"derry" poems
When great aunt Maggie passed away years ago, the one thing I really missed was her angelic voice.
The swaggering, sing-song lilt of the mid-Derry accent was as sweet as the confections she used to pass out to us as kids:
The inflection, the intonation, and the slight lisp she brought to it was so gloriously unique but was never heard again.
I often wish I could go back with a tape recorder to capture it in all its glory and relive how wonderful she was.
Now all I have is a untranslatable memory that can't be brought back to even vaguely approximate what it meant to me.
And now here I am again with the same obstacle.
The same tones, the same inflections albeit through a different light have just been extinguished before me.
This time there was no digital device rushing in to capture our time before it ran out.
No instinct for preservation was forthcoming - we were too busy having fun & 'being here now'.
No, once again I am bereft:
All I I have is here (in my heart) and and here (in my head)
The loved sounds I miss will always resound there albeit without backup
Voices lost but not forgotten.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
Whisky in the bottle
County Donegal
The flowing river swilly
In the distance Errigal
I don't know how I made it
To the port of letterkenny
Nor where I'm going next
As my bottles almost empty
I am just a poor boy
Born in county Tipperary
I left my family farm
And the maiden I would marry
I made my way to Ulster
Searching for the town of Derry
I spend all my gold on whiskey
Now I cant afford the ferry
Met a man from cork
In a pub where I was drinking
Why come so far north
We were talking and were thinking
Kilometres from home
And from anyone we've known
County Donegal
And there's whisky in the bottle
Whack-fol de daddy-ol
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
Scammer!!!! warning another scammer going by Linda Derry..... the email for each scam artist is almost exact..... Each person has their email with a different first name but derrick as the last.
(ex. [email protected])
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
B.R.O.M.B. is the abbreviation
of an amalgamation of a
situation in abomination by
dissipation of a nation in
segregation & humiliation
with an expectation in
deviation by procrastination
of delineation by a cessation
and violation to a predestination
of a unification by a precondition
without reservation, exploitation,
condemnation or expatriation.
So, the B.R.O.M.B. in Derry was
in anticipation of a preparation
an indication for a hesitation.
B.ackstop
R.enegers
O.bligating
M.ay's
B.rexit.
Just exploded in Derry!
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 9:20 AM UTC
A strawberry red bale
that gratitude was dale
but her waist ran a bijou
a chestful day in May
and her thigh was derry with such a motif
that was ye trumpet from Sunnyvale tonight
where her sweet tooth went ravishingly bare
while incredible vibration she'd shareware
indeed, a variation hypnotically sound
like her chestnut roasting bonfire where
tactfully dressed in love attire
we happen to know that travel so far
with the web now our thoroughfare
and dire by dawn fit her ankle again
that entail her sprangle
though her selfie is the grandeur soon
with foetuses In her bottom.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC
And as the large man turned
the corner
tilted
lolled and
then capsized,
bobbing around Foyle street
As a turtle on its back
I wondered how his family felt
And how bad
he must have smelt.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 11:31 AM UTC
child- small voices sag
bomb-smoke rises from the ground
far off, birds still shake
Billy Striker blown
to Holland, the north sea wind
took weeks to fall
beforemourn chimneys
slate rooves yawn hunger,
one cigarette draws breath
moon crater on the
road to Derry, limousine
sarcophagus lands
siren scream and scrape
tears rigor mortis frozen;
the sea now quiet
hands across water
missing fingers, Gabriel
silent, the watcher
he’d stopped to look
smile asking the time of day,
pressing the trigger
one small death for man
one giant death for mankind,
eyes search behind moons
bicycle wheel turns
awkward lazy arm protrudes
broken flaying skin
obliteration,
scalpel dissects argument
camera’s detail
a.m. paper print
fortresses build stone by verse
each wall a chapter
retaliation,
leopard stalking, counter plot
begun in blueprint
burnt flesh of kingdoms
republic’s frost bitten dogs
bark anger blood ***
interrogation,
splattered kneecap agreement
hands shaking silence
investigation,
no stone unmoved, evidence
a silent quarry
old man keeping dust
one eye swollen, hunching armour
his grief in buckets
MChallis © 2015
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
The blight swept Irish fields, crops crumbled to dust,
They starved on barren land, betrayed by false trust.
The ships sailed for England, with bellies of grain,
While coffins piled high, in the cold bitter rain.
Hollowed by dire famine, Irish voices grew weak,
Their language was silenced, each time they dared speak.
Irish songs were forbidden, their faith forced to hide,
While English law reigned, with its power and pride.
The green Irish valleys, flowed crimson with dead,
In Derry and Belfast, shattered streets bled red.
“The Troubles” unleashed bombs, the air burned with fire,
As brother fought brother, in streets choked with ire.
Murals of martyrs stared grim, from brazen walls,
Names whispered softly, in dim candlelit halls.
Cruel soldiers in armour, patrolled every street,
And children knew fear, before finding their feet.
Yet under the weight, of the rifle and rule,
They clung to their stories, in bard’s ancient school.
The harp still was strummed, beneath the cloak of night,
Keeping the flame of their souls, forever bright.
British sons too felt lost, on streets far from home,
Their names carved in stone, where the mourners still roam.
They carried the weight, of a war not their choice,
And spoke of their loss, in a trembling voice.
One day ****** guns, fell to silence at last,
Though deep scars in their hearts, still clung to the past.
Hands crossed worn lines, where the blood once did flow,
And seeds of a fragile, wary bond did grow.
They’ll never forget, those they buried in clay,
Nor the pain that forged, who they are to this day.
They now share their markets, their music, their trade,
New bonds have been woven, though old wounds won’t fade.
Two peoples once torn, bruised by conflict and dread,
Now walk side by side, down the road still ahead.
The border once guarded, with watchtowers and wire,
Now welcomes the traveller, without armed attire.
And if two proud isles, can crawl out of their gloom,
Perhaps other nations, can defy their own doom.
Walk away from their ruins, with hands intertwined,
And heal ancient wounds, in the hearts of mankind.
– Tom Vassos, Canadian Author, Astronomer
Aug 10, 2025
Aug 10, 2025 at 11:22 PM UTC
I could while away the hours
Conferrin' with the flower
Consultin' with the rain
And my head, I'd be scratchin'
While my thoughts were busy hatchin'
If I only had a brain...
Flashes,
Alms to flashes,
Storms on television sets
Domesticating nature for High Definition ****** fixation.
Suffocating families in screens.
Screens and flashes,
Alms to flashes.
Distractions spurn all my senses
I am hard and flaccid
and want more
but less
but right now
and again!...
I can feel the needle connect to my veins and into my spine
Push the plunger down and connection is made.
I would not be just a nuffin' my head all full of stuffin'
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and be merry, life would be a ding-a-derry,
If I only had a brain.
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
a darling in Derry
by the River Foyle
in bogside slid into harry
soon this gable marked toil
and this countess came sporadic
though many were that romantic
while their seven gates said no g8
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
This summer felt adventurous and free
On all the lovely memories we made
While we were sitting underneath the tree.
I constantly wish you would have just stayed
As the colorful autumn leaves fall down
Derry has never seemed so far a way
I still picture us driving around town.
Wondering what we would be like today.
Your blue eyes as cold as winters first frost
The flawless white snow covers over guilt
Hope is the remedy for feelings lost.
My faith is breaking down the walls I built
Now the flowers bloom and the birds come back
It's the time to get my life back on track.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Be a clown! Be a clown!
Have a frown! Have a frown!
Putting fear in being scare
The town of Derry with Death having a past
Every 20 years a clown attacks young kids
Being scare with places being no hid
The clown’s eyes for kids
Blood having the thirst
Thriller being the illustrate burst
A clown that has laughter can also have a mystery
A purpose needing a reason
It doesn’t matter the season
“IT” having the possibilities of what kid will be chosen
Fear running through the minds
Bedazzled beyond bizarre
Well that is Chapter One so far
Until the next chapter of the movie comes out
Stay focused and keeping looking at the big screen.
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC