Prose

Doublethink

Sam McKeon

His mind slid away into the labyrinthine world of doublethink. To know and not to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the process itself. That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even to understand the word ‘doublethink’ involved the use of doublethink.

George Orwell, 1984 Chapter 3.

Poetry

Soft Caress

Sam McKeon

gentle tendering strokes
silently glide,
back,
neck,
brow,
smoothing hair,
brushing cheeks,
chin,
circling each
glint dreamy eye

feathered touch
tracing cheek
marking shoulder
back again
bolder, bolder,
across her chest
between her legs
rolling eyes
warm scented breath
my beautiful mare

© Sam McKeon 2015

Poetry

lay me down

Sam McKeon

let me down, I will forgive,
shut me down, I will reboot,
put me down, I will retort,
send me down, I will appeal,
knock me down, I will rise again,
hold me down, I will resist,
burn me down, I will Phoenix aloft.

But . . .

lay me down, and at your side
I will filter all your nightmares.
lay me down, and in my arms
your love will hear its echo.
lay me down, our breath will merge,
to blended sweet perfume.
lay me down, with this I promise,
an eternity lain with you.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Poetry

In the Woods

Sam McKeon

She’s been gone for hours and hours.
Something’s upset her, I hope she’ll feel better,
Down in the woods, gathering some flowers.

I think she was up half the night feeling sour,
Must have been something to do with that letter.
She’s been gone for hours and hours.

The radio said there’d be thundery showers,
It’s bad getting stuck in that kind of weather.
Down in the woods, gathering some flowers.

Thought I saw lightening, but we’ve still got power,
I wonder if someone should go down and get her?
She’s been gone for hours and hours.

And that dog’s bark, it’s nothing like ours.
The cute Irish setter’s returned, having left her,
Down in the woods, gathering some flowers.

No! Wait, I was wrong and she’s climbing the tower,
Soaking, but happy with bunches of heather.
She’d been gone for hours and hours.
But back from the woods now, she’s gathered her flowers.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Poetry

Writer Blocked

Sam McKeon

Somewhere between
Today and last Tuesday,
I’ve lost my voice.
Thought I had it, but
I must have forgotten,
Misplaced how it sounds.
And now all that I write . . .
. . . Is so fucking trite.

Writer’s bronchitis,
That’s what I’ve got.
Coughing up snot covered,
Chest heaving, mucous glazed words.
Pieces from jigsaws,
Mish-mashed in wrong boxes.
I’m wastelanding forests of paper,
With acid rain showers of blooded ink.

Or maybe it’s worse,
Neural pathways shutting down.
Tomorrow I won’t even write nonsense.
It must be viral occlusion.
So please stay away,
At least until the fever is gone,
I’d hate for anyone else to suffer.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Poetry

Mermaid’s Kiss

Sam McKeon

Lodged between the shadowed rocks,
Helpless, tired and shivering.
There she lay, as if in death,
On seaweed beds and quivering.

Sanded hair in tendrilled veil,
Skin so cool and smooth.
I don’t remember if her tail,
Twitched slightly when it moved.

Gently under darkening sky,
I eased her from the grip.
And at the touch of warmer skin,
Her scales began to slip.

One by one they left a trace,
Of stars across the shore.
And by the time I laid her down,
Her tail was there no more.

Now beneath a slender waist,
And falling to the knee.
A shapely curving pair of legs,
Where tail had used to be.

Slightly fizzy on the tongue,
Citrus limed and salty.
Pressed against me on that night,
Her perfect body taught me.

More about a lover’s touch,
Than ever I could learn.
Had I not been there on that beach,
My mermaid’s love to earn.

Just before the dawn we woke,
And leading by the hand.
She walked me to the water’s edge,
Where shingle turns to sand.

And at the touch of ocean’s tongue
Her form began to change,
Gone the legs I’d lain between,
Replaced by tail again.

I held her in my arms until
The current was too strong,
And pointing at the bright full moon,
My mermaid love was gone.

Waking as the flowing tide had
Soaked me to the knees.
The crash of waves upon the shore,
Absorbed my sobs and pleas.

So cast aside the whiskey jar,
For of the booze I’m cured,
And I will search that western beach,
Each full moon now for sure.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Poetry

Posted Overseas

Sam McKeon

paper is missing,
the feeling of ink,
transporting our essences.

the booklet you tore,
those several sheets,
lies low on the shelf.

we were to write
each share halving our
news, sounding bright

but I can’t scratch,
sketch, nor focus,
my center circumferenced.

the postman calls,
but bills, no letters,
communication freeze.

I haven’t troubled,
the book for a stamp,
Since you’ve lain fallen overseas.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Poetry

Desire

Sam McKeon

Stuck in that loneliness,
Back flattened, sleepless,
I lie,
Half-distanced from darkening to dawn.

She stirs beside me, turning,
Present but absent.
I match her movement,
Dissolve into her warmth, as I slide.

Down the fragranced, tranquil path,
I fathomly, deeper glide,
To rest in deepening,
Whisp-echoed, sumptuous slumber.

But rest prompts new beginning.
Sleeping sinks, senses surface.
I now the turner, she the matcher,
Shared warmth transforming to fire.

Into the fragrant path now,
We fathomly, deep recklessly drive,
Whirls-wash, make torrented floods,
In sating delicious desire.

Later, melt-cooling, slip-sliding,
Souls, senses-mingling,
Sleep capturing passion,
States swap, and dawn opens new day’s eye.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Poetry

Justice

Sam McKeon

Five hearts vain wrestle, veins pump, pushing tar,
Dark blight penumbra, dim blackens the bar.
And minds of incision, with scalpel sharp reason,
Carrying the day, sense’s traitors make treason.

Clarity transformed and equities veiled.
Adherence to book, measures mere mortals failed.
Advocates rising, traditions of polity,
Mask plaguing charades of pox inequality.

Cores of Justices rarely comply,
Supremes in their chambers, construct their replies.
For in certain straits, must this justice make deals,
In cross chequered playgrounds, truth’s claims are revealed.

Where then does justice bright shining hide light?
Presenting her outcomes in stark black & white.
For all that they argue, with evident claims,
False choices, dichotomies all that remain.

So polish the brass plate announcing the scholars,
And brighten the dawn of these darkening Mullahs.
Welcome the advocates, called to the bar,
Worthy descendents of precedents far.

And guilty and innocent, all pay the price,
We puppets of elegant legal advice.
Both sides encouraged to fight with the middle,
As Roman law burns us we masses play fiddles.

Stare decisis et non quieta movere.
(maintain that which has been decided)

© Sam McKeon 2015