Poetry of SEAN KINSELLA

[Sean Kinsella]

ALL POEMS BELOW ARE EXTRACTED FROM 'A SHILLING FOR THE KING' BY SEAN KINSELLA. ALL POEMS COPYRIGHT SEAN KINSELLA 2004

VICTORIA'S WALLS

A grey granite island
an atoll of gangland atonement.
Its citizens hide in a society of shadows,
here doors slam shut on the just and deserted,
keeping out all but the clean air of freedom,
which kisses each convict a promise,
that their hell is not harboured alone.

I walked the longing corridor of the dead,
where the common were brought to book and prayer,
where lasting inocence ditched its tears
- in letters of ending love.
They clung to stolen straws of psalm,
in sure and certain hope,
yet revelation came at eight,
remanded in a rope.

Now only stony secrets remain,
Her Majesty's mortar repents to the touch,
the bricks rebound with embattled lament,
Pierrepoint's play performs no more,
compassion has masked and strangled the scaffold,
absolving the dogs who died in its war.

Still one young pup snarls from the landing,
- liberty's last suitor.
The world outside is a pearl beyond price
- a gem held just out of reach.
His defiance gleams in a life of grime,
his defence is a date with a different hangman,
the day of the open door,
when bars must melt, for their collars are felt
and locks all fall to the floor.

SEAN KINSELLA



I CHANCED TO PASS

I chanced to pass your grave today
I did not know your name
until I saw the angels face
that prayed unto your fame.

I did not know your company
or time and hours you kept
but one appointment laid you low
while waiting widows wept.

I never heard you laugh or cry
I never heard you speak
I never chanced your pass before
in marble mountains bleak.

You silently regard the stars
a plough set far below
a furrow turning fallow land
where souls so hallowed grow.

Perhaps one day I'll chance to pass,
your face at stranger's gate
when fleshless bones are far from here
yet share the same estate.

SEAN KINSELLA



CROSS ON THE MOOR

On the Moor it stopped me
shattered in the rocks.
Scattered was its reverie
and sadness was its shock.

Guardian of the ancients
gargantuan in guile.
Its architect with one accord
said 'talk to me awhile'.

Its sermon shivered in the mist
from skeleton to soul.
My heart entombed in hope and prayer
mortal man made whole.

It held me as a helpless pawn
and opened up my check.
The King was written on the wall
with all my forces wrecked.

It carved a gaunt and Godspeed glance
edges glaring wet.
I mourned for many a mile askance
my maker had been met.

SEAN KINSELLA

[pseud]

Ah some more metric poetry! With so much "free verse" poetry, it is refreshing.

More on these later, I'm not in a place I can sit and read thoroughly.

[camus]

Sean,

Not being a fan of rhyming poetry or people who parade their publishing achievements like badges (they're usually crap) I must say I was pleasantly suprised.

I think your turns of phrase although someimes archaic, work well, and add a certain credibility to the rhymes.

I particularly enjoyed CROSS ON THE MOOR. Is that a "follow on" poem from I CHANCED TO PASS, thats how I read into it anyway.

Nice work

[pb]

I especially enjoyed the first poem with the occasional rhyming, some especially striking phrases. The last two poems I thought drew heavily on Hardy, both in phrasing and content - but this is not a bad thing.

Really liked the first one though, sorry I do not have time to comment further.

pb

[Sean Kinsella]

Many thanks for your comments and support people, it really is much appreciated.

CAMUS - You may well be correct about 'Cross on the Moor' following on from 'I Chanced to Pass'.

I prefer to write in rhyme and about 95% of my work is written in meter, but from reading this forum I can see a strong penchant for modern free verse, so I'll try to post some of that as soon as I can.

BEST REGARDS
SEAN KINSELLA