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