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
It's Hard To Write Poems
It's hard to write poems When you've nothing left to give And your insides are withered And your soul has run dry
Wwcnd? What Would Chuck Norris Do?
Would he karate chop my neck Or break through a pile of bricks Maybe smash my misconceptions With a sumo smash
I wonder what it's like To write a 1000 poems Does Tennyson whisper in your ear?
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
A Big Steaming Pile Of Poetry
Opening the newest poetry anthology Upon my eyes lie there A steaming pile of poetry Uttered through self-important pens
A Funny Clown
The drunk clown wears a painted smile broken by stubble smashing a beer
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
The Mouse Made The Masquerade
The mouse made a masquerade After biting my hand When I was trying to feed it Little pellets of D-Con death
A Poem Of Friendship
Thanking you, for all the given deeds And heartfelt cares we both adore Thanking you, for having courage
My Star Wasn'T Bright Enough
My star wasn't bright enough To shine through your darkness Or to quiver the mountains Of the dread you held within
Depression made this mind Ground grindingly to a halt The gears locked Rusted in bellworn treads
My Grandfather Melted Away
My grandfather melted away And resolved himself into a dew. That mountain of a man Now left asunder
Inklings Of Doubt
Inklings of doubt As to the remainder Of what comes When hope has drifted away
A New Ipod
A new Ipod Hoping to make up For that what was lost Which might never be found
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