Biography of Sean Godley
Sean was born in Cavan and has spent most of his life in the wild Irish Republican countryside. He was educated predominantly in England, where he gained his introduction to literature and poetry. He did not start writing poetry seriously until 2005 and is still in the process of discovering his true voice. His main poetic influences are Michael Dransfield and Dylan Thomas.
Sean is embarking on a Masters in Writing in September 2006. Aside from writing, Sean has lived a wild life of glorious times with his far flung friends, sometime degeneracy and found God only to forget where he put him. Sean has had scrapes with death and life. When Sean found God, God showed him how to glimpse the mystical undertoes of life. Sean told God that he'd better not have anything more to drink.
In all seriousness, Sean hopes you enjoy what he has written and looks forward to any feedback.
Sean Godley's Works:
Sean Godley Poems
Achilles And Cobain
Those sworn in blood to live wild and die young, And lend their wayward impulse in dry night, Live on forever in their joys re-sung.
The Chestnut Tree
A hundred withered autumnal tears; a hundred pining springs, without a breath for the hopes and fears that come to you and me.
Old Fred Gold
Old Fred Gold is quite a man, He posts quicker than any can, My poem's arent read Cos his are spread
Heart And Thought Conflict
Do not think, because I said I loved you All those times throughout the loving years, That all the love I spoke to you was true, Or that my love spoke all its heartfelt fears.
My Rapist Friends
An august gale swept dry this morning’s dew, The great eye opened through new sands of yeast, Dry pools of cloud strimmed west with whites anew, And from lost earth two creatures came to feast
Shadows cast by moons will blaze with light, And sunlight’s shine will darken all therein, The stars will burn to bronze upon your sight, And Gaia, too, will tremble through her skin.
As a youth this man climbed through a tree, It rubbed his fleshy knees with smile and groan As cherries balanced red above the lea, Akin the leaves and branches, softly blown.
I. When the callous poets had found wild hens And, with the strings of leaves in eastern glens, Cast their inkless bricks,
Lights Of Hope
Hot needles of the moon burst in the veins, A wintry shock proclaims new autumn’s fire, As lights of hope invade the winking rains, And guts retract wind’s chord beyond the pyre,
Bamboo lengths of nail, which flee to harrow Nothingness, which sneers at self-neglects The hair that stretches scalps, with tearing gall, And burns a gash into the crackless gale.
My soul, once March, then May, is now October, As the hunchback trees reveal dark veins Within their falling skin that once, all over, Was not flaking flesh, but free of pains
The Sober-Moonlit Road
here, under half-irish stars, my father’s voice speaks on through mine, just as his father’s spoke through him; with drunken vowels that cannot shine.
Breathe Until There Is No Breath To Take
Fight until there is no peace to make, Do not yield until all strength is gone, Breathe until there is no breath to take.
Feeling Silence Saved For Starlit Night
Feeling silence saved for starlit night In Cuba, where my unborn children cried, Undid my mind and bade me thus to write.
Wild White Hair
The odd time, when I trawl these country roads,
I see the same two women walk along.
Time, like a chip of wind, lives and erodes,
And here has sung his springtime-autumn song:
The road is full of potholes worn with mud,
The farmer’s sheds and tractors brown with rust,
Hedges grow too wild; the sometime ditches flood,
And even trees are flecked with misty dust.
Through this, and in their Sunday best, they walk,