appetite-2-write

In your absence, we are nothing,
Starved of our purpose, broken, despairing.
None of us know where, what, or how to do,
Our planet yearns its core, the returning of you.

Like cranking old engine, with weak failing battery,
Only a splutter of life could we spark.
Your absence in any form, masking our lighting,
We flop, darkened down, dry-droughted yet drowning.

Depths verging death, we moribund plumb,
Blunted, our weak knives warm butter can’t part.
And cold as a gale, chilling hurricane storm,
Nothing on earth can our freeze bodies warm.

But by time we are brightened, again you can join us.
We radiate, glowing, greet chance filled horizons.
Yet all of our light is the dimmest reflection,
Your’s is the radiance of simple perfection.

Centre of orbits, place of our hopes,
We feed at this locus of each journey’s end.
Beginning anew we can mantle our strengths,
All of your presences, our lives have refreshed.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Heal,
While I rest centred.
Pass,
As others rush in your streams.
Clock,
Spinning mechanism.
Stopped,
Twelve-forty and thirty five seconds.

Somewhere,
Between midday and lunch.
Hand,
Showing seconds.
Locked,
South, South-west.

Why,
In this circular transit?
Orbit,
Suspended eternally.
Hunger,
Thirst for the future.
Ever slaked.

Time,
Never ends,
Always,
A watch, Watching watcher.
Checks,
On the progress,
Day to night,
Dawn to dusk,
Dark to light.

Perhaps,
The end of time,
Approaching,
Will make some announcement?
Dragging,
It cannot pass.
Will not be late,
Nothing,
Beyond, it might be happening now.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Unyielding, jaw firm set,
Locked tight as bolt’s centuried rust.
Fearing ground shift,
Terrified consequence of modification,
Though stimuli, persistent forcing,
Raise armies against fidgets, fighting.

Throttle full, while brakes remain,
Attempts to steer from quayside,
By mooring ropes constrained.
Anchor thrown to depths of certain,
Blocks shifting path or course’s change.

Every chance for positive action,
Observer tested, tried and thwarted as,
Avalanche, mud slide, quakes, acid rain,
Await steppers forward,
To dare-devil cross oblivion’s line.

Solace never shares your path,
These plans, by self-structured artifice,
Themselves deny all chance of passage,
To futures of relaxed uncertainty.
For more the mould its pattern urges,
Less your lifetime’s map endorses.

If only you could all control,
Make onshore waves break backwards roll.
Life’s fractured elements you’d unite,
And all would grant your great foresight,
Then surely you’d be proven just,
For treating each new concept thus.
Everyone caution’s torch raised high,
In you they’d place their trust and die.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Rise up in revolt,
Cast aside both your crutches,
Heave up and high over your head,
Cresting on summit that curse, cursed chair,
Condemned death location of plans unprepared.
Then wheels spinning cast it,
To who cares where.

Lookers look brow down, with mannerly stares,
And passing in out and in out of your room,
Forget completely the sweeps of their brooms.
Denying your essence, your soul under carpet,
Is swept as the victim, for you are their target.

Reverse all those entities forcing infirmity.
Release from their cells, fraud notions, modernity.
Embrace with a passion, a memoried life.
Like butterfly on buddleia, caress plants to life.

Fragrance laced thoughts, of a past you might fill,
Your mind might free wander, jump steps,
Stepping stones, feed your hungers.
And in time, at a place, you can rest and be free.
When progress’s mask is revealed, all can see.

Then you could teach us at which of the turns,
Our course was in error, our pursuits of the mirror.
We will plead and entreat you, that we are correct,
But you will know, in every aspect,
Your suffering served as a great seat of learning,
While we all those millions were selfishly earning.

So stay to your course, don’t deviate off,
Our singular hope is that you don’t get lost.
If we might use you as our guiding light,
To bright up the dullness of progress’s blight.
One day in the future there’s a slim thinly chance,
We could join your uprising and likewise seed plants.

© Sam McKeon 2015

How dare, how could, oh no, again.
Disgracing our elders, full ancestry shamed,
My potteried standards, their shards in shatters,
Rightness brings change daring, careless pup-youngsters,
To tyrants’ blame tortures for ignorant sufferers.

How dared you to rise on your podium highlighting,
Your spectacular correction, blasted me in shadowy hiding.
But never such remedy steered me to port,
I ploughed, furrow plodding, cared not your gale’s force.

Dusk-facing, stilling wind, yet you never gave in,
Trapping we mortals in our eerie sins.
And when standards you set, we finally safe reached,
You vouchsafed crumb-comforts as scant-clad reliefs.

© Sam McKeon 2015

In kernelled core,
Somewhere, pebbled under,
Lurks a mystery light,
Dim reminder to spark.
In turning stone, opening door,
Glazed magnifier of sad things, gone before.

Thatched cottage roofs, all at angles,
Rivers dry, stopped running, droughtily.
High limpet stuck, on cliffy place,
Observed from peak,
Troughed valleys beneath.

Place frames a memory,
Frames constrain all.
Filters seize sparklers,
Hazing,
Dimming stars falling, in fear.

Galaxy of histories,
Rewritten texts, forbidding.
Captivity, restriction.
No permission.

© Sam McKeon 2015

I try not to think,
Yet like a vacuum,
Impossible, completely to clear,
All matter from my space.

No volume full-empty,
My only hope,
Vacuous, purposeless thoughts.

Evading all issues,
Responseless reaction.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Dry your eyes,
Spare not a thought,
I rest on the street.
Subway grille heating,
Bottled spirit drinking.

I live memoried days,
Of year-hindered pasts.
I do not need sympathy,
Nor tokens, gestured giftings,
Here I can rest apart.

From low aspected vista,
Viewing as child of choice.
Here you do not threaten,
Your voice of anger,
Impotent,
Only beckons my curiosity.

Nothing frightens me,
Surprise is a memory,
Pleasure a stranger,
But filthy serenity,
My pendulum stopped,
I am suspended.

Observe my tubered, corpsely root,
Perhaps from there,
Might spring shoots,
Drawn by daylight force.
In time, transplanting may,
If I am ready,
Return this poisoned ivy,
Home.

© Sam McKeon 2015

The artists, frozen.
Stoop, bowing.
A sea-sickening silence.
Eternity, never so long,
As at this premiere.

Two worlds have collided,
As raging Tsunamis have crashed,
Onto the shores of listeners’ senses.

In horror, they reel,
From the force of the storm,
They cannot exhale,
No breath made,
Intaking, lungs fail.

Shocked by this new,
These bold vanguard actions,
In times of peace,
Atrocities,
Calling for sanction.

But by, bye and bye,
The swell ripples down,
At last, doubting benefit,
Draws applause from the crowd.

© Sam McKeon 2015

Make preparations,
Take precautions,
Trained personnel,
Follow all instructions.

Rest easy,
Sleep sound,
Let the children play,
Nothing to fear.

The Lifeguard watches,
His chair a symbol.
We take our comfort,
From his persistence.

Confident of risks,
We slip our guard.
Our precious gifts,
We slack and slowly press.

To rot,
In bloated, black,
Complacent tar,
Of darkened sloppy flab,
The lifeguard dies.

And in his passing,
Parts of us awake,
See now that we,
The reins must take.

© Sam McKeon 2015