Welcome to J.S. O'Keefe
Step into a world of imagination and emotions with J.S. O’Keefe’s short stories, poems and essays. Let the words transport you to different molecular orbitals that may occasionally reveal to be the mirror image of our current world.
J.S. O’Keefe
J. S. O’Keefe is a scientist, trilingual translator and writer. His short stories and poems have been published in EDF, WENSUM, Roi Faineant, 101 Words, Spillwords, ScribesMICRO, 50WS, AntipodeanSF, Friday Flash Fiction, Spirit Fire Review, Medium, Paragraph Planet, 50 Give or Take, 6S, Satire, MMM, etc. He writes under the pen names of John Okeefe, szjohnny, Johannes Springenseiss, John Szamosi—depending on which of his ethnic origins he identifies with at the time of writing.
The Wind Under The Door
Several guests noticed, the Filipinos were unusually quiet in the buffet, often congregating. The Colombian manager of the main dining room who knew several Ezra Pound poems by heart didn’t quote any. The South African croupier kept spinning the roulette wheel without cracking off-the-wall jokes. Mrs. Goodman was surprised there was no towel art on her pillow when she returned to her cabin. Dr. Pelegrini noted, “They were like this a fortnight before COVID hit. Could be another epidemic, maybe an earthquake or unrest in their country?” The TV meteorologist announced that a bad storm was brewing.
Nothing happened.
Disembarkation day. Everyone agrees, it was a great cruise.
A bad storm is brewing.
(Artwork by Toni Verkruysse.)
Capsized
using a questionable metaphor
the lead prosecutor marvels
why go down with the ship
if not the captain
to drive his point home
he reminds me
of my allegorical status
a mere sailor
I explain
my rank doesn’t matter to me
because
I am on the ship
it is our ship
and there’s no other ship
(Artwork by Toni Verkruysse.)
A Possible Ticket To World Peace
“Just tell her ‘hable menos y demuestre mas’ okay? Talk less and show us the moves instead.”
“I don’t believe she understands much Spanish.”
We are in a yoga class in a holistic wellness resort near Buenos Aires. The instructor from New York keeps barking out the poses without demonstrating any of them. She has nice features but she is always stone-faced and severe. I imagine her a drill sergeant ordering the recruits to do eight hundred pushups. When one of them falls face in the dust, she walks over and steps on his neck. “Get up you sissy!” The poor guy whines, “I can’t, ma’am. Your foot’s on my neck.” Now she is furious, “Did I tell you to talk?! No, I kindly asked you to stand up. So, stand up! Tick tock, tick tock goes the clock. We’re waiting…”
“How about ‘dolor en el culo’ or ‘dolor del culo’?”
“Yeah, pain in the ass. But I’m not going to tell the teacher in a yoga class!”
My Spanish is shaky despite all the effort; I try to learn ten new words and two-three phrases most evenings and watch Argentinian TV. Next day I use every opportunity to practice.
“Let me try another one, is son-of-a-bitch ‘hijo de puta madre,’ right?”
“Right. How do you say in English ‘una piedra rodante no recoge musgo’?”
Wow, that could just as well be Turkish or Comanche! Maybe Juan is pulling my leg. Unlikely since he is a nice guy and also I recognize a word, ‘piedra’, that’s legitimate Spanish.
“No idea, Juan, that’s too advanced. I only understand ‘piedra’, stone. It’s fun doing this.”
Excellent deal, talking often with each other is beneficial to us both: He teaches me Spanish, his language, and I teach him English, my language. Come to think of it his English is better grammatically than mine and his vocabulary is richer. Anyway, let’s stay with excellent deal.
“Eres buena persona, John.”
“Y tu tambien, Juan. We talk Spanish again soon.”
Knowing a little bit of the other guy’s mother tongue goes a long way toward harmony, renewal, shared wisdom. The emphasis is on the little bit part, though. Once fluent, you’ll be just another son-of-a-bitch.
(Artwork by Toni Verkruysse.)
Win
victory
you thrust forward
and success
you draw blood
his blood ends up on you
on your hands
on your shirt
a few drops on your face
Blood transfer (a wash, in a way).
reality
there was never a dispute
never a quarrel
never an issue
only the bayonet
between the two of you
Now, one peasant less.
The bayonet was government issued.
(Artwork by Toni Verkruysse.)
Decision
“Heart murmur,” sez the doctor, “it could be indicative of first-stage congestive heart failure. Until we get the results from the echo test, you should refrain from doing strenuous activities, such as chopping wood, heavy lifting, jumping rope, etc.”
I sez, “I don’t do none of those but I’m about to run my first marathon, it means a lot to me.”
He sez, “You should absolutely abstain from doing that.”
I don’t give a shit what he sez, tomorrow’s the race, and I’m running it. It’s a win-win: if I die, he’s good doctor; if I make it, I’m gonna find somebody better.
(Artwork by Toni Verkruysse.)
Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble -- Shakespeare (in Macbeth)
Be yourself; everyone else is already taken — Oscar Wilde
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