Phil Doherty Poetry

April 2006

Diamante #1

caress

gentle hopeful

pressing feeling pausing

flirt pet cold tension

ignore deny resist

sad alone

neglect

Diamante #2

spite

bitter resentment

loathing seething harming

ache sneer protect clasp

soothing kissing holding

warmth nourish

nurture

© Phillip Doherty

we’re in dirty

and we’re in a dirty one now,

i have no idea,

no idea.

it’s not funny anymore

because we’re killing

people.

and their families want to come

here

as compensation for their boy’s

murder.

that’s a love i’ll never know.

that’s why we’re not ready for the

dirty

job ahead.

i can afford my spite my hate my

justice.

maybe to that family hope is anywhere but

home,

and a senseless mistake is an opportunity

and death can enrich

and that boy will never know that he’s a

coupon his family is trying to redeem

and we have no idea.

i guess his family wants to buy a few

things.

February 2006

2 Haiku Poems

When we grow alone
Somebody always loses
So dream in silence

Not a pretty girl
She's chewing white china dust
She has no lips left

© Phillip Doherty

barnacles and hands

running along the beach in summer at the cottage
shoes protected my feet from the barnacles and the mussels freckling the edge,
but not my hands when i fell and skidded on my palms,
and the pain blistered my skull with the sun on my back and i ground it all into my teeth.

mum tried to pick out the shards from my bleeding hands,
and trying to be gentle locked them in deeper as
the barnacles forced themselves into my skin,
so i snatched the tweezers away and put the pain elsewhere.

later her friend arrived with his daughter and son
and we went outside the cottage to the beach to listen to,
the shore and to caress the daughter’s sandy toes with my ruddy feet,
and she dove into me-my mouth-and my hands still throbbed.

we were both fourteen and it was summer.

© Phillip Doherty

January2006

When Saints Relax
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Saints Relax

poking my head in the fridge

while St. Peter hurls abuse and

chuckles.

Yellow light splashes

pop cans fizzle

and outside a toddler calls to his daddy.

© Phillip Doherty

Hostage
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, in my head, I pretend that I’m being held hostage.
And the bad guys ask somebody to tell a story to pass the time.
The story, apparently, may have a bearing on who lives or dies.
So I, in my head, tell a story about two friends who
work for a door-making company.
And the two friends each work on the knobs.
One of them has to inspect the knobs and,
if one is faulty, he has to remove it and throw it in a compactor,
that looks like a big mouth that gobbles the bad knobs.
The knobs that pass muster, go to the next friend.
He’s the one who polishes the knobs so they glow.
There is a third guy, the one who installs the knobs.
But he’s kind of boring, in my head.
Eventually, the bad guys are struck by how clever
and how wise I am and they let the hostages go free.
They even give themselves up.
And they tell the news-people how I saved everyone,
because I am clever and funny, in my head.

© Phillip Doherty