Always

Always

The new moon

still pulls

without a face

or a body,

walking

across the dark.

So we wait

for celestial progress

and the light

to narrow our pupils,

remembering,

how to walk 

in the dark.

-Robert L. Jackson III

Symmetry

Symmetry

The fruit,

bruised on one side,

was then dropped

on the other.

I cut the original 

damage away,

and it was flat

on one side,

but just before 

it perished

you removed the other.

This continues

until

it is consumed,

but the seeds remain.

-Robert L. Jackson III

A Coast's Return

A Coast's Return

The vacuum

of the storm

drew all blood

to reveal 

the teeming floor.

In the cyclic path,

the ocean

refills the basin

completely,

following the edges

of each island,

and contour.

-Robert L. Jackson III

Written for the Poet's United Midweek Motif of 'Reunion'

https://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/09/poets-united-midweek-motif-reunions.html?m=1

Hurricane Irma

I don't have a new poem today, but would like to ask that you keep in mind the people of west Florida and Tampa Bay. As you may have seen from the Life of a Poet earlier this week, Clearwater is my hometown where I grew up. There are pictures in that blog;

https://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2017/09/life-of-poet-rob-jackson-iii.html?showComment=1504748715275&m=1#c5578810126167903854

Hurricane Irma looks to be headed directly for this area. 

It may look much different after this.

Yeast

Yeast

The mixture of grains,

eggs and milk,

lie flat

and sterile

until infinitesimal beings

emerge,

and conquer 

the harvested fields,

exhaling 

and shrugging

to stretch  the fibers

into a precarious state,

only to be subdued

by metallically contained

energy.

-Robert L. Jackson III

Obvious

Obvious

Holes

appear in the wall,

from both bullets and corrosion.

Both light

and water flow through.

If the metal is peeled away

and the containment breached,

will the land flood

or be enlightened?

-Robert L. Jackson III

Written for the Poets United blog's midweek Motif of 'Flood.'

Catching Wind

This post is a little different than usual. After recollecting my high school days, I asked my mother to find this essay which was written for Mrs. Roby's English class about twenty-four years ago. I remember it because it was entered in some state writing competition, but did not win. After an extensive search, it was found (thank you!). This is a scan of the original, with errors and all.