Sunday, February 11, 2018

Purple

Purple

On faux seas
float
with no hope to sink
and no need for wind.
The hull carries the loot
of 1000 mardi gras beads.
Potholes on the road
crash as waves on the bow.
Planks of paper
soften in the rain,
revealing the dark machine
underneath.

-Robert L. Jackson III




Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Moon Poem


Another Moon Poem Defending its Territory

The moon,
in glowing silence,
controls the port,
submerging
the jagged reef 
at high tide,
but showing its teeth
during the reciprocal age.

-Robert L. Jackson III



Friday, January 26, 2018

intravenous

Drip your blood
to me
through the intravenous
holes in time and space.
Drip your love
to me
through quantum fibers
and tears in science.

-Robert L. Jackson III


Picture used from:

Sunday, January 21, 2018

Hum

Hum

The modern machines
are too quiet,
humming in harmony,
but muted,
and we live unaware
of their conversions.
The engines of nature
have no buffers
over the rustling of leaves
the chirping of birds,
the scratching of wood,
or the calls in the night,
except for the stealth
of the predators.

-Robert L. Jackson III


Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Sticks

Sticks


The boundary is flat

on the river.

Roots erode;

and trees cross the realm,

extending

the bare knuckles

of their bony fingers

to the travelers

above.

The swirling knots

of the waterlogged wood

stare across

and speak 

to the ringed cores

of the survivors.

The fibrous matter

separates

from the soul

in the dark depths.

We wallow in the mud,

with unburied bones,

exposed,

and leaving no need

for chiseled tombstones.


-Robert L. Jackson III


Posted for Poets United midweek motif of Soul/Psyche.



Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Flames

Flames

With shelter
a blaze,
we close the door
to control its spread,
but as your halls,
timbers and trusses,
emit slivers
of flame,
do not lock
the latch,
leaving me
to only smell the smoke.

-Robert L. Jackson III



Tuesday, December 12, 2017

No title

Celebrate
stagnation
or even a slight decay?
The water 
does not stay
confined 
in the reflective lake
forever,
it is evaporating,
freezing,
expanding against boundaries,
and flowing
into deep grooves.
The landscape 
Is not flat, 
but ripples 
under motion, 
and feeds flames 
with wood and oil.
Celebrate 
the sun
warming our souls
from afar
and incinerating 
broken orbits 
and resurrecting bodies
as an incendiary. 

-Robert L. Jackson III