Posts Tagged ‘pollen’

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

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“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

“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

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