The Derry Poems

Composed on napkins in the Ice Wharf over a Guinness or two, a wonderful salad and the first installment of Fish and Chips.


of troubles
they’ve survived

can’t imagine why they choose the suffering
of budweiser

The Doherty clan, from which we get our wonderful last name, claims it ancient lands in this area to Malin Head, the most northern point of the island…

I choose which ones look like me
their noses and postures
each Doherty and Docherty
and Dougherty Dougherty Dougherty

like they’d sign their name
the way I do
crossing the t
with the bogrise of y

The Next Movement
(not autobiographical)

The developed world’s Buddha
is traveling lonesome
but not without company

The suffering is breaking his phone
piece by piece
each day

The meditation
pocketless pants


An old Irishman knows how to fill a barstool
like a ghost
in a house he’ll never leave

Belly up with Baby Jesus
against a Derry bar
and you’ll swear
Ulster is the Holy Land

An Oxford Professor’s Revelation

Give the part of Juliet to a Bogside lass
and she’ll butcher the iambic candence

so crassly unique

he’ll renounce
allegiance to the Queen’s language

3 thoughts on “The Derry Poems

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