Member's Work
Kevin Brady
Remember 1746
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.
Remember 1746
"Scot wae hae wi Wallace  bled
Scots wham Bruce has aften led
welcome tae yer gory bed
or tae victorie"

Robert Burns

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.

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
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
[ Yahoo! ] options
Hosted by