Polly Richardson-Munnelly

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.

Dingle Wilds 22- Rain-dance

Barefooted rain dance in August plumes , flex , 
toeing tomorrow’s promise soft arrival. 
Gentle cool  kisses christen skin , fall from 
thickened skies  Yet sun bursts , soaking autumnal sods
                                       lavender  
                             drenched bees hums greet
                        and still seas beckons 
Perhaps distant  whales serine  serenade , calling , calling 
I imagine their turning  bellies under turquoise tides , rising 
showing cloud drapes as if hobby horse with 
Mountains purple smiles , we too – majestic, ballerinas , sea souls slowly spin 
Marvel maritime , blinking eyes seeing all, into depths deeper than oceanic unknown 
ocular focus, holding all – blinks below surface , pausing orbits ,holding soul with soul .
Silent knowing all .
              Is this the moment of death of all things less hold worthy beyond sea ?
Did I die within breaths exhale salted with extraordinary eyeing majestic beneath waves ?
I think I saw worlds beyond horizons , remembering Beluga in Valentina , those eyes melting into
Mine , escaping heatwave bubbling Alicantes wild salt planes – flamingos pinker than birth , never noticed the bull only soft breeze ruffling their wilds. 
And there underneath it all , my feet paused ,feeling a thousand sorrows, hearing his 
silence despite aquatic pane , yet we danced  2017 under eyes of Walrus swimming in tank 10 
 wishing barefooted rain dance in August. I remember that whale . His belly turns through the glass pane . And eyes locking mine . Whispering freedom, marvel maritime , Mavericks under turquoise tides. 

Dingle Wilds 30-Solitude part 2

Graceful as a meadow pipit skipping through the valle

D. Ratcliffe – Eunice from Through An Open Window
In the quietest of solitude, I’m alive living beyond life, 
nature hand in hand, bosom buddy blossoming 
as if Spring’s first awaking like lambs cloistral suckle 
each time these feet kiss salted soil, submerge
into turquoise waves, splay on grasses ascending to summits,
 strongest shoulder propping up richly, mothering -
ready to show serenity, secret gardens only 
the quietly- still may proceed to,
 sow deepest of sorrows 
wildest joy, 
graceful wisdom coming with winds, 
even in harsh whips growth surges as sea, 
and that gift from solitude while dolphin’s breath-blows.
rippling calm waters offering itself to nights arrival and theses eyes -mine
 as dusk settles and canopies 
every morsel falling silent bar fins emergence cresting crests
harmonize with peeping moon both crescents marring vastness  
and lone seal eye to eye, dances as we bob within this sea- meadow Atlantic surf,
 his breath and mine fuse with ebb of evening tide muting sea- birds heavy from gorging life.
I skip across as if pebble skimming, reborn. 

Note :  Dingle is a small Gaeltacht port town within the county of Kerry  Ireland on southwest  Dingle Peninsula, where the Irish language thrives fluently, known  for its rugged beautiful scenery, costal walk ways ,  spectacular food , local distillery producing Dingle Gin , Vodka , and Whiskey, it’s scenic mountainous trails including part of the Kerry Camino ,sandy beaches , sea safaris , surfing spots , the legendary Dick Mack’s pub brewing their own  stout ,ales and IPA’S and  spectacular marine life   . All my Dingle Wild poems are inspired by this beautiful place I call home . 

Walk in these shoes

I stand on water. Own Messiah maybe. Counting laps rebounding within shimmers.

Consuming April’s light. I have risen. Removed bolder of noncompliance long

before Easter dazzled how ya.

There is a stillness here, between ripples waving, if you look. Féach. Féach anseo, Féach go grinn.  Giant big blue lily pads reflecting sky afloat, while sun paints gentle wave crests golden, they almost look like they’re in applause, rustling like spring leaves in full bloom beaming angelic glimmer.

 I with razor bill dive into serene surf, bleed with her turquoise blue montage,  parting them momentarily, pausing with sun and kelp ,see all  splayed  stars , fallen maybe ,decorating Atlantic

beds mirroring   ebony skies twinkle .

Lifetime of footfall splashes

                                 drudgery,

                                      skips,

                     repetitive crucifixions,

                        radiant illuminations dissolve, merge with salt finding

                                                                                                       homage with sea- sediment and tide

unlaced barefooted mimicking curlew’s stance on shorelines consuming catches drenched in decades of setting shine glows, Féach. Féach anseo, Féach go grinn.

Walk in these shoes, can you stand?

Note : Féach ( Fay -ock )  – meaning look in English  . Féach anseo ( Fay- och -on – shuh) look here . Féach go grinn ( Fay- Ock -guh -grin) – look closely

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