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
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
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
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.
