Callum J. McCready is an Irish creative artist based out of Belfast. When not working by day in retail at night he moolights as a writer. His poetry has been published by numerous journals including A New Ulster, Bindweed Magazine, The Galway Review, and has a number of projects in the works as well as an intention to cross over into other disciplines. When not bound by the ball-and-chain he enjoys gardening, exercising, reading, listening to music, watching movies and spending time with family and friends.
The Fallen
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
funeral bells answer to
the pall of death’s call.
Another life taken in sleep never to awaken.
Tragedy?
Be brave, don’t cry.
The pain is over.
Down on our knees,
we beg forgiveness,
that we may be spared.
One more breath, each sacred gasp
bringing us closer to our last.
3 weeks, 6 months, 12 years,
what difference does it make?
Irony in sanctimonious rituals;
succumbing to disease, coping,
we drink till we fall as we join
the beautiful dead in boozy comas.
Pointless pretending won’t change the finale.
If we can accept God, why not The Supposed End?
It’s an unspoken truth,
our only absolute.
Remember, but
don’t lose yourself while still in good health.
a kiss, all too late…
An ambulance drives by, a body arrives, a bomb explodes;
Screams on TV,
eulogies to the lost,
“how valiantly they fought;”
for what?
The Prince is gone,
our chosen one.
Nature won’t change the inevitable.
Accept the destiny you can’t control.
God will take them up.
They look so peaceful,
as if sound asleep.
So, go ahead,
plant your lips upon their cheek,
a kiss, all too late…
Dignity leaves with the former,
noble no more. Save your tears:
they’re not worth it in the long run.
Life is for living, so don’t forget to live yours.
Ideological Dilemma (The Road)
moving at a steady pace down the straight and narrow,
the sky is clear, the sun shining, in the van with everyone,
knowing where we are and where we’re going, we feel at ease,
fall into a heavy slumber and start to sleep…
Darkness descends upon the waters.
ground to a halt, standing at a crossroads,
the sky is grey, the sun is gone,
everyone going on their separate ways,
ill at ease in waking unconsciousness,
living lucidity…
Light lifts, rising once more over the earth.
back and forth, left and right,
the sky fogs, the sun shimmers,
a mirage on the horizon,
living in a never-ending dream.
Everything and Nothing
Passing through doors,
climbing stairs,
escalators,
lifts,
ascending and descending…
And yet
there’s something missing.
Standing on a moving walkway,
tell me,
do you stay still,
let it guide you along,
or do you advance, dance to
the rhythm of your own heartbeat?
Functional, built to last,
drifting from one place to the next,
what does it say about you when you can fit
all your ‘worldly possessions’ in a suitcase,
20kg or less?
We should be like kids,
dabbing our hands in paint,
slapping them up on blank A3 sheets.
Instead we go along,
complicit in our own entrapment.
We could have the whole world in our hands,
and yet we have everything and nothing.
The Galway Review 