6
Jan
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: blog, blogger, blogging, cereal, children, coffee, girls, kids, memories, mornings, nostalgia, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poetry blog, poetry blogger, poetry site, poetry website, poetry writer, poetry writing, red balloons, seasons, soul, the beatles, time, wife, winter, wives, yellow submarine. Leave a comment
it’s a yellow submarine morning
colder than the eyes of some forbidden danger
a spark of light by the curtains glow
red balloons across the sky
they have come to take me on
no more black birds singing in the darkest night
we have come to another day in the life
thinking back, i remember just now
our fires burning such a deepest cavern in the snow
our conversations like journeys flown
i hear now what percolates
in yonder distant rooms
filled with wives and children
with cereal and spoons
and to a desk with pen and ink
to strike the sounds of thought
to ponder and to think
i become the soul of time
crafting a digital word-spun rhyme
and as i look upon these lines
across the clutter, grown like vines
i think of drawers and shelves and pockets
placing such secrets softly
on a page of light and time
and perhaps one year from now
when the cold and white does shine
i will remember why i wrote these
simple, scattered lines
they will bring me back
to a moment, a place, a time
and I will think of winter
so beautiful, so cruel
so measured, so divine
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/6/18
10
Aug
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: arms, blog, death, hearts, husband, love, lovers, mountains, old, partners, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poetry blog, rivers, seas, tears, wife, woods. Leave a comment
over the river
and through the woods
straight into your heart
is where i’ll go
through the mountains
and over the seas
straight into your arms
is where i’ll flow
all the tears
that i have cried
all wash away
when i’m by your side
so hold me in
your loving arms
until we’re old
and dead
and gone
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 8/9/17
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
poems365dotcom 