Posts Tagged ‘air’

“falloween”

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

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“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

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

“in the darkest wood”

pollen lingers in the air

like the dust of angels

resting on a field of forgotten numbers

born of long division remainders

in a tomb of winter bells

no longer sounding

we are far from frosted white beaches

far from the capes and coves that shelter

here is where the voices mingle

in the windless halls and old theatres

just outside the walls of braided grass

green with envy

alone in the darkest wood

and breathing…

just breathing

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 2/22/13

“such strange things we reconcile”

the wind tickles my face

like the fraying strands of yarn

from an old afghan heirloom

distant songs wash over me

they still ring in my ears

like a peaceful muted siren

and the smell of orange zest

lingers fragrant and happy

foot soldiers come out of the light

covered in syrian dust

such strange things we reconcile

as we lay resting

on couches in the afternoon’s golden swoon

they follow

like shadows on the grass

as we pass from our doorways

to the great emptiness outdoors

walking and wondering

with footsteps in time

the cold smell of moisture in the air

and the green rust of sculpted metal

painting pictures in our canvassed memory

further now in cars

as the smells turn from warm apples to smoke

the safety of our homes long forgotten

wheels bouncing along the concrete plain

they bring us through doors

through differing thresholds

and in those rooms of foreign delight

where fire lifts the darkness

we seek warm embrace

to make sense of it all

in the arms of our lovers

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/6/12

“the quiver”

words are scattering through a prism

forming colors in the fall air

they bound from lip to ear

cascading down to form glistening pools

soon to be frosted over

trapped and waiting for release

couples are strolling arm in arm

creating patterns in the waning day

they step from house and home

forming lines of chaotic display

soon to be dusty and forgotten

saddened by the coming storm

why come the thoughts of night

intruding with sheer delight

over folds and fires

gleaming in the backyard distant

how come the tears that stream

driven down cheekbones curving

over eyes and lashes

dry now in the salty burn

these little questions run

like deer in the morning meadows

they hide among the splintering grass

alone in the middling heart

tearing at the fabric of civilization

buried deep in the mounding soul

and sometimes comes a woman

a vision sharp as sight

with a voice that sounds of angels

when they cry alone at night

they sing and shine like starlight

bolting arrows with quivering might

and when they reach their target

a piercing so divine

we find that we are no longer strangers

simply born of different times

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 9/19/12

“baby and birds”

i am moved by the weight of sound

and the scent of steaming raindrops

as they course over the bitter blacktop

lungs filled with hot summer air

my mind simmering like the day

and i touch the broken grass

it tickles my stocking feet

while i gaze into the canopy

birds are speaking loudly

they want me to hear

for their lyrics are profound

where will they be

when comes the snow and ice

in some great distant land

singing praises there

i am stirred by the shifting light of dusk

it makes of me a fool

hiding truth amidst the darkness

what strange sounds come now

in backyards

outside the dusty window panes

and i touch the stained glass

its texture feels my fingers

tracing out all the history

that has passed through in colored light

so make for me this bed

for in sleep i shall remember

what comes in days and hours

forming rhymes and rhythms

swinging in the dreaming hammock

and waking to devour

i am lifted by this spirit

so lonely in the darkness

i have fallen from my perch

feeling momentary sadness

but when i see her face

her golden baby smile

i take her out to see the birds

perhaps she can translate for awhile

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/3/12

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