Posts Tagged ‘home’

“red ant fires”

red ant fires smolder in the georgia dust

and the droning sound of pollinators

it trickles through the air

like summer balloons on an evening sky

 

the old orchards have fallen to decay

the fruit is bitter and flush with the taste of sin

 

there are gravestones that stretch in glimmering white

so plainly beautiful and bursting with emotion

 

it all unfolds like a dreamscape

childhood vacations etched in memory

 

and all along the coast

among the grass and swaying palms

the sand is built of castles

we are kings upon our thrones

 

but the sodden wheels of time

they have drenched our dreaming wheels

 

for now we talk when once we tumbled

and pray when once we slept

 

we have been cast out from our ocean

our toes beneath the foam

and we wonder why this happened

how we came to know this home

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/25/14

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“the home and the hearth”

lonely spheres of influence
dance like falling leaves
they crackle in the burning dust
absorbed like memories in the mortar
a tower of bricks and stones
for we are now among the falling season
our warm hands gently slipping
the chilly autumn light abounds
where once our homes stood gripping
tethers and strings are snapping
and in our sleep we dream of mending
the fields where once bright flowers faltered
sweet tea and honey kisses
you have dressed yourself in sunlight
now you smolder and shake
but i am here to save you
such a damsel in distress
i have washed away the winters
those that froze our tiny nest
and in the wind we hear a distant something
like notes parading through the air
but we must reach for them so quickly
holding fast with all our might
for if they change their tune too swiftly
our song no longer will remain
we will be cast amongst the shadows
two lives only lived in vain
but if we hold them tightly
with our hearts and not our hands
they will carry us warm and sweetly
to our homes and hearths and friends

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 10/9/13

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

“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

“circles”

fleet of foot

on wide slanted lines

precious little artifacts

hidden in the moorish design

glistening azure tiles to the sky

white hot roof tops

and spice market flags

they shift and flap

high above the mud walls

and the summer fountain yards

beads turn over clutched hands

nimbly building prayers of glass

shattering spirited worlds

affecting far removed hearts

away in the fields of some distant land

and there, among the banyan trees

shade grows long with the day

turning and pressing the jam scented fruit

soon to be on its way

to coffee houses filled with steam

a taste between conversations

and the words they carry home

will fit like the scabbard blade

passing between lips

unknown they will digest

with a passing sleight of hand

a forehead kiss goodnight

the dreamers will have dreamed

they will awake

to mornings yellow light

hearing the sounds of silence

and the birds aloft in flight

crossing endless landscapes

around and round they go

always back to where they started

but they do not even know

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/20/12

“cubit’s knight”

in the swift turn of air
a solemn song dissipates
it turns the shattered leaves
and sends a high chorus
through the great cathedrals of man.
but they are not of stone,
they are built of the soft flesh.
they resonate from the soulful tomb
carving and twisting a vision of beauty,
and in the orange-sweet breath of sound
they live and they die
but never, never are they gone!
passing the broken homes
and scraping the high towers
here in this lofty space…
slowly they dwindle,
slowly they dance by the sweet ear’s of children
the vibrant echo fluttering faster
in the ageless heart of youth.
the dream grows on now!
it tears me from my doldrums
and lifts me into space
forever to remember
this momentary grace

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/23/11 ( inspired by today but written for the past)

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