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“simple, scattered lines”

it’s a yellow submarine morning

colder than the eyes of some forbidden danger

a spark of light by the curtains glow


red balloons across the sky

they have come to take me on


no more black birds singing in the darkest night

we have come to another day in the life


thinking back, i remember just now

our fires burning such a deepest cavern in the snow

our conversations like journeys flown


i hear now what percolates

in yonder distant rooms

filled with wives and children

with cereal and spoons


and to a desk with pen and ink

to strike the sounds of thought

to ponder and to think


i become the soul of time

crafting a digital word-spun rhyme


and as i look upon these lines

and across the clutter that has grown like vines

i think of drawers and shelves and pockets

placing such secrets softly

on a page of light and time


and perhaps one year from now

when the cold and white does shine

i will remember why i wrote these

such simple, scattered lines


then they will bring me back

to a moment, place and time

and I will think of winter

so beautiful, so cruel

so measured, so divine

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/6/18


“the same infinite sky”

colors fade like arches settled in roman dust

water drips from the old copper-green faucet

all the while… our diesel fed sunflowers grow

their faces splintered by hungry pollinators

round as the sun in their creamy, yellow brightness


they were but a strange, enchanting sight

dressed in fastidious rows

a gorgeous bowtie on the edge of this world


the bicycles were racked and rusted

locked and resting

waiting to be unleashed

their pedals just astride

perhaps in just a moment

a glorious, professorial ambassador shall arrive


but just down the steps

she waited…

like the text of an ancient manuscript

her thoughts hidden deep inside


oh how she provokes me

her yellow dress, her lovely stride

just like summer come early

a dreamy june-bug bride


i think that i shall catch her

and save her light in a jar inside

by my bedside i will keep her

she will permeate my dreams

as she sleeps so nearly by


such is my flight of fancy

like writing in the sky


and one day i will find her

on a sidewalk passing by

together we will walk as strangers

two separate lights

born of the same infinite sky


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/10/17

“over the river”

over the river

and through the woods

straight into your heart

is where i’ll go


through the mountains

and over the seas

straight into your arms

is where i’ll flow


all the tears

that i have cried

all wash away

when i’m by your side

so hold me in

your loving arms

until we’re old

and dead

and gone


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/9/17



cold words fall like a drafty afterthought

the dream catcher leaves have arrived

our woods retain sudden memories of warmth

there is a new kind of music that swirls in our driveways

and a familiar sort of dance

it is one for the trees


and for their dearly departed souls

they crumble and drift

they rattle and hum

a trillion cells immortal

gone to live beneath our feet


and oh how we breathe

our hearts in repose

we have sanctioned their coming

though such memories are but on loan

they have triggered our senses

those first to be found

now surrendering forever

for in the winter they will have gone


but i shall be your ghosted firefly

your remnants of summer

and in the evening your pumpkins

so lovingly carved out of light


i will smile from doorways open

and walk your sugary streets

for i have been in such worlds

i have tasted those treats


but while we are here

in a place…

so strangely familiar

perhaps we should ask…


what words have you seen falling?

are you such a catcher of dreams?

we must ponder how they answer

those warm wooden trees

it is not enough to simply listen

to hear their songs in the night

we must wonder why they tremble

so cold with delight

as if their notes were softly telling

this story of the night


or should we wonder?

have we missed something greater…

perhaps just this season

our earthly prayers bathed in light

or a symbol freshly shattered

a reflective mirror

for those without sight


-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 10/26/16


“the dreaming swell”

she has come to me

like a swell of autumnal golden wind

her immense energies run wild through my hair

my sunglassed watery eyes are singing

the scratch and rustle of her myriad refuse

it litters my pathway like a dream cut from a yellowish brown world

and i am stillness in her path

my mindful steps so quietly touch the firmament

i drink the enormity of this boundless energy

and wonder over the former parts of myself

now cast among the stars of a different reality

how now do they mingle?

what sly and clever forms have they taken?

are they the birds that sang to me when I was lost?

are they the clouds that kept the morning sun at bay?

perhaps i should just never know…

and why shall i lament?

for i am the bird that sings upon this morning

and in the evening, the clouds will i become

i will shade you from such burdens

giving flight to lost horizons

and when that kiss of wind

it comes again in spring

my lips will be unfrozen

having awakened from this dream

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari  11/12/15


“tiny home”

we were born of the antique and ancient forms

our stories woven from the fabric of our dyed and twisted yarns

like the wreckage of so many voyages lost and long

those travelers floating over poles

our souls on the battlefields mourned

we are assembled from the glass of mirrors that have passed

from the love of our mothers and our fathers dead and gone

in the comfort of our rituals we are dressed in softly stolen silks

and we think upon those travelers

those many bridges they have crossed

we wonder how their flags are planted

where the mountains meet the sky

and now we live as strangers

our families just so splintered

we are driven and we are torn

the swollen weight of our possessions

the magnificent size of our earthly homes

but what we need is tiny

it fits inside our hearts

a formation of the soul

it cannot be found in store fronts

or in those luminous shopping malls

it lives just near the fire

and in your child’s warm embrace

sometimes driving madly

but always in the end

our only true possession

perhaps a wife or son or daughter

it may just be a lover or a dream that never ends

and perhaps…

even just a friend

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/10/14


“carved in whispers”

our doors lie open wounded

driven like the dust of papered worlds

a brilliantly tattered totem

so ornately carved in whispers

and on the tips of tongues

upon the tops of pillars

they are but simple prayers

flowing from our lips like vapor

such evidence as we have found

for it was written in the stars

and printed in the papers

it was pressed below our tables

in the hands of mystics and soothsayers

like prisons we possessed them

we trapped their sweetness between layers

and here alone we travel

to our backyard garden swings

the air of smoke so thick and full of dreams

with our hands we try to catch them

so we may discover what remains

but as we hold them in our lungs

they shall take our only breath

for they are faster and they savor

those simple songs that dance in shadow

like broken leaves along the ground

sweetly rustling in the evening

and when our mornings come

we expect to capture them once more

but forever we have lost them

and never again shall they be found

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 11/26/14

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