Posts Tagged ‘blogger’

“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

across the clutter, 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

simple, scattered lines

 

they will bring me back

to a moment, a place, a time

and I will think of winter

so beautiful, so cruel

so measured, so divine

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/6/18

“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

“just the smallest taste of air”

the fires burn in differing forms

onto the lips of mouths

the madeleines are warm

cigar box guitars are singing

whilst the lines are forming

and all those gentle butterfly windstorms are coming

the red eyed tides are rising

our mirrors indicate a reflection shining

and slowly, ever so slowly, we breathe…

just the smallest taste of air

born from the foamy essence of wishes

a collaboration in this hour of tenderness

four arms wrapped and visionless

and so shall we see

for as it was, and may never be

sliding from shore to shore

like so many suns arising

their shores so forlornly salted

but i am still wishing

and while these wishes i have

they come indifferent and torn

there is but one thing in common

in the sight of love they were born

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 9/30/14

“beyond the whisping clouds”

swollen hearts tumble in the old fashioned way

they are consumed by the fires of eternity

 

but this is a day of reprieves

the plumes of early summer heat have momentarily abated

and in this sweetened break of time

cool fragrant breezes run like softened pebbles under your feet

the grasses seem to live and breathe

birds tell stories from their twiggy homes

and for the first time

you understand the yarns they weave

 

oh how i wonder

just what this night will bring

shall it be this day’s cool cousin

dressed in faded blues

 

will fires work the sky

above our silken flags

 

will the moon be cut just right

beyond the whisping clouds

 

why all these things i ask of you

they somewhat matter not

for what i wish to know is grandeur

your face in the waning light

and perhaps a kiss between us

before you take your starry flight

 

-Jason Cyrus Aktharekhavari 7/2/14

“ode to a frontier”

black rivers flow

under white skies that shimmer and glow

the ground under foot

so soft from the melt of snow

and the pilgrims that come

are hidden in a place of shadows

with their wide brimmed hats

and their buckles of brass

but that now seems

as it were centuries ago

for here we are just now

bound to the present as it were

in small living rooms

where the sound of music grows

among a mix of young strangers

they are all dressed just right

and the sound of the banjo

it trickles and screams

while it lives among voices

and sleepy beer-soaked dreams

oh how it slips

through windows untidy

living on the air

in the wind

and driven so slightly

carried on the smiles of such faces

with their eyes open widely

as they step past the doorways

alone and together

into the night that breathes wildly

and know this for surely

they will come once again

for such songs are a bribery

filling our souls to the edge

and as we peer over

from this porch-wide lofty perch

it’s those songs we’ll remember

we will take them to our homes

and when those frontiers full of sadness

they ache our weary bones

we will sing out from our windows

to those ears in distant homes

for when we have such music

we shall never be alone

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/9/14

“this land”

we are floating on fiery seas

in search of those lonely ice-thrown shores

for we know what lies beneath the tufted snow

there are dreams that rest in the buried ground

and little green whispers that filter through

like strands of living grass that kiss the sky

what soft, warm light will come

when homes and hearts find this willing space

so spin your praying wheels

and carry your colored flags to mountains on high

travel to the ends of the earth

searching for that tender resting place

and when that wondrous day comes

when water and light form such perfect shadows

you will be there in the darkness

that lovely hour known

watching coals that barely glow

and when the sun comes to rising

you will step out from the door

gazing at the distance

on this land you call your own

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/22/14

“new year’s”

those that lived before us

they were born of dust

scraped from high chilean peaks

warmed by the temple sun

and washed by the mountain ice

they spoke in prayers

carried by the wind for a thousand years

and from their souls came wisdom

brilliant-white and pure

 

how has this history found us

like a dark coffee fog swelling in the distance

waiting in the stillness

for such a time that finds us all

wasted in our revelry

just so many hours far removed

here among the quickening lights

 

what lies behind those ancient eyes

those flecks of circled glass

piercing stony hearts

our deepest wishes known

 

and in those new year’s old

when love was soft and warm

did they dream of us in our future

i think not so much perhaps

rather do i imagine

when the moon rang out at midnight

they pulled close the one’s they cherished

and held them breathless-tight

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/31/13

“12/12”

sadness comes like a swollen stream

buried in your bones

well-worn and woven

imbedded in your very soul

like elements scattered in the dust of coal

and those shadows that flash

just behind the bedroom changing screens

they are but pencil sketches

cold in the dark of  winter’s night

 

oh how you come for me

with sugared words and salty skin

for i am tangled in your twisted fire

and in all your barbs and all your wires

they run through me

so soft and so violent

 

and you are there

just beyond the clouds of white

my every move so simply measured

scaled to the inch and to the mile

your clutching hands growing ever nearer

i can almost feel your touch

 

and so when you have me

in your dark and dreary ways

will you at least love me?

or will you simply turn

and slowly walk away…

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/12/13

“beyond the flooded, folding fields”

snowflowers swirl and spin in the grey of swollen spheres
and this could be the saddest world we’ve ever seen
here… the folding fields are flooded
an armada stuck fast to the frozen sky
the searchlights blast through the hilly fog
just near this warm enchanting place
just inside the old stores
among the smoke and mirrors
the cards of tarot lay scattered among the decking
like ancient stones torn across a sea of invisibility
where soft silhouettes toast the spanish sky
their shirts like sails in a violent wind
they dance like lights in the christmas wild
for this may be the only way they’ve ever known
and I am here…
among the fierce and downtrodden
and we all shall rise!
like holy rosaries in the morning mist
til the holes in our hearts are mended and woven
for this shall not be our final resting place
we will follow the signs that tell of paths
beyond the flooded, folding fields
our shy wiry eyes will glisten once more
and just there beyond the spray
where the dark golden water falls
we will breathe the cool, sweet wind
and fill our lungs with laughter

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/2/13

“the dark of loneliness”

sweet sapphire eyes peek at me from behind the frosted glass
like a telescope staring straight into the burning sun
they are restless and probing
they glitter like a snow that has not yet fallen
and they wonder why i wait
just one, long, smooth breath away
but i cannot say
for my words are drifting in the mist
they are buried deep beneath the frozen ground
and in that moment
where speech and feelings falter
i have lost her loving gaze
those blue lights that once did sparkle
now retreating in the dust
to be swept away forever
gone drifting ever deeper
into the dark of loneliness

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 10/30/13

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