Download PDF Here 13th Anniversary
Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Four December 2022.
Ballylusky, poems by Polly Richardson.
Dingle Wilds 40 The Reckoning
Minds are funny things. Incredible inner maps networking,
Feeding imaginary, each little neuron fire individually placed.
Feel, growth, repair, breathe. What if’s. What if greet like Sunday
night knowing Mondays earlies fly before birds chorus wink.
Tornado-ing waves after wave whirling. The weight choking out
Sun blotting out moon. And then breath. Sea. Breath.
The mind knows. In the quiet. Funny things. Programmed
as with stars, counted 1,2,3,4 breath, and feet sprout
sink into gratitude’s arms, breath, moving whole foundations.
Wild rattles eves, swells bulge tides higher than gulls play
As if Atlantic acted out those moments the reckoning
bellowed when she said we’ll know in six weeks, removing scope
and microscopic pieces. Me. The shortest walk seemed hours.
Changes And reckoning, silent changes.
but breath gently rocked, found sea. Minds are funny things.
Incredible inner maps. And breath.
We birth our thoughts.
Dingle Wilds 41 – Brilliant Blue
Thoughts run a drift in mind’s plains, this space
I and I see, store remnants of every nano second inhaled,
absorbed into pores begging slurp
of sea- sounds, smells, splodges of boggy melts
marinaded under clouds- spell, drenched in grass juice
catching mornings wishing sun’s gentle stroke. I and I.
Mind never fills. Yet pours, cascading as waterfalls
mighty rush. Feet take their place indent costal edges,
walk to themselves hypnotically like buoys bobs on breath-less surface.
I’m eagle combing, delights in all pretty shells before the final grind.
Sleepy smiles spread under skin branch out till each digit tingles. Engulf. Engulfed.
It’s here they place themselves. Collage, binding as they arrive. Thought drifts.
Holds firm Puffin remains dislodged from tidal touch,
vibrant rainbow beak, neon feet motionless among shoreline ghosts
brilliant blue sailors crusting falling to dust dots waterfronts stretching to hills,
migration navigated to death before proclaiming mates. I’m paused.
Sadness washes as waves gentle lap nudges on my bareness. The thousands
strokes of instincts here, with Manx shearwater silence with sands. Head all a flop.
I dare not disturb this slumber, beautifully bitter
I urge to cradle their triumph in vain.
© Polly Richardson
Polly Richardson (Munnelly) is a Dublin born poet now living and writing on the Dingle Peninsula Kerry. Her poetry and short stories have been published both nationally and internationally in many anthologies and e-zines including on her contributors page with Mad Swirl. In 2017 she travelled to Amsterdam, to read alongside Frisian poet Tsead Brunja former laureate of Netherlands. She’s had an honourable commendation in Blue Nibs second chap book contest by judge Kevin Higgins 2018. She continues to run writers group: The Bulls Arse remotely each week via zoom. She’s the founder member of and runs the international collative creative group Worldly Worders, formed during the first hard lock down during 2020. Polly has been heard reading at open mic nights, on local radio and at poetry festivals throughout Ireland, on live links broadcasting internationally 2013 – 2022. Her debut poetry collection Winter’s Breath was published and launched in September 2020. In March 2021 she took part in a on-line charity concert Le Cheile – A Song for Hope in aid of Saint Vincent De Paul and Alone Ireland. In 2022 she began running her Dingle Wilds walking poetry writing workshops .She is currently working on her second collection.