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Polly Richardson – Mavericks

Polly Richardson LE P&W May 2019

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Mavericks, poems by Polly Richardson

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-zines – (The Blue Nib, Lotus Eater, Mad Swirl, Nixes Mate, Porter Gulch Review(coming soon).  She is member of Navan writers’ group: The Bulls Arse. Polly has been heard reading at open mic nights, on local radio and at poetry festivals throughout Ireland, on live links broadcasting internationally 2013 – 2019. In 2017 she travelled to Amsterdam, was heard reading in Harrlem alongside Frisian poet laureate of Netherlands Tsead Brunja & musicians. Her poems have featured on various poetry trails in 2014 – 2018 (Blackwater poetry festival) & (Fleadh Ceoil Drogheda) has had honourable commendation in Blue Nibs second chap book contest by judge Kevin Higgins 2018. In March 2019 she was heard at Trim poetry festival in Meath. Some of her work was used to inspire young artists and turned into sculptures in Dallas US. She is currently working on her first collection.


Mavericks 

Dedicated to the memory of Jay Moriarty. 1978-2001

This is where it ends,
the everything
the must haves
the Monologues
this inner race we’ve created. Live.
Chase *mavericks – see sea-souls sing,
knit yourself to inner pulse
follow kites on east-wind.
In silence, listen, to slinks of mummer
melt into it,
let wild horse be,
inhale sunrise as if summer rain on tongue, taste rainbow.
Each toe touch to ground tune inner symphony,
I watch her shuffle again her ghosts follow as if Mardi Gras
each etched wrinkle pours platitudes burring her Rio,
one of them leans whispers in my lobe ‘she used to be that showgirl’
This is where it ends,
The everything
The must haves
The Monologues
Nothings set in stone.

 

Authors Note * Mavericks in surfers’ terms -is a massive wave surge that happens at certain times of the year. Most popular in northern California outside Pillar Point harbour, north of Half moon bay at the village of Princeton – by -the- sea. Mavericks is a winter destination for some of the world’s biggest wave surfers, many have died trying to wrangle these beasts. Largest wave ever recorded was 1,720 feet, little shorter than was New York’s world trade centre. This poem was inspired by life of one such surfer’s – Jay Moriarity ( Santa Cruz) his journey in life learning the waves from childhood and how her mastered the Mavericks through his bond with mentor Frosty Hesson, renowned Maverick surfer himself. At the age of 16, Jay was made famous when his wipeout at Mavericks was caught on film, he mastered those waves. Jay died a few years later free diving at the age of 22. He lived life to the full, no fear stood in his way despite his roots.

 


September Blues

Chasing clouds netting sun
to keep it jam-jarred, preserved for the dipping,
and   winter calls out moon to play. Teases.
Not before carpeting the fallen, browning green gold
adding crunch, windy good -bye swirls
She’s bare.
Striped.
Exposed,
partial roots, her bits- gnawed. Muted inner pleas.
And forestry wafts mulch-mud,  maddening – begs  ingestion,
yet ruts bay beckon claim, lullaby mist,
paving way for incubation to burst amniotic dams
birthing spring steam rising, soaking sustenance to soil
comforting first suck. The larvae thrive.
And lucky bellies full. Wool, leather and rain.

 


Good Vibrations – Hound, ode to Bailey

Salted mud begs indentations
let them talk,
let them silent whisper to each sandy grain
while   ghosts of yesterday runs with tide- turn.
His tongue loll tastes freedom with every stride stretch over strands,
sinking into erosions of evolution finally ground down,
as if its own pepper mill dusted enhancing shores.
Each pad imprints anew
despite years from running coastal to highest heights
ingested birds-eye views of rugged wild, nostrils to ground never miss!
Rustic-red ears wrinkle slight, alert, for the sound of silk calling heel,
each delicate thread woven between hound and palm, fuse, seep to vein pulse
while gleaming black back as if saddled carry
the thousand pats held in those look’s exchange.
His shoulder leans to origins, the chase,
sniff fusions of what must have been.
White paws balance knowing,
as chocolate eye dilations brighten his own inner milky-way
raising jaws to surf wind waves from windows motoring,
catching in lip flaps those vibrations we can only dream of.
Damp ebony nose twitch, catch watery sun in droplets,
His poise of rump indent on grasses winded, striped
yet un-savaged in evening light still, begs devouring
the silence of that sit-stay speaks volumes paints a thousand picture
ponders to Atlantic sea -sprays,
tail tip as if snake russle, slight, vibrating,
smiles grow warmth.
And each tales of the peculiar whispered carry on tidal current,
coldest of waters recede already thrashed her jaggedness to smooth
hold in inner memory box, when stories start with remember when ….

 


Over the rainbow

From mist they came, each one finally tuned,
momentous movement majestically striking
hoofing damp earth to sky bursts -rainbowed
true colour displayed
whinnies to reddening sun
stride to wind blows.
Distant ground thunder rumbles her alive,
flaying bellowing mandarin -orange rusty-dust whirls
above forward ears,
eyes diamonding wide wild free,
white-faced squeals crescent under forelock
whorls his pattern, elevated tail bouncing dapples,
bays, greys painted blue, marbled blacks, reds, appaloosa
turn stretch of greening clover, gallop beyond purple haze
bursting lavenders rolling fields alive,
rhythmic gaits leave lingering spirits imprints in their wake.
Two buttermilk mares graze, glistening gold in summers flare,
blink exhale, their knowing down ravine
each foal at foot strut limbs to river rush,
mimic nodding head- rolls at bees yellowed from waggle,
flick a tail- swish at waring gnats, excited vibrations snort
velvety pink display to the listening
transparent flecks of mucus hang on whisker forming its own prism
two hooves sets paint air as if saluting cloud,
hind legs sink slight baring it all, readying flanks, suppling,
One day like the others they too will descend from mist,
majestically striking hoofing damp earth to sky bursts,
whinnies to reddening sun
to other sides of rainbows, blowing calm on the sleeping
like jinny- joe drifts, falling where necessary
taking seed within dreams of those imagining horses
hearing their call whispering, painting colours in hoof beats.

 


Lunar Howl

Sparrow hawk fly, peck remorse, leaving remains exposed,
each flutter splats speckles

1000 years grief bled on craters reflecting

*Cerridwen

Helpless – howling.

Humanity gorge as if cannibalistic
– war onto
themselves, thy kingdom came.

Dark side of moon bloodied.

I walk down to seas bulging cries bursting don’t give a fucks’
each ripple swells to lunar, weighed in agony, choked.
My hand’s breadths, eagle soar ebony eye her fullness
I look to rivers raging fate, tongue weirs, taste as if first and last.
Call out.
Call out.
*CerridwenCerridwen
Those drums still beat, bound vibrations to earthen song
Robed in green, frosting stem -tips glisten, lean whispers to owl

*Cerridwen       *Cerridwen 

Translucent, she circles
yet like swan on glassy water glides effortlessly
sowing stanzas etched in white
her sow shares her otter, as hound she pads a touch
to walk with sparrows pawing bows, curl whimpers at shamanic feet.
Humanity gorge as if cannibalistic, eclipsing.
Sparrows Hawks fly, take remorse pecked
as shallowing earth shadow-cloaks central leaving
dark moon bloodied.  I ingest.

 

Authors note: * Cerridwen, pronounced – Ker-rid-wen, moon Goddess, patron of all with in her realm, fertility science, prophecy and poetry, her name comes from the Celtic word Cerru, meaning cauldron. The dark moon is strongly associated with this Goddess. She’s shape shifts into Grey hound, Otters and often into a white sow to be amongst her people, her scared birds, hawks, hens and sparrow hawks.

 


Central

A force – fixed to a spot, trees kiss cloud.
Exact point in all important vertebra,
without it, ribboned to floors
collapse on to ourselves.
Geese take no flight.
Middle. That spot. Right in the core.
He simply cannot fall merely slider,
defenceless,
Unable to rake over regrets.
Sensational.
Vital
beat in every heart
without it – lifeless,
eventually black whole
eating its own matter.


© Polly Richardson