Sunday, December 25, 2011

Leap through the Mist

Leap through the Mist

My mind is a mountain path
with shear cliffs rising on one side
and falling on the other.
There is a temple somewhere above,
perhaps on the peak,
but the architecture is difficult
to see from the gray path.
However, in the lush fertile valley
the gold shimmers
through the cloud covered peaks,
revealing existence.
As feet crack
and green is forgotten,
the thought seeds
to jump to feel the fall,
a measure of the height reached.
Without weight, but within the drag of the air,
perhaps the full spectrum is painted,
and feathers spread from the brush.

-Robert L. Jackson III

Monday, November 7, 2011

Middle Ages

Middle Ages

From the moldy thatched hut

steaming on the mountain side

I finally emerge

with a gleaming sword

and my eyes squint

still strained from the white hearth fire.

The modern man follows

leaving his right angled room

after conquering the equations

he has poured over for centuries.

The mist conceals

a distant coastline,

the goal that has devolved

in my ancient mind.

The hills I must travel

disperse into perspective,

seeming like leaping stones

on a turbulent river in the distance.

I feel the hilt

wrapped in new leather

as my finger tips

tap at molded plastic pads

inscribed with language,

and my blade

states a memory

in the metallic reflections.

The hollows between the hills

hold mirrors

that will reveal new scars

as I batter through

the wilderness

of kin I’ve never known.

As I approach the divide

between the rigid and malleable,

the dispensable articles

will fall and return to their sources.

The electronics will whirl,

heating my skin

in a humid swamp,

until I submerge

and close all circuits.

-Robert L. Jackson III

Monday, October 10, 2011


A brand new poem...

The city morphs

to match the tourist’s demands.

The atom vibrates

to dance with the investigator.

A snow globe swirls

sending sparkling flakes

around bright dulled landmarks

all at room temperatures.

The electron smiles

as its location is measured,

or is it smirking

of condescendence?

The tree grows

around older metal bars,

slowly replacing the original pillars,

wrought for support

and carrying the gravity

of celestial life.

Parents nourish children

and shield them from

crystals of water

and photons from the sun;

until the walls crack

the roof leaks,

the foundation tilts,

and the next generation

must reinforce, rebuild,

or start from spent soil.

-Robert L. Jackson III

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

On the Eve- an older poem

On the Eve

Beyond the traffic

a collision of metal bodies

had occurred.

The muddy waters

of ancestry had stilled

to a mirror.

Some may have

perished in the asphalt

but the caught

were concerned with time.

Grass flew out on the gasps

of emergency vehicles

on a yellow median.

Glass cuts like a door,

apparent as a result

of a researcher’s life.

Mud oozed

from beneath wearing tires,

and the warm month

uncannily tired the followers.

-Robert L. Jackson III

This one is excerpted from Shedding Layers of Ocean.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

4. aus der 2.

4. aus der 2.

The true swans float
on melted snow
while the plaster avian
made from the ground gypsum
of a mountain brook mill
erodes into wayfarers' water
and the stone castle king
sinks in a shallow water stream
bobbing on the ripples
of composers
and knights coated in dragon blood,
now lost, latent,
and reborn in animation.

Robert L. Jackson III

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

From the Beach at Cape San Blas

Here's a half baked poem written from Cape San Blas...

Castles and cities of sand
accelerate the world
on a small scale.
Rivers erode curves in minutes
rather than decades.
Mountains crumble in moments
rather than eons.
The age of man
passes with the lunar tide,
but is deceiving
and returns
to reclaim each ruin
and repopulate each once saturated settlement.

Robert L. Jackson III

Friday, February 25, 2011

The Oaks on Toomer's Corner

A poem I originally wrote about when one of the Oaks on Toomers corner in Auburn was burnt, but I edited and finished it after the recent poisoning.

Tree on the corner

I am an oak
that lives
in green
through all seasons,
where two young
straight flat rocks
meet and combust
in blinking lights
and driving smoke.
My twigs intertwine
but never grasp
with another
whose roots
share my soil
below the rhythms
of travelers,
and the lost.
I have never been
to a Fall competition
and don’t know
what it is,
but the long white leaves
and the fire
have found me,
in frequent moments
over the years,
stinging leaves and bark.
My species
can last a millennia
and never see another
the same,
or never even grow past
the underbrush,
but in the storms
our branches
fall the same.
A tree in the forest
shelters, holds soil, and soars.
A tree on the corner is more significant
in human eyes and a target,
and a trampled idol.

Robert L. Jackson III

Thursday, February 3, 2011

New Poems in Epiphany

The poems Shallow Time and Traction have been published online at Epiphany Magazine (these are actually old poems that are finally out there):