Sunday, July 16, 2017

Tilt

Tilt

Two statues
carved smooth
from settled marble,
layered in seasons,
shaped to interlock
but apart,
held vertical
by gravity
from Earth
and horizontally
by each other.
Cracking,
their foundations 
tilt.

-Robert L. Jackson III


A picture of a Nathan Sawaya Lego sculpture from the Art of the Bricks exhibit.


Sunday, July 9, 2017

Adapted

Should the twisted tree
be chopped down
to the ground
and the stump
removed
because as a sapling
it followed
a river of light
that curved
around larger trunks
and spliced
clusters of leaves?

-Robert L. Jackson III


Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Mr. Hall

Mr. Hall

The alligators
nipped my toes
while I learned to swim.
But the teeth
felt like fingers,
and with time
the predators
returned to their form
as ants,
that my instructor 
embellished.
Soon I learned
to cross the sterile pool,
but then knew 
that no river
or moat
or ocean channel
would ever contain me
again.

-Robert L. Jackson III




Sunday, July 2, 2017

Peaks

Peaks

Men in the valley
stack pillars 
of pebbles,
and grains of sand 
on cones,
amid the mountains.

The terrain
seems unaltered,
and always returning
to smooth
from rain and wind;
Until some rocks,
alter the flow 
of a flood,
to collect the silt
of a new island.

Inspired,
men in the valley,
climb
to leave stones
on the apexes,
leaving them taller.

-Robert L Jackson III



Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Still

Still

Grass grows up
from shadowed soil
past sinking treads
and into the mechanisms,
following thin paths
of sunlight,
twisting past belts
and linkages.
Seals dehydrate
and crack,
returning petroleum
to the earth.
Live ammunition
bleeds black powder
from corroded
holes in their skin.
The barrels
bend under heat
and humidity
toward fertile mud.
Reeds engulf time,
leaving creatures
to detour 
around the mass.

Robert L. Jackson III

This poem was inspired by the Midweek Motif of War and Peace by Poets United:




Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Convex

Convex

The only buoyancy
is sometimes a lake
rather than an ocean,
where our bodies sink deeper
and are confined
by a concave shoreline.
The storms 
grow unrestrained
over the salt;
able to consume us
and digest us
on jagged reefs.
But through waves of energy
we can now see them
over the horizon,
and plot a safe course.
Yet the fresh water
and humid land
can nurture concentrated 
tornadoes,
that splinter
the ribs of our hulls
without warning.

-Robert L. Jackson III



Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Deep

Deep

Looking
for the hole
In the ocean floor
revealing the organs 
of the Earth
through a pixelated
image of the solid
measured from a device
marketed for finding fish
in the murky waters
of the churning currents,
voyagers spend their thoughts.
Only the fragile 
glass-bottom boats
floating on the clear water
of saintly springs
allow us direct sight
through the hull.
Only on unconfined vessels 
on the ocean
are the great depths 
and jagged topography
accessible,
yet only seen
through transcendental eyes.

-Robert L. Jackson III


Sunday, May 28, 2017

Foothills

Foothills

Perhaps the fog should stay
and not reveal
the teeth of the mountain range,
a lying creature,
breathing shallow,
waiting on my path.

-Robert L. Jackson III



Sunday, May 21, 2017

How man spread earthworms

How man spread earthworms

The stabilizing ballast
lowers the hull
and my eyesight
below the revealing horizon,
a blinking marker
lost in the mist.
Yet, I do not dare 
empty the belly 
of the living earth, 
and lose the ability 
to digest 
the consuming world.
But others have
already regurgitated 
their ecology 
onto the virgin land, 
once controlled by 
layers of the vivid fall.
The worms' appetites
free the thick brush 
to blind us 
of the lost civilizations.

-Robert L. Jackson III





Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Oblong

Oblong 

The wheel
struggles to stay round
as the spokes 
decay and pop
over time;
leaving no tendons 
to keep the mind
from collapsing
and becoming oblong.

-Robert L. Jackson III

This was written for the Poets United midweek motif of Bicycles, Tricycles and Unicycles.


Wednesday, April 5, 2017

A Warning

A Warning

Some wait
for the living ripples 
to return
from across time,
but their intensity
becomes lost
beneath the wind blown breakers
after too many reflections.

-Robert L. Jackson III


Sunday, April 2, 2017

Transparent Desires

Transparent Desires

On this finite journey
is any energy left
to generate the heat
that will melt 
our fissures together
and repair holes
in the filtering gut
while burning skin
to a crisp crust,
brittle to life's waves
of electrons
and photons,
transversing our boundaries,
as if we were glass,
to heat our core,
to boiling magma,
soft and malleable,
just below
the soles of tourists.

-Robert L. Jackson III


Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Treatment

Treatment

Quicken
the sun's rise
and the moon's fall
with medicine,
so the scorched 
cedes
to the resurrection
and the earth
erodes
to the precious
under clean skies,
without noise
and color,
as tomorrow
is pure
and the past
is a photo
with bruised edges
and scratches of regret,
lost in our mind,
until neurons
polish it
to a Seurat,
but the pills
leading back
have long been digested.

-Robert L. Jackson

This poem is the synthesis of two sources. First, my body has been battling itself in illness, and I just want time to pass until I am well (hopefully). However, am I then not relishing these moments in time as they should be. The second source is the motif of "nostalgia" posted by the Poets United blog (http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/search/label/Midweek%20Motif). They seemed to fit together into this poem.





Sunday, February 5, 2017

Entropy

Entropy

Do
the poles of our souls
lose alignment
following 
the spirals of the world
and the meandering
motion
of hardened feet
-numb and lost-
across the terrain,
-constant through time-
unable to find
north?

-Robert L. Jackson III




Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Faith in Light

Faith in Light

The assembly line
installed
with pristine edges
and mirrored shines,
operated 
by newly trained workers,
slides, pulls and presses
the raw materials
into identical
functioning forms.
In the repetition,
the workers age,
the corners nick,
and the reflecting
faces
from surfaces
dull and disappear.
Many are born,
that fail to glow, 
and no one recalls
the design,
tearing on
thin yellow paper
in a corroded
file cabinet.
We arrive at the store,
with faith,
but find
no bulbs. 

-Robert L. Jackson