Posts Tagged ‘writer’

“forever lost”

i wonder what the sounds of time have seen

as they crawled over ridge tops

down towards those ravines

 

like orchards they have sprung

and from their branches came leaves

such a fruitful mystique

 

a harpsichord drama

a baroque woman’s dream

 

they were dressed in the harshness

that of storms, that of steam

 

but now they are gone

like bees from a hive

for i only see the shadows

of their honey-whispered teams

 

a metronome, i must now become

the keeper of time

a brush on the drum

 

i will call from this window

over mountains and miles

 

i will tear down those walls

and reveal those sweet smiles

 

for i am the sound

and the sights i have seen

i am the one that wanders

forever lost,

in this dream…

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari

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“carved in whispers”

our doors lie open wounded

driven like the dust of papered worlds

a brilliantly tattered totem

so ornately carved in whispers

and on the tips of tongues

upon the tops of pillars

they are but simple prayers

flowing from our lips like vapor

such evidence as we have found

for it was written in the stars

and printed in the papers

it was pressed below our tables

in the hands of mystics and soothsayers

like prisons we possessed them

we trapped their sweetness between layers

and here alone we travel

to our backyard garden swings

the air of smoke so thick and full of dreams

with our hands we try to catch them

so we may discover what remains

but as we hold them in our lungs

they shall take our only breath

for they are faster and they savor

those simple songs that dance in shadow

like broken leaves along the ground

sweetly rustling in the evening

and when our mornings come

we expect to capture them once more

but forever we have lost them

and never again shall they be found

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 11/26/14

“just the smallest taste of air”

the fires burn in differing forms

onto the lips of mouths

the madeleines are warm

cigar box guitars are singing

whilst the lines are forming

and all those gentle butterfly windstorms are coming

the red eyed tides are rising

our mirrors indicate a reflection shining

and slowly, ever so slowly, we breathe…

just the smallest taste of air

born from the foamy essence of wishes

a collaboration in this hour of tenderness

four arms wrapped and visionless

and so shall we see

for as it was, and may never be

sliding from shore to shore

like so many suns arising

their shores so forlornly salted

but i am still wishing

and while these wishes i have

they come indifferent and torn

there is but one thing in common

in the sight of love they were born

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 9/30/14

“little swallow”

little swallow

on your lofty perch

what do you see up there so high

twittering away on the evening sky

 

is it the stars so bathed in light

or the people

with their hopes and dreams and fears

 

i wonder what you find amazing

would it be the glitter and the gold

or just the simple cobblestones

and the way they define our paths

 

where do you go in our darkest hours

when we need your whispered song

 

oh how it rings in troubled silence

like prayers so layered in the dust

 

alone on the windswept plain

the wagon spinning wheels

they turn me round and over

ever to your thoughts

 

and if just

for one simple, quiet moment

i could be your iris wide

i would take in all your memories

with folded wings along my side

striking out the distance

to quench the fires of my strife

and be a simple creature

warmed by swollen thermals in the night

 

i would love you for this honor

to look out from your eyes

and we would be friends as such forever

one of land and one of sky

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari  7/24/14

“beyond the whisping clouds”

swollen hearts tumble in the old fashioned way

they are consumed by the fires of eternity

 

but this is a day of reprieves

the plumes of early summer heat have momentarily abated

and in this sweetened break of time

cool fragrant breezes run like softened pebbles under your feet

the grasses seem to live and breathe

birds tell stories from their twiggy homes

and for the first time

you understand the yarns they weave

 

oh how i wonder

just what this night will bring

shall it be this day’s cool cousin

dressed in faded blues

 

will fires work the sky

above our silken flags

 

will the moon be cut just right

beyond the whisping clouds

 

why all these things i ask of you

they somewhat matter not

for what i wish to know is grandeur

your face in the waning light

and perhaps a kiss between us

before you take your starry flight

 

-Jason Cyrus Aktharekhavari 7/2/14

“red ant fires”

red ant fires smolder in the georgia dust

and the droning sound of pollinators

it trickles through the air

like summer balloons on an evening sky

 

the old orchards have fallen to decay

the fruit is bitter and flush with the taste of sin

 

there are gravestones that stretch in glimmering white

so plainly beautiful and bursting with emotion

 

it all unfolds like a dreamscape

childhood vacations etched in memory

 

and all along the coast

among the grass and swaying palms

the sand is built of castles

we are kings upon our thrones

 

but the sodden wheels of time

they have drenched our dreaming wheels

 

for now we talk when once we tumbled

and pray when once we slept

 

we have been cast out from our ocean

our toes beneath the foam

and we wonder why this happened

how we came to know this home

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/25/14

“fireflies and sheep”

fireflies swim in their oceans of sky

and warm dandelion breaths cast a cottony snow

their thin waxy stems like sweet summer girls

they dance in my yard and all through the world

here in the draft of some beautiful scent

 

oh how i wonder

where will they go?

their footsteps in summer

violet toes in the grass

 

and the trickles of laughter

how they drift like a stream

through my ears like windows open

now un-shuttered to reveal

what those whispering lips

and those cool shaded eyes

once did so guardedly conceal

 

so now i must choose

shall it be the stars or the lights?

 

i am breathing the wind

and in the evening while i sleep

in my hammock just woven

i will swing from those branches

the ones just out of reach

there on the moon…

by the fence…

counting sheep

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 5/2/14

“ode to a frontier”

black rivers flow

under white skies that shimmer and glow

the ground under foot

so soft from the melt of snow

and the pilgrims that come

are hidden in a place of shadows

with their wide brimmed hats

and their buckles of brass

but that now seems

as it were centuries ago

for here we are just now

bound to the present as it were

in small living rooms

where the sound of music grows

among a mix of young strangers

they are all dressed just right

and the sound of the banjo

it trickles and screams

while it lives among voices

and sleepy beer-soaked dreams

oh how it slips

through windows untidy

living on the air

in the wind

and driven so slightly

carried on the smiles of such faces

with their eyes open widely

as they step past the doorways

alone and together

into the night that breathes wildly

and know this for surely

they will come once again

for such songs are a bribery

filling our souls to the edge

and as we peer over

from this porch-wide lofty perch

it’s those songs we’ll remember

we will take them to our homes

and when those frontiers full of sadness

they ache our weary bones

we will sing out from our windows

to those ears in distant homes

for when we have such music

we shall never be alone

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/9/14

“this land”

we are floating on fiery seas

in search of those lonely ice-thrown shores

for we know what lies beneath the tufted snow

there are dreams that rest in the buried ground

and little green whispers that filter through

like strands of living grass that kiss the sky

what soft, warm light will come

when homes and hearts find this willing space

so spin your praying wheels

and carry your colored flags to mountains on high

travel to the ends of the earth

searching for that tender resting place

and when that wondrous day comes

when water and light form such perfect shadows

you will be there in the darkness

that lovely hour known

watching coals that barely glow

and when the sun comes to rising

you will step out from the door

gazing at the distance

on this land you call your own

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 1/22/14

“new year’s”

those that lived before us

they were born of dust

scraped from high chilean peaks

warmed by the temple sun

and washed by the mountain ice

they spoke in prayers

carried by the wind for a thousand years

and from their souls came wisdom

brilliant-white and pure

 

how has this history found us

like a dark coffee fog swelling in the distance

waiting in the stillness

for such a time that finds us all

wasted in our revelry

just so many hours far removed

here among the quickening lights

 

what lies behind those ancient eyes

those flecks of circled glass

piercing stony hearts

our deepest wishes known

 

and in those new year’s old

when love was soft and warm

did they dream of us in our future

i think not so much perhaps

rather do i imagine

when the moon rang out at midnight

they pulled close the one’s they cherished

and held them breathless-tight

 

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/31/13

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