Biography of Denis Kucharski
Having written thousands of poems, dozens of short stories and three novels, Denis Kucharski grew up and was educated in Northeastern Ohio. His primary influences include Herman Hesse, Robert McGovern, Albert Camus, Fyodor Dostoevsky and the philosophy of Nietszche.
My blog is located at http: //www.djklaw.blogspot.com
Denis Kucharski's Works:
Three novels, published on the Internet as:
'The Generation X'ers'
'Confessions of a Hermit'
Denis Kucharski Poems
My Last Day Of Work
It was my last day of work It had to come to an end That comfortable job Now long gone
To My Dead Mother The Night Before My Th...
It’s my birthday today, Mom. I wish you were here to share it with me. I miss your bright eyes Your expectant smile
We'll never have an electric car... We went to the moon Walked in space Cured polio
I wonder what it's like To write a 1000 poems Does Tennyson whisper in your ear?
The Punk Pizza Delivery Boy
There he goes 27 years old in his jalopy. He used to write poems,
What Have They Done To Dr. Albert Ellis?
Poor Dr. Albert Ellis You built them a kingdom And in your (g) -olden age They cast you from it
Upon My One Year Anniversary Of Not Smok...
On the occasion of my failure to smoke Nearly a year since that dreaded habit passed. And with it a part of myself Hygienically unfrozen
Unity In Buddha's Providence
The words pouring upon the page Tidal waves of consciousness sprung Gushing through icy fields In clamorous splendor
A Funny Clown
The drunk clown wears a painted smile broken by stubble smashing a beer
That Little Monkey
You see that little monkey over there? I think he's a squirrel monkey, But I can never remember the name of these sorts of things.
Teabagged At The Tea Party
I got teabagged at the tea party Sean Hannity dipped me a taste of Rush Limbaugh's snow cone
A Christmas Ornament
I pulled the old Christmas ornament gingerly from the mouse-devoured box It had a wind-up lever the kind which played music
The Wordless Poet
The wordless poet, His verse doth not rhyme Of meter, none can be found
I Wonder Why The Trolls Seem Happy
I wonder why the trolls seem happy. They are always smiling Even after sitting in a box For one whole year, waiting until Christmas
The man, the monument,
The gushing forth of creation
The ejaculated tremorings
Of a human volcano
Who swept up history in his path
And the future in his brush
He made forever a giant
This little brown man from Spain