Polly Richardson (Munnelly) Polly is a Dublin born poet now living and writing on the Dingle Peninsula, Kerry, Ireland. She has been published both nationally and internationally in many anthologies and e-zines under the surname of Munnelly and more recently Richardson. A contributing poet to US-based poetry forum Mad Swirl and Europe’s Live Encounters digi mag with poems featuring in Boston’s Nixes Mate review, Porter Gulch Review Cabrillo college US, Italian based Lotus Eater mag and member of and co-runs Navan creative writers group: The Bulls Arse. She has been heard reading at national and international poetry festivals from 2013 to 2019 including Trim’s (Meath Ireland) first poetry festival in 2019. She also has been heard at open mic nights all over Ireland and via Skype for the second time to Dallas when Mad Swirl went live launching their best of anthology 2018 in 2019. In 2017 she worked with Frisian poet and the now Netherlands Laureate Teasd Brunja in Harrlem in Amsterdam. Her debut collection Winters Breath was launched with Impspired early September 2020 and is available on Amazon . She’s currently working on her second collection

Silken

Silken thread drapes pink petals in pose, her gift to 
early dew stillness, pearl droplets delicately string 
 
whispering arousals to roses - catch dawns kiss
 before maddening of day slivers itself amongst the slinks of idiocy.
 
Those bleats fall silent or maybe drowned with dawns-chorus,
once king of spring, basked in its own glory, freer, almost whiter.
 
Perhaps regurgitated with cuds from heifers craving suckles, yet just their shadows look back offering cow’s lick to compensate, 
slavering over grazed mouths pools rivers, blows off in west wind, splatting stirring bracken deadliest in its own silence amongst the briars,
 leaves muzzles to yearn tender nuzzles, their own silk, invisibly spun savouring its pleasure for spring.

Born Out Of That

Inspired by Dinosauria, We Charles Bukowski
 
 
The Frog’s nocturnal croak swallowed
  up by Fox skulks, sowing insights within instincts
each umbilical attached. every breath, awaiting.
skeletal knows no difference, begs nothing
equss whispers to all listening marrows engrained with
muzzle-nuzzles, flowing gaits, sweet hay spooning dung,
 
Every sea-lap, each pod breaking surface penetrating sun
 and loan fin spinning flips to his own content breathing quiet quartet,
purpling mountains embracing Atlantic calm, tongue licks
of salting upper lips, hips to hips rhythmic sway fusing
interlocking dampness, fingers mapping memories
Born out of that.
 
 The child devouring nipples, mothers own,
organically latched till last rise and fall of chests
returning dust to constellations, for gazes matching first
ones shared from primal pant pushes breaking amniotic,
eyes locking knowing, heat to heat, instinctual bareness
re-born out of that

Mask

                                  Blind.
                      Sounds magnified.
           Swooshing whoosh of starlings
   flap like sails hoisted high to catch nautical
 wind-whip, rush past slicing duets of Robin,
 Blue-tit rifts, marvelous war songs claiming
their own, fierce as wilds of Atlantic storms,
yet his hop angelic, giving eyes, some may
even swear swoon, dawns his mask -
 meticulously, fearless feasts and grandeur.
            I imagine a monocle
       top hat and splendor,
   him sipping a single malt.
 As his redness perches on blooming greenery,
his territorial wonder sings loud not far off
 as if Peaky Blinder – I imagine him with shaved
 undercut head, best of best three piece, prepared to
 defend for family, for order - stand strong.
yet together they feed, Starling, Bullfinch, Robin,
 cawed  on by crow, knowing his plight .
Survival, mutual. Each masked in their
own grandeur’s till last morsel sits, begs rain,
and all-out war spits feathers - the gull swallows whole.