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| Member's Work Kevin Brady |
| Remember 1746 |
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| All the authors work is copywrited and may not be used without the express permission of said author |
| You can e-mail Kevin with any comments you might have about his work. |
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| Remember 1746 "Scot wae hae wi Wallace bled Scots wham Bruce has aften led welcome tae yer gory bed or tae victorie" Robert Burns Weep The wind in highlands In treacherous heather Lamenting souls lost In her clay. The thistled gorse Invokes a curse on The bitter foe Where they meet on fields Of Bannockburn Ghosts of dead heathens Walk in poetic stride With wails of wild Beauties echoing. Tellers of tales With honoured voices Speak of Wallace At Stirling Brig. Now with windswept hope The clans lie In bathed isolation. The flowers of Scotland Sleep beneath The bloody sod. |
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The rustle of a newspaper my grandfather reads interrupts the quiet. When told I climb to the radio sitting on the shelf lifeless, waiting. This bakelite sentinel with its cycloptic eye the means by which he finds the world. Making it come to life the eye turns a luminous green. Maybe it resents me being here? After an age voices emerge an announcer telling of man's flight to the moon. Nothing for me has changed since the radio and others kept apart by walls and memories. |
| Waves Of Memory |
Looking at a backyard filled with a life of its own. Empty cylinders of gas stand to attention. Discarded bicycles of various worth are laid on a steptoesque chessboard. The cat and the rabbit square up in some mock ritual, gloves are off, but claws are never bared. The heat leads them to laze in the shade, panting. In the reflection of a window I see my father looking back at me. Is it a cruel irony that we end up as one of our parents? Some sick joke that we become. The cat and the rabbit begin round two the sun goes in, my father is gone. |
| Various Worth |
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