Denis Kucharski

Rookie - 80 Points (November 17,1976 / Medina, Ohio)

Denis Kucharski Poems

241. It's Cold In Here 12/22/2009
242. Capitalism 12/22/2009
243. No Sense In Belaboring The Point 12/22/2009
244. My Quiet World 12/29/2009
245. I Take Photos 12/29/2009
246. Defriended On Facebook 12/29/2009
247. I Believed In You 12/29/2009
248. How Did That Happen? 12/29/2009
249. Morbid 4/26/2010
250. Going Rogue 4/26/2010
251. When I Was Younger 4/27/2010
252. It's Crazy, Isn'T It 4/27/2010
253. The Death Of Film 4/27/2010
254. Arthritis 4/27/2010
255. Tenants 4/27/2010
256. Writings From A Lost American 11/27/2006
257. I'M So Sorry 12/6/2006
258. We Went To Wal Mart 8/16/2009
259. Obama 1/17/2012
260. A Tempered Moment 1/30/2007
261. The Turning 3/4/2007
262. The Cure 7/3/2008
263. The Redneck Love Song 7/3/2008
264. Paul Deen 1/17/2012
265. Mlk Jr. 1/17/2012
266. I Tried To Capture That Moment 1/17/2012
267. Purple Juice 4/27/2010
268. 'You'Ll Shoot Your Eye Out' 12/22/2009
269. Working Class Man In A White Collar Suit 1/9/2007
270. The Snow Came Down At Midnight 1/9/2007
271. Creative Musterings 1/3/2007
272. Slam Poetry 12/18/2006
273. Nobler Pursuits Have Left Me There 12/13/2006
274. I Wonder Why The Trolls Seem Happy 12/1/2006
275. The Wordless Poet 11/27/2006
276. A Christmas Ornament 11/27/2006
277. Upon My One Year Anniversary Of Not Smoking 11/15/2006
278. Unity In Buddha's Providence 11/27/2006
279. That Little Monkey 12/1/2006
280. Teabagged At The Tea Party 8/16/2009

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Best Poem of Denis Kucharski

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
Like a leper
You've found no distillment
In your heart's content
There you lie
Broken and open
With nothing left to give
Not even your art.

Read the full of It's Hard To Write Poems

Buying Time

Today I've been working very hard, toiling to buy time
So that we might spend it together.
I've been desperately searching, scratching
At the earth of life, filing, scraping
A meager den and furrow
So that we might nourish each other
And nature has given few things freely
As Adam's curse scratches back at us
The dirt doth freely humor find

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