Posts Tagged ‘thinking’

“dressed in flowers”

you come for me on modern winds
like the dotted foals of spring
prettier in your emerald blouse
than ever i have seen
livelier than a mountain willow
dressed in flowers
colorful and waiting
here in this water-soaked world
longing for the sweet ring
your head spinning like a top
only a few drops more of this
your tincture of ginseng
falling over your lips
in these hours of sand
your hands reaching through doors
forever revolving
you only know of this night
not the next or its morning
and with your voice soundless
a chattering echo
we brush past each other
on the paths of this hollow

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/11/13

“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

“such strange things we reconcile”

the wind tickles my face

like the fraying strands of yarn

from an old afghan heirloom

distant songs wash over me

they still ring in my ears

like a peaceful muted siren

and the smell of orange zest

lingers fragrant and happy

foot soldiers come out of the light

covered in syrian dust

such strange things we reconcile

as we lay resting

on couches in the afternoon’s golden swoon

they follow

like shadows on the grass

as we pass from our doorways

to the great emptiness outdoors

walking and wondering

with footsteps in time

the cold smell of moisture in the air

and the green rust of sculpted metal

painting pictures in our canvassed memory

further now in cars

as the smells turn from warm apples to smoke

the safety of our homes long forgotten

wheels bouncing along the concrete plain

they bring us through doors

through differing thresholds

and in those rooms of foreign delight

where fire lifts the darkness

we seek warm embrace

to make sense of it all

in the arms of our lovers

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/6/12

“brothers cry”

toes in the ether

born in the distance

of the breathing deeper

feathers falling through the embers burning

resting in the pillowed leaves

dreams like smoke carried through the trees

here amongst the sadness of the turning

where brothers cry amidst the darkness

alone

far from this side of the yearning

tears caressing cheeks so warmly

arms reaching through the dusty starlight

to clutch the mighty hands that hold you tight

sugary-eyed sparkling mists

coupled in the candy apple wishes

knees bent low

face down to brush the frosty ground

calm now in demeanor

you whisper across the universe

and waiting for the echo

it returns to you in lifetimes

in a world

different from the one that you called home

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 11/30/12

“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

“the dreaming sea”

swimming in the dreaming pool

at the end of the dimming world

fireflies are whirring in the droning distance

sugar clouds are rushing overhead

here?

in the thinning grey…

clocks move like motionless time

they are the coming fall

women are driving on maps of gold

here in the sleeping shadows

one deep layer beneath another

falling through the hourglass way

on the sand of yellow beaches

near the castles of the moon

there in the slumbering bay

you are breathing now slowly

in the grip of this evening’s foray

there will be lips

and kisses

and millions of days

drifting faster, then slowly

well on your way

but when comes morning?

nearing like starlight

warming little faces that flee

there will be no more swimming

no more wondering

there is nothing more i can say

for you are alone now

set a drifting…

there?

in the dreaming sea

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/22/12

“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

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