Ages of Entanglement, a novel

My novel was recently released and is available from various sources. It is the culmination of two years of writing and revising, so I’m kind of glad that is now out the door and floating the waves of electrons and paper fibers. Farther below is a link and brief description. If you do read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts and would appreciate your review on Amazon or Goodreads.
The book is currently available below as an ebook (or in paperback) for 99 cents to help folks like yourself be able to review it.
https://www.amazon.com/Ages-Entanglement-Robert-L-Jackson/dp/0359962696/

Although a post-apocalyptic novel, it is built on the idea of finding hope in darkness. It is set in the rural southeastern United States sometime in the future.Decades ago, humanity’s abuse of the strange phenomena known as quantum entanglement brought the demise of civilization.

Samson gave up searching for his family and now wanders the earth with no purpose, while avoiding entanglement with other souls. But then he meets Selene—an orphaned, but  strong and independent girl. She sees in him what he has forgotten. They journey together toward a utopian island only rumored to exist.

On Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48495484-ages-of-entanglement?ac=1&from_search=true

I am also posting more previews on Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/triboetry/?hl=en

Authenticity

This is for the Poets United Midweek Motif of Authenticity. I guess this poem is more about what is not authentic.

The wood grains

of too many 

homes

are painted over

in thick acrylic.

In the yard

the browning

follicles of grass

are dyed

with fertilizer.

While inside,

the nourishing 

plumbing 

and wires 

are hidden beneath 

smooth drywall.

The true house

is sometimes

only visible

after the years 

have worn away

the facade.

-R. L. Jackson

Everyday Table

This is a poem written for the Midweek Motif on Poets United on “Everyday Living.” 
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/10/poets-united-midweek-motif-everyday.html?m=1
I associate sitting down to a family dinner with everyday life.

A simple dinner

cutting my meat

with a fork

because

I’m too lazy

to clean a knife

talking

about the facade

of the day

so I leave

the house

to look at stars.

-Rob Jackson 

Engines

Well I incorrectly posted a poem to the wrong motif. Here is me trying to make up for it.

When I think of October and Fall, I often think of the harvest and the old tractors used. And I think of family. So here’s a poem:

Please

show me

the rusted engines

of your family

and soul.

Show me

the struggle

to turn

rumbling

on rust

and old fuel

because I know

there is hope

in those metal parts

cast

ages ago.

-Rob Jackson

Multiverses

This poem continues from the last poem inspired by the Poets United Midweek Motif of Truth:
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/10/poets-united-midweek-motif-truth-in.html?m=1

But today I’m sharing this one on the Poets United poetry pantry.
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/10/pantry-of-poetry-and-prose-october-is.html?m=1

Find solace

in knowing

there is a multiverse

somewhere

where everything

that should be true

is,

but there also exists

a realm

where everything true here

is false.

-R. L. Jackson 

Truth

Truth

We live 

in the age

of quantum truth,

when the facts

vary

depending 

on who’s watching.

-R. L. Jackson, 2019

Code

I've been writing following a structure of three connected at a time, or maybe they ar just one? Here's a recent trio. Have a great day.

Someone

left code

written

in the super computer,

so that

it will never

run the same.

We all leave

a few lines

changed.

Perhaps the universe

runs more like

a cluster,

a network of processors

rather than

one super computer,

and each of us

is a processor.

You

are never forgotten

if you left

a change

in the system’s

operation.

-R. L. Jackson

Honey

Haven't participated in a while, but here a little one for the Poets United Midweek Motif. I have to admit, I've mostly been posting on instagram under @triboetry. It's good to be back here though.
Here's a short little one for Honey/bee:

I wonder
what the honey
will taste like
when it's made of
concrete dust
and metal rust.

Just received the proof copies of my book. It was nice to see it in this near final form. I plan to review it all once more before releasing it at the beginning of November. What do you think about the cover?

Been a while

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything on my blog. Been spending most of my spare time, which has been limited, on Instagram. That’s mostly because it seems like social media gets more attention now than blogs, but maybe that perception is incorrect. Do you think the medium of articles and blogs are still alive? It seems like folks no longer read news articles anymore and receive their news from twitter, or maybe short news snippets on YouTube. Am I correct in this? If so, the world has certainly changed. Perhaps this is the reason for all of the social conflicts and unrest we see? It can’t be all bad though...we as humans are more connected than ever, which if approached in a positive way should allow us to see the world from each other’s perspective. Well, I’m just rambling now...so I’ll stop. If your interested in the poetry, I’ve been posting in these accounts:

https://www.instagram.com/triboetry/

https://www.facebook.com/Drypineshumidteapoetry/

Here is a recent poem, and an example of what I’ve been posting.
Have great week everyone!

Lego

Lego

The Lego 

on the pine straw 

is now inanimate, 

but in the nascent age  

it's the piece of a starship 

piloted by a lizard. 

-Robert L. Jackson III

Presence and Absence

Presence and Absence 

In the empty sky 

are the power of those eyes. 

In static sound, 

white noise 

from an empty radio, 

is the texture of the voice. 

In fog 

is the exhumed breath 

of you 

nourishing my skin. 

-Robert L. Jackson III

Deep Time

Deep time 

I caught 

the white rabbit, 

forever late, 

and sacrificed it 

for thought. 

-Robert L. Jackson III

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

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

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:

https://www.instagram.com/p/BeYY5srjW6c/

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

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.

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

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