William F Dougherty

Rookie - 350 Points (West Hartford, CT)

Comments about William F Dougherty

  • Diane Hine Diane Hine (3/15/2015 3:45:00 AM)

    Clear a space in the poetry showcase, these blue-chip collectibles belong on the top shelf.

    4 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Jim Hogg (12/1/2012 6:11:00 AM)

    For depth and density of analysis, breadth of learning, mastery of detail. connection and concept, his criticism compares with the very best. A mind to admire, work to learn from and his commitment to his art leaves me in awe.

  • Scotty Dogg Scotty Dogg (10/8/2012 7:56:00 PM)

    William, you still on the site? Just wondering. S

  • Robert Dyer (4/28/2012 2:11:00 AM)

    Anyone who dares to challenge the two poems who, to my mind, soar over English poetry, Epithalamion and Notes towards a supreme fiction, has my instantaneous respect. I will read more.

  • Mark Pollins Mark Pollins (4/27/2012 11:24:00 PM)

    it's great to come upon a true poet on the PoemHunter circuit

  • Jim Hogg (4/26/2012 8:59:00 AM)

    A virtuoso at work. Long may he continue to produce such authentic poetry.

  • Francis X. Burns (4/20/2012 9:20:00 PM)

    Work here reads like a study in poetic forms: open lyrics, sonnets, villanelles, triolets, couplets, tercets, epigrams,
    haiku, clerihews, even a sestina. Professional at work.

Best Poem of William F Dougherty

Villanelle On A Proverb

The heart once broken is a heart no more.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay

The proverb says that time confers relief,
heals a crimson gash or knits whole a bone
and years unlock a knuckled fist of grief

that clenches emptiness in disbelief
to keep one's wits from being overthrown,
while time, the proverb says, confers relief

from cleaving wounds, paradoxical thief,
that also tears apart fused hearts grown
beyond the lock of knuckled-fisted grief,

half-hearts collapsed empty in unbelief
at finalities weighted by lids of stone,
while time, the...

Read the full of Villanelle On A Proverb

The Zipper

[from the Crab Sonnets]

They sank a silver zipper in my chest:
a foot of snag-toothed staples used to chain
the cavity where cancer bloomed its yeast.
The lovely morphine drips: I don't complain.
I feel aloof; the nurses glide like ghosts,
their chat like crinkled cellophane: I sway
upon an inner stalk each time I'm dosed.

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