorway
with all the colors in her hair
and all her bracelets tangled
taking steps
ever so slightly forward
dizzy in the rarified air
two little creatures bracing
unsteadied by the cobbles and stones
what wild nights await you
here in the lights and the snow
daydreaming like daisies
without petals
in the early spring glow
seeking out the smallest of ironies
tuned like a bow
drawn across the strings of your heart
in a swift, radiating glance
eyes like lenses of rapture
invested in a world without features
a cold and whisper-less expanse
known only to lovers
alone on their islands
dreaming in time that drifts like the sand
moving together like water
as tiny drops that glisten and burst
lost forever in the darkness
in the strangeness of this verse
and when you remember
how she saw you that night
on the steps
in the starlight
you will make her a promise
cool, solemn and sincere
that you shall always be together
in the depths of the far
for love’s weighted anchor
is buried deep in your breast
like a song surviving centuries
filled with words true and simple
and of limitless tone
a life lived together
whether in sweetness or bitter
will always be greater
than a life lived alone

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/25/13

“beneath, behind and in between…”

a kaleidoscope of winter petals
glittering in the sky
dashing gently all about
in the grasp of this sideways driving rain
but the pines are simply resting
always… never changing
fires burn in the not so distant future
like a wood-smoke fever dream
sounds spiral down your ears
like fingers that tickle a harp string
little static impulses begin to take hold
the children of the trees ripen in the loamy ground
just below the flight of future summer fireflies
while sweet little creatures arch and yawn
a million smallish toes that dip into the day
these are the words of spring
the notes to sing and say
for they are carved upon the face of secret pages
they stand alone for all to see
and when comes the end
and then another
all that will matter
is what was pressed into your memory
beneath, behind
and in between…

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/13/13

“dressed in flowers”

you come for me on modern winds
like the dotted foals of spring
prettier in your emerald blouse
than ever i have seen
livelier than a mountain willow
dressed in flowers
colorful and waiting
here in this water-soaked world
longing for the sweet ring
your head spinning like a top
only a few drops more of this
your tincture of ginseng
falling over your lips
in these hours of sand
your hands reaching through doors
forever revolving
you only know of this night
not the next or its morning
and with your voice soundless
a chattering echo
we brush past each other
on the paths of this hollow

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/11/13

“when her eyes were watching me”

hyper-ballads are forming
on warm and dangerous moorings
in the halls of trains
and in the provinces
an old patchwork of quilted lines
scattered and breathless
a future in the morning
tattered and restless
i wonder about you
and in the wondering,
i falter
for you are no follower
there are no doors upon which you knock
no bells for the sounding
you are the mistress of a thousand rich hours
spinning long in a web
kissing the wind and the honey
in your cloudless sky
on your motionless world
solemn tomes are conspiring
in cold flowers that grow and flourish
like so many notes
they sing and say
over wicked hills
to the far and to the away
of strong iron and soft orange clay
i sit and watch your swaying
in the breeze of my shadow
on a dark eye-liner night
when so cat like you whisper
your warm breath on my shoulders
it seems like forever…
the two of us alone
and together
in the end there is only this
the laughing, the lying
the emptiness

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/11/13

when comes summer?

cars on the water

swimming in a glass

half-full of morning laughter

and the tire-irons rusting

like restless creatures

tall in the grass and singing

like wands in the woodshop carving

and crowns that lay alone sleeping

they wait for spirits and the leaving

while the boats on land are steaming

there they search for the horizon bleeding

orange and gold and glistening

we are the shadows that grow in that distance

and the mighty clouds that weep

we are the static in the air

and the hearts that swell and swoon

we sweat and sway

our cheeks they gently brush

for we are the pollen and the nectar

our sweet confections crafted

of angels, food and cake

and when we speak of visions

in the straining hour of dawn

we think upon the hillside

looking down over the hills and farms

and we know of the children waking

and the bliss of beds and homes

we think then of the warming

when comes the sun this morning?

a disc alive and bright

we move swiftly through the acres

through the channels carved in stone

wishing only for this moment

one more summer here alone…

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/3/13

%d bloggers like this: