September Travel

September Travel

The ghost of geography
guides me through the meadow
of tempting poppies 
and Black-eyed Susans.
She takes my hand
through the electron ether
without the taint of contact
to poison our thoughts.
How do you tighten your grip,
with no pressure
between the topography
of our hands?
I look to my feet
to check if the path is tread,
and if the destination
is recorded.
Is there a tan manuscript
rotting on a shelf
or beneath the flowing sand
that maps our love?
She guides me through the atlas,
tearing pages from their binding
and breaching the bandwidth
of the bridge we emitted across.  

-Robert L. Jackson

Relics

Relics

Do the royal lineages

require more glimmer and detail

to become inspired?

They bring as luggage

a portable alter

laden with fierce images and deep oceans

of molded metal and polished gems

piercing holes

that they hope will leak out

the heavens.

The skulls and fore arms

of saints 

and the splinters 

of deadly scaffolding

lie in windows

ordained with visions

that instill their worth.

-Robert L. Jackson III

Cielo Azul

Cielo Azul

For the first time
I saw the gray sharp predator
skim the white debris of life,
searching for the injured
in the early morning sun.
Its body and tail
moved in unison,
revealing no sign of thrust.
After dusk
another danger streaked
across the sky;
Innocently following
the pull of the larger body;
Revealing the faux instinct
of a falling star.
The dinosaurs only feared
the teeth of the meteor,
that never roared,
gnashed or taunted
in its silent hunt.
The gray one
rules in silence
and leaves the water blue
in the bleaching sun
until hunger returns.

Robert L. Jackson

Sailing Revival (July 4th, 2013)

Sailing Revival (July 4th, 2013)

Decades ago,
I spent a season of youth
sanding smooth
the aged edges
of the centerboard
and rudder;
The lone materials
that kept my hull
from sliding away
on the edge of the storm.
Then I sealed
their wooden grains
with laquer
that caused them to glisten
and enriched their contrast.
This work of preservation
was returned to me
when the next youth,
smiled and wondered,
and road across the choppy crests
toward the guarded coast
of the mangled spoil island,
whose anchoring roots
of pine, palm and mangrove
have dissipated
over the same period
and allowed the crystals of sand
to migrate
to the jetty grown
public access beach.

-Robert L. Jackson III