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 43 Peninsula – Plath
I’ve nurtured bulbs in darkness for longer than sunrises climb over cliffs. Felt their oblong nudge against these fibres laying across my skin. Crossing into my obscurities, land uninvited in peculiar ways I often ask moons disappearing face to come see, hear ditties weighted down in dreams end. Groom clouds so they whip up, decorate blueness that often visits this coastline, divine in all its offerings. Shutters of grey breaks. Damp clay clings in-between these fingers, rich coldness deliciously bites limpet of land almost, as it hangs on to flesh clumping - soothes longing, inner shudders birth themselves tingling to each outer bare part lulled into gorgeousness as sea laps acoustically draws in serene. I place myself. The sleeping unaware, secrets of spring suddenly burst from bulbs conversations with sod and worms. I take my place before dinning on all possibilities of life coming to surface, witness each tidal turn And perhaps whisper to grasses gracefully watching Oddities of humanity.
Inspired loosely by The Line is a curve - priority boredom Kae Tempest, majorly by current ongoing issues with respect for those who choose their own pronouns and use of same in the Irish educational system, the rise of exclusion and racism on the Isle of a million thousand welcomes, the rise of fear against diversity. And those lives lost to genocide. Somewhere in Ireland a teacher decides his views are more important than the child’s right to respect … and ugly tries to spawn, tries… Ireland 2023. This. This. This – a cure, a lightening light penetrates never-ending revelations. And dirt spumes retching at its own foulness Take a bow you and I, take a bow. Will we dance now? I beg to bark. Darn the wholes of fallen cloud, And the scream in the wood will it hear its lullaby that Sea offers up. I planted it beneath invisible hug. This. This - a cure? isn’t it a fine revolution in this evolving retribution tsunami curve that spawns from this.this – digression we bleed bleed into those scars left on the imprints of failing generations on lips of those escaped the gas, - genocide, their skeletons tell no lie curved beyond recognition. Peek-boo – oppression. This. this this listen up - he/shetheythem you me respect - simple trait - respect belongs beyond the adult thought, in every breath that takes in all Sun,moon,stars oooh ego ,fallen angle your ego ego shouts you can’t be down with that sort, ego biggest sin crucify yourself like a good religious man. Practice what you claim to reach, breathe your loath on to yourself thy kingdom come leave the child to shine in their own prime amen. Your genuflects mute those ears, corrupt those sacred views they’d quake in psalms upon your preach Mother of seas swallow him whole. This. this. this is this a cure to a rotten core ?