13
Mar
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: all, alone, always, carve, carved, change, creature, creatures, day, dream, ears, end, fever, fingers, fireflies, firefly, flowers, forever, future, gentle, glitter, glittering, harp, hold, impulse, impulses, kaleidoscope, little, memories, memory, millions, never, page, pages, petals, pine, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poets, rain, rest, secret, secrets, see, sky, smoke, sound, sounds, spiral, spring, static, string, summer, sweet, take, the end, tickle, toes, winter, wood, words, write, writer, writing, yawn. Leave a comment
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
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16
Aug
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: alone, always, apart, art, beds, blog, borders, born, boundaries, breathless, cold, conventions, dancing, dark, emptiness, envy, eyes, fields, forever, green, hands, hearts, homes, laugh, laughing, light, lingering, love, lying, narrow, oceans, one, order, outside, poem, poems, poetry, poets, right, sadness, sight, soft, stolen, touch, touching, warm, watching, whispers, writing, yearning. Leave a comment
what is the art of sadness?
of cold hearts
on cold beds
dark oceans apart
alone in the lingering
in the dancing shafts of light
crossing borders and boundaries
stolen from our sight
think of these short whispers
of warm hands touching
outside the yearning
without conventions
in fields far crossed
green with envy
like soft homes
born of the narrows
ordered and right
and the laughing
the lying
the breathlessness
forever
always
holding on to this
forever
it’s always
the emptiness
and when her eyes were watching me
the sadness
for you are the only
the only
the one
Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/16/12
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