Posts Tagged ‘poets’

“on the trail of dreams”

all the dust

like little dream makers

softly falling on your skin

you breathe them in

a lung full of memories

yearning in low sweeping passes

touched by the splendor

what arduous journeys now press upon your soul

you search the empty trail

hearing foot falls in the distance glow

the scent of the gathering grows

content now in what you sense

your small feet catching pollen

stripped from the crushed meadow flowers

for this way have you come

never to return the waking hours

never to become the ponderous one

falling from the scorn of golden ages

appearing in doorways

hanging on the arms of innocence

you that travel on sensuous roads

waiting for the tasting of something new

something beyond compare

like sweet lemons plucked from a constellation

stinging red lips

a burning ocean of wind

driven by the soundless fire

making your way

down through the woods

full of strange creatures glancing

you speak to them

you join them

and now you are dancing

so let them partake

of your dreams small and dusty

for when the dawn comes

all things will scatter

and you must regain the trail

and the searching

for this is what matters!

 

Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/17/12

“the one”

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

“the little things”

little drops of honest smoke

pitter patter the chalky sidewalk

and little words

like whispy voices

shatter the calm

thoughts melt like buttercream

on frosted eye lashes shimmering

and little tears

like downy streams

run ever softly

from hills and narrows

green with english rain

soft cheeks brush

outside beyond the calling

and little tones

make little noises

that stretch beyond the horizon

and so remember…

when there is nothing

shadows glow in amber darkness

like beautiful secrets born

they climb aloft

like silly sparrows

and then they’re gone

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/13/12

“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

“mornings”

cold trains

viewed from the breakfast window

they slide by

fluttering like old nitrate film

burning gardens in their passing

stirring up dust

trapped in a gleaming shaft of sunlight

it is what we see

only the edge of enlightenment

only the lonely fragments of truth

captured like so many wishes

in a bottle

set out to sea

and the lines of clothing

set out to dry

they are ghosts in the arbor

sugar plum fairies in the wood

and summer girls

in their summer dresses

taking strolls on the glittering pavement

while the acacia smiles

and black eyed susan

she gives a knowing wink

back now

to the eyes of morning

sifting through the newsprint

flour spinning off the rolling pin

pressing out scones in the old clay oven

a character belting out lines from the summer stage

soon blankets will lay like carpet

suffocating the manicured lawn

and we will come from our homes

and from our cool ash hearths

for the season so invites

the atmosphere filled with dashing attire

bowties and stocking feet abound

they settle in

for the long night is coming

and with the strumming

the celestial heart dips slowly out of sight 

calming the little ones

it marks the ending of the day

for when this chapter closes

with lovers pulling tight

we will seek a new beginning

in the morning sunday light

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 7/2/12

“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

“whimsy”

sweet chocolate wind

look what you scatter about my feet

warm butter imprints,

resting…

and little moths kissing

stickers for children

for scratching and sniffing

 

feeling whimsical for a day

or a month,

or a year…

 

hands on my face

softer now

than the white oven baked

listening closely

for the humming and hissing

red hot radiator swishes

on the highway

in the evening

 

you move me with your green eyes burning

the next morning

after you’ve gone

your imprint still pressed on my pillow

like nectar on fallen petals

 

red polished nails that are broken

the phone that doesn’t ring

still waiting…

for the sound that will come

like giant footsteps on hills

just out of reach from the danger

for the tribesmen are swarming

 

it should come as no surprise

this honeycombed warning

it bit you on the neck

while in the fields you were roaming

 

so know her not

for what she really is

keep her tucked in the diary veil

for if she escapes

no one will ever believe

that you knew her so well

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/19/12

“inspiration”

you have to fight for the yard-long miles

like the wind in the cross-long fallows

alight with the fire of folded magic

tendering your sweet resignations

like fingerprints that smudge a cloudless sky

for we are the lost ones weary

come from an ocean of stolen devotions

circling and diving we pray

the melting wax of vintage candles

forming a sidewalk, nighttime display

they tell a sweet secret story

born in the june of the day

paid for like the rhymes of an hour

in this spreading motion at play

but there will always be something

breathless and lost in the wanting

it is found in the heart as it matters

a little whisper that swallows

and when it comes up for air

from the pillowed window frame seat

it will look to capture the moment

proud of the bounty

that lays at your feet

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/19/12

“beginners”

on heads on hearts

on beds

apart

in the death

are the catacombs

and the dark

where spirits lay

to find your soul

your mate

to be taken

from this place

on chests

resting softly

hands touching

so far apart

and knowing

the ways of differing arts

on mending

your days

a pillar of soft dust

in a thrilling display

to capture

and corner

and savor her ways

from lust

and longing

the fragile one fraying

on knees

and bended

before her touch

to wonder

not knowing

what there

lies beneath

a canopy of stars

to cradle and swoon

beneath her arms

clutching and bare

so it should be

on minds on matters

this feeling of freedom

in windows that shatter

and when that day comes

a vision in tatters

you will not be alone

but in the arms of strangers

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 7/8/12

“transit of venus”

calm wind

fly from stars

to the radio head

identify the tranquil beat

conjure the vibrant ring

and wait

for the transit is coming

planets sprinting across the face of the sun

a spot on the eye

the distance to be reckoned

catch now as catch can

or be lost for a hundred years

falling through this emptiness of mine

waiting for the band

in the darkness of sound

and when the stage lights

they grow and throb

look for the bright eyed faces

and the swaying of the crowd

for these are anniversaries

to mark the union of souls

born of astronomical degree

and when the sextant marks out the line

we will know the distance gathered

and the passage of time…

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/5/12