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 .http//www.madswirl.com/
Wash wash away your sins in linen sheets, twisted white collars starched crisp- Dine, feast on sins of Mary’s sheets.
Polly Richardson ( Munnelly)
Wash, wash away.
Salivating habits bare vicious teeth, gnaw swollen bellies, fisting through screeching pleas. Amniotic dams leak, swinging cords swung- heaped. Holy mother fucking wads, counts bellowing empty vessels. Sisters of no mercy prey,
Wash, wash away,
In hushed huddles, grey halls weep, stick falling needles in each eye. Bless us Father we have sinned; on your knees child, on your knees. Mouth blessed relics, cleanse your soul, thy kingdom come, in name of holy him,
See sheets blowing, The Mary’s hang. Denied three hundred times, overhead crows circle, Wait to peck remains of the days No name family shame. Teeny tiny fingers, limp tiny toes, tossed astray to damp dark clay,
Marys’ Mary washed away,
Faded into forgotten grey.
No Gods work -Apostol’s greed.
No ashes to ashes, dispersed dust,
Washed away, washed away
The sheep sang
I wait for last breath, piss myself.
Soak rich fertile earth, Snort ammonia
She burns stroking my insides.
Four legs crippled, Nostrils flared,
Emancipate from inside out-
Blinded to the left, feared to the right,
Muzzle balances a life time’s weight,
The heads last to fall.
I call, call, roaring hoarse, echoes of yesterday’s
answers back, Mothers milk long ran dry.
Mondays harnessed harsh, giggling gnats bounce,
whoop tally-ho, cold mouth iron wrenched,
splits my lips, Bastards!
Tuesday’s bearing rein unbearably taunt, necks yanked high for them,
‘Steady boy, steady’. The fuck I will. I plough on, pull
Wednesdays broken spirits through blinding rain storms,
razors fall, hit my skin again and again.
Thursday’s leathers trail scalded feathers, mud fever throbs,
body’s screaming stop-
supple flesh poured over Sunday’s fence,
I soared in motion Spurs dug deep-
You, for a split second flew, Perfection.
Still you rapped me, Shocked my rich bloodlines,
Did it make you feel big boy?
Give you an extra inch?
Mondays Perplexity- my prize.
Now you run me to a nearly early Wednesday grave. Thursdays gallop,
shear panic drives Go on boy go on,!!Cannon bones splinter,
lathered sweated heap, Four leg crippled. Gasping hooves
Straddle thin air.
I smell sweet intoxicating velvety grass,
Tails swish, swat flies. Four legs leap. I move amongst them, bolt free,
my whinnies call to alert hills, descend on listening ears
Heads spring up leave weak knees behind.
Pink digits sooth, sticky with oats.
Go steady boy, easy she croons.
Passing gasp, last leg twitch
He pissed himself.
Átha Cliath ( pronounced Awh-ha Cli-a)
I stroll by d’ Liffey on my side of ‘dis murky tidal pond trying to glimpse ya. Hustlers rushing trod on directly into, on- lookers looking, passer by just pass- float on clouds with good auld Johnny blue, The homeless uprooted multiply- invisible to the masses.
A new tide is turning, rising – recycled bile splashes. Flowing its way in the buzzy hub, Walking dead emerges outside pub after club, Rowdy Mary or Jane skips (sort of), Their dental floss flashes, exposes cavities, front humps, way too much moon! Like bitches on heat, Packs of sniffing pups surround, mooch to cock their legs.
Dublin’s flipped, up for some but mostly down. This use to be me city, me home place, the crackling Sunday roast -My town. There’s a longing, a deep urging longing to re-trace, like I’m home, Mo Átha Cliath
Homing pigeons fly home, never beg- all except one, somehow got lost in flight outside the GPO. The last bus leaves, memories and longing float along either side of the Átha Cliath quays. Now I, a tourist up from a small town ,leaves a buzzing hub, a city, The pigeons are long fucking gone.
Note: Mo Átha Cliath.- My Dublin City, The Liffey -the river that runs through Dublin dividing North Dublin from South Dublin, GPO -General Post Office- headquarters for Irish postal service & During the Easter Rising of 1916, the GPO served as the headquarters of the uprising’s leaders, Johnny blue -Dublin slang for John Player blue cigarettes.
Within The Dance
Oh to have one more dance in autumn fields dripping gold,
spiraling letters pirouette over protruding spine
as if winters first snow blanketing
cardboard house covering fallen dreams.
I danced with the devil
only to hang in fields -slowly scorch;
surrounded by cawing crows and beady eyes
cocking heads pondering first murderous peck
within frenzied flocks.
And I calmly inhale- splutter ,toeing damp soil,
twisting brown leather straps of this notebook, poised,
under whooshing starlings
as last swallow swoops farewell home silencing
distant prancing hooves,
Oh to dance amongst the fields.
Said the Bed
Down holes, credos to wall,
indentations of you remain
in echoes of thunderous grumble,
I – still.
Fold mummers to four corners;
absorb gasping fist- fall
dampness over moon –catching tears,
sink foetal roll
the child, the woman
the poetry dent- lost loves
Pages turn, pages turn,
of staggering giggles
Bridget jones killing springs,
Vertical notes strum to
falling whispers and lighten bolts- greased.
Far cry from Oklahoma
that man from Snowy River
sunsets rising glows
foetal roll, blink yesterdays
that butterfly basking
some ready seed to
and that dog hair,
in memory foam.