Glass
i.
in flesh to beautify
these scars we wear
their blades
and rampant needles
to sink and swim
within our breath/our blood
the pulse that carries
us off
in earth to rectify
these scars we make
rectilinear objects
of changing fashion
fresh discoveries
we weave and nest
beneath the pinkness
of our hides
in gulfs between stars
we gulp and feel
our smallness
but still we carve
press on and try
to fill the voids
that grow
within us
we kiss
-the press of lips
the trail of our hands
across the cheek
the eyes in which
we seek
the unrelenting validation
of flesh
ii.
the smallness of a day
a fraction
of discontent
of sullied hands
in the pursuit of more
moments with which
to squander
moments quickly lost
beneath the oiled sheen
of quick reward
the plunge toward
the depths of stasis
where desires dance
as if fulfilled
as sweet a ride
as days will make
from dawn
with its grand design
the gloss of gold
within the mirrored pool
of want
-dreams still clinging
to the refracted sheen
draped across our eyes
to dusk
with its tepid descent
to dark horizon
welcoming a brother lost
the kith and kin
of failure
the slow embrace
of silence
iii.
is a whale
with its vestigial legs
a step up
from the path it tread
upon the land
-plowing the oceans
rising to breathe
upon a plume
birds too
have forgotten how to fly
giving away
their mastery of air
to build burrows
in the dirt
to feed
upon weeping walls
we step
to the water’s edge
in fear
of that which seeks
the darkness
where we once sought
the higher boughs
in need of light
and there
upon the threshold
is where we fail
to comprehend
our place
the reach of arms
the strength
within our hands
iv.
our offspring
those we hope to follow
in our shallow steps
stand taller
reach further
despite the weight
of our very hands
upon their shoulders
look up and seek
the stars
before
we clip their wings
before we imprint them
with our failings
before we cast off
their wisdoms
they, our entertainment
our reason for being
our source of mirth
as we pit them
against each other
-it is their naivety
that make us laugh
as they cry
there is panic
in their eyes
fear, worry
and the growing sense
of loss
the qualities we instil
beside our envy
and our pride
v.
do this
feel this
it feels good
do that
feel that
it feels bad
the answer
is simple
win
at all costs
and along the way
entertain us
never mind
the lessons you learn
never mind
what you’ll become
we will shape you
in the baseness
of our image
those aspects
of our selves
we have allowed
to bloom
in the dark
when we are singular
the limits of self
are all we know
sensation
is our guide
and what feels good
must lead
to what is right
vi.
the journey up
to where we stand
looking down
at opportunity
defines the boundaries
of our thoughts
the strength
of our reach
the view we settle on
defines us
as much as we
define the view
naming the glass
we look through
without seeing
the sands
as we climb
towards heaven
on regurgitated stone
the view is forced
to change
but our definition
remains the same
glass
each time
we are challenged
by newcomers
with their own ideas
it becomes
the fight
we were made for
the necessary path
vii.
into the waters
we cast
our vestigial selves
those parts
we have no use for
the points of impact
the understanding
of place
emotions that become
to hard to bare
anything that leads
to an easier path
without the ruts
of adventure
the potential of
growth
joins
and is imagined
solvent
out of sight, beyond
our narrowing comprehension
-forever lost
forever lighter
we step
it is our disdain
that lasts
grows
for what we’ve made
those choking waters
with their reminders
of what could be
of failure
viii.
when we are offered
a higher cause
we mistrust
take it for attack
on the time tested
tangent
of our lives
on ourselves
we proclaim tradition
even if
it was our grandfathers
that started
the burning of candles
the breaking of stone
-our memories are vague
it was so long ago
on this
our grip is fierce
animalistic
pre the shedding
of vestigial parts
married
with the selves
that shedded sense
our claws
long hidden
become unleashed
and for a moment
we are alive
tearing strips
from those
that attack our words
ix.
like breath
our indignation is gone
evaporating
rising
forming clouds
to rain upon
decaying oceans
where whales graze
like hope
that ethereal precept
bound to the varicose
of our veins
indignation reconstitutes
like an ache within our bones
announcing
torrents
it is the ever narrowing
cycle
the push and pull
of day against night
sin against saint
that has us searching
for the subject
of our blame
it is this endlessness
that propels us
into a state
of solitude
with wary eyes
for the passing
of all that’s beyond us
of all that isn’t us
x.
the child too
rebels
becomes other
a stranger
with strange words
strange ways
that demand
rebuttal
they
that are of our making
our curried hopes
for the self
we had abandoned
as we chiseled away
the reaches
of our ambition
drift
a mote
within the scattered rays
of dawn
unaware
of where awareness
could take them
the potential of their flight
we narrow the spectrum
of their sight
and give rise to anger
when they fail to see
how dawn
is a new love’s kiss
how dawn
is breathlessness
xi.
despite
the hemming
of our children’s whim
the herding
towards our end
their failure
is at a distance
to our intent
despite
the diminishing extent
of these worlds
in which we bask
in our own radiance
we covet
and proclaim
our sanctity
never
looking toward the source
the tempest
of our furrowed fields
but casting beyond
to the shells
of others
that could never be us
we are all
ruler and ruled
the bestower of sentience
of ampules of time
we are all
ruled and ruler
the bestower of faith
the starving congregation
xii.
we seek
the momentary lapses
where fear and thought
disappear
we seek
the buzzwords
from the pulp
of our own mastication
we seek
the short path
on a long day
towards the goals
that reinforce our truth
we seek
buttresses
to our loss
and as we seek
we whisper mantras
of long standing
mantras steeped in tradition
no matter how vague
we seek
and because we seek
we must be more
lived beyond living
good beyond question
right beyond truth
light beyond night
solid beyond the summation
of the extinction
we have found
Craig McGeady is from Greymouth, New Zealand and lives with his wife and two daughters in Xuzhou, China. His writing runs the gamut of length and form thanks to a homeroom teacher with a penchant for Michael Moorcock. Craig loves language and the wonderous places it can take us to.