Friday, December 28, 2012

Combustible

Probably the last one for 2012...

Combustible

The smoldering dust
of the prophetical star
ignites the transparent fuel
of the engines of youth.
Pressure entices the aperture
to restart the fabled fountains' cycles.
Some sources release water,
too pure to burn,
others bubble black oil,
aeromatic and volatile.
Tall opaque men seek to locate
and drain each source of clarity,
while others aim to cap
each well with explosives
to suffocate the flames
that we were born with.

-Robert L. Jackson

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Smooth



Smooth

The doldrums prove as lethal as the hurricane,
with measurement and detection arduous.
The ocean lays flat without ripples
or voices propagating toward home.
No waves fatigue the rocky cliffs,
no currents erode the beach
and no one remembers
bleached bones on a decaying raft.
Men yearn for the splash of cannon balls
and others seek faults in the ocean floor,
just to release the surface tension
of a glassy droplet covering the globe.

-Robert L. Jackson

The stuff of life: The globe pictured through a drop of water
http://www.markusreugels.de/liquidart


Saturday, December 8, 2012

Completed on December 8th

Fixed

We continue to wind the clock
in homage to ancestors and heirs,
when even in this era
the sun, the wind or the wasted human motion, 

has been tapped for the same purpose.
Though the maker is gone,

or at least behind a cloud,
gravity continues,
surfaces still corrode
and we still fight the inevitable.
The swing will be perpetual
and energy no longer critical
when the borders are at peace
and the elements of gas, liquid,
and metal no longer abrade. 
The polished brass
gleams in the sun,
rising from the shadow
of the coated earth.

-Robert L. Jackson

 

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

November 2012

November 2012

Pull

Under the passion of gravity
the earth cracks and the new spring begins.
In the youth, the salt
of the ocean smells strong.
The water progresses straight
towards it's goal,
only veering
due to ancient topography.
Some obstacles erode under a slow cutting flow.
Skin roughens with time,
while the water
smooths the jagged stones.
With age
the river becomes crooked,
it's banks eroding
and breaching ideals,
leaving islands  of soil
and creatures
isolated and protected
until the weather changes.
With seasons and longer cycles
the depths rise and fall,
sometimes flooding
the foundations
of villages and forests.
The water flows
until the source dries
or another path is found,
leaving the impressions
of those drinking from the bank
to fossilize.

-Robert L. Jackson

Saturday, October 13, 2012

boundaries

boundaries

The ocean forcefully divides
the whole earth into continents
and species part
that yearn to mix
and consume each other.
The log splits
under a metal wedge
and grains lose grasp,
the rings of ages are broken,
and the flames return all.
New boundaries form
to reveal catalyzing surfaces
that react with biology
or harden to bark
and stone in the air.
The animals adapt
or diminish
and the offspring
break through the decayed
to reach upward again.
Overlooked, there is still life underwater
and in the ashes of earth.

Robert L. Jackson

File:Platypus.jpg

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Propagation

Propagation

Even the most fertile soil
will always remain muddy and exposed
on an eroding hillside,
peeling apart lamina
when the weather angers it.

The landfill will only become forest
once the fresh waste
no longer crushes
the new sprouts
on a scheduled cycle.

Some divisions
flow so fast and narrow
that the time
to mourn is scarce
before they heal.

Although even compatible surfaces
need to be cleaned
of the impurities of behavior
and take time to bond
and build roots
across divisions.


-Robert L. Jackson


From http://www.uvm.edu/~inquiryb/webquest/sp08/pmontgom/mudslide2.jpg
 

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Snippets Poem


Snippets


The clouds hold

in orbit

around this bit

of salty desert.

I see the rain,

warm in the winter

and cool in the summer,

turning hillsides green,

yet I stay anchored

in thirst.

The warm air

taunted the lilies

to unravel too soon

and they withered

beneath necklaces of ice,

their yellow sagging petals

randomly mangled

yet still following sequentially

in waves of winter wind.

The brass turns brown

on the mechanical clock

but its solar and lunar

timing holds true.

I wind its innards

and lift the weights

against gravity

that drives the cycles.


-Robert L. Jackson