10
Dec
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: ancient, antique, antiques, battle, battles, children, daughter, daughters, death, dream, dreams, embrace, fabric, families, family, father, fathers, flag, flags, form, forms, heart, hearts, husband, husbands, love poem, love poems, mother, mothers, poem, poem about love, poem blog, poems, poet, poetry, poetry blog, poetry writer, poetry writing, poets, poets blog, possession, possessions, son, sons, soul, souls, stranger, strangers, the small things, tiny home, tiny homes, tiny house, tiny houses, travel, travelers, urban sprawl, war, warmth, wife, wives. Leave a comment
we were born of the antique and ancient forms
our stories woven from the fabric of our dyed and twisted yarns
like the wreckage of so many voyages lost and long
those travelers floating over poles
our souls on the battlefields mourned
we are assembled from the glass of mirrors that have passed
from the love of our mothers and our fathers dead and gone
in the comfort of our rituals we are dressed in softly stolen silks
and we think upon those travelers
those many bridges they have crossed
we wonder how their flags are planted
where the mountains meet the sky
and now we live as strangers
our families just so splintered
we are driven and we are torn
the swollen weight of our possessions
the magnificent size of our earthly homes
but what we need is tiny
it fits inside our hearts
a formation of the soul
it cannot be found in store fronts
or in those luminous shopping malls
it lives just near the fire
and in your child’s warm embrace
sometimes driving madly
but always in the end
our only true possession
perhaps a wife or son or daughter
it may just be a lover or a dream that never ends
and perhaps…
even just a friend
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/10/14
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19
Sep
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: air, alone, angel, angels, backyard, birth, blog, blogger, blogging, buried, burn, civilization, colors, couples, creating, cry, dance, dancer, dancing, day, deep, delight, distant, divine, dream, dreamer, dreaming, dreams, dry, eyelashes, eyes, fall, fire, fires, forgotten, frost, gleaming, grass, heart, home, house, lashes, lips, meadow, might, morning, night, one, patterns, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poets, pools, prism, quivering, release, sad, salt, shine, sing, soft, soul, star, starlight, storm, strange, strangers, stream, strolling, tears, think, thinker, thinking, thoughts, time, touch, trapped, vision, woman, women, write, writer, writing, yearning. Leave a comment
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
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9
Jun
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: beginners, blog, blogger, blogging, born, catacombs, dancing, dream, dreamer, dreaming, dreams, green, hearts, light, one, outside, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poets, soft, stars, strangers, swoon, think, thinker, thinking, thoughts, touch, write, writer, writing, yearning. Leave a comment
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
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