New Poetry, Fiction, Essays

4 poems by Polly Richardson (Munnelly)

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Polly Richardson (Munnelly) is a Dublin born poet now living and writing in Meath. She has been published both nationally and internationally in many anthologies and e-zine under the surname of Munnelly and more recently Richardson.

She is member of Navan writers group: The Bulls Arse and Cork based group Blackwater Poetry. Polly has been heard reading at open mic nights and festivals throughout Ireland including The Blackwater International poetry festival and on live links broadcasting internationally as part of the festival 2013, 2014, 2015 and 2016. Her poems have featured on their poetry trail in 2014, 2016 and 2017.

She has also been heard reading at; The sunflower sessions, The Collective and Dublin writer’s forum summer bash (2015) Good thyme Thursday sessions, Blackbird Books and 2016 she was part of the ‘Awaken Your Soul’ event that was short listed for a Sabator award in London 2017.

Some of her work has been published and appeared in the following outlets; Irish based Solstice Initiative Poetry Journals; Connections in 2012, Aqueous 2013. US based Mad Swirl Poetry Forum 2013 to 2016 where she is now a contributing poet. Songs for Julia anthology, Italian based e-zine Lotus Eater, Blue max review, Poems for Fukushima anthology and Twenty  Seven signs anthology in 2014. The Sea anthology 2015 and will have worked included the forth coming Boyne Berries Anthology celebrating poet Francis Ledwigs 100th centenary due out in September 2017.

She is currently working on her first collection





Cups and saucer


In dawn -dust illumination, wicks still flicker
the Cups to saucer stack, tell all.
Volumes in silence, never alone or drain
the aftermath,
Saturdays groaning Sundays,
fine boned, fingers curl.
Stains remain,

Rims lipped, a thousand kisses deep echoes
saucer to cup, cup to saucer.
Smacking tongues click, the hunted,
Redding wine circles
drip pauses, listening,
On the edge of
cupped breasts imprint,
soften singing nipples and coffee steam.





Sleep won’t come it won’t
And I turn, turn
Eyes blink soaked in morning dew
The messenger standing full bodied, laughs
unlike glimmer man She ignites,
Fragility’s wails, sleepless
And I turn, turn

Language churns failing
to comprehend single words sent
He douses me in vinegar
Devouring chips of my tenderness
And I turn, turn
to skin the minx worming – speckled grey.
Looking at luck dancing, waving up, peeping behind trees
And I turn, turn

Stripped of flesh, naked to my marrow
penning lines, noisy cows disappear
Turning, turning east
fists enclose around dawn
And I turn to mirrors
Less perfect






Mondays stubble left its mark
in between folds,
Still lingering
in moon- light parting silk,
kissing breast
catching reflection on cold tile


savouring taste touched, stolen
fragmented moments
in the aftermath of his fragrance
Under ribs sang sweetly
fondling time,
shadows fall as rotating earth
moved seconds
licking lips
skimming stones.



Za za zu


Last water-colours of autumn sun splashes skies
as if Turner himself stripped thick cotton clouds furiously away,
Leaving turquoise pocket and fading,
smearing golden-orange so it runs.
Perhaps perfect picture against silhouetted trees
Perhaps darkened sins lurk -aching to burst out,
yet slinks of daylight still tease taunting dark
and dark taunts me.
Broken snores grumble from sleeping hound, breaks
unfamiliar deafening silence tasting salt, tracing lone kindling,
Perhaps, violet rainbows perhaps
And I’ll dance ingesting that za za zu under chocolate rain. Naked.





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