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

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

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
 

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

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

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

Entanglement

A brand new poem...

Entanglement
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