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Dean Kuch Poem
Come To Me
Come to me, he said again,
to my dismay and tired chagrin,
I fought to tarry a while longer...
As I grew weak, he grew much stronger—
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
'Tis just a melding of simple fate,
a subject not for one's debate;
and lo', this wretched creature beckoned
I fought him off just as he'd reckoned—
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
"Am I not worthy of your best?
Have you not put me to to the test?
I dare not wish eternal sleep..."
He glared at me, blank sockets"- deep—
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
His skinless masque, devoid of feature
with feral grin, this wretched creature
reached yon, His slender hands of bone
beseeching, calling,- "I'll take you home—
...Come to me."
†
~*~
"Where is this you and I must go?
To heaven's gates, or fires below,
Should you divulge our destination?"
Yet, he looked on;- gaunt presentation—
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
May I offer you some wine?
perhaps, if you just took some time,
You'll see, I do not wish to go.
He smiled at me, and said... “I know”
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
Wretched creature, scourge of nations
You wrest me to your lost damnation
Can I not reason with you a bit-
Please, sir! There, do come and sit—
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
"Away, I cried, you demon's seed
I bear no illness, I have no need
to follow you, please I implore
Away! Away," come back no more..."
yet, He went on, much as before—
"...Come to me."
†
~*~
"I must stay here, my work's not done!
The battle wages, the war's, undone,
'Tis my fight not worth completing?"
He only watched, and kept repeating—
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
"Oh Death, I know your wretched grin,
I've seen its reflection on my own sin;
Have I no time to make amends?
This can not be where my life ends..."
“...Come to me.”
†
~*~
"I refuse," said I, "I will not go!"
His voice grew darker, his countenance, lo'
'til I arose, from tufted bed, then I
turned 'round, so softly said, “good-bye”
...And went~ .
Come To Me ©
Dean Kuch™
2013 All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Dean Kuch | Year Posted 2014
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Dean Kuch Poem
~ Harlan’s Holler ~
Dean Kuch
©2014
The locals say, in the light of day
one can visit Harlan’s Holler,
stay on the path
don't incite the wrath
of the man who lost his daughter.
The townsfolk say, to this very day,
you can hear poor Charlotte cryin.'
Beneath silv'ry moon,
where young lovers swoon,
as she lay there, slowly dyin'...
In the August heat, with tiny unshod feet,
Charlotte ventured into the Holler.
She soon lost her way
when the light of day
Gave way to midnights squalor.
Ripe berries sweet for her mom to eat
she'd gone there for the pickin',
her bucket now full,
twirling locks a' crull,
the creeping darkness began to thicken.
She wandered for days, to the towns dismay,
poor little Charlotte could not be found.
Old man Harlan yelled;
damned them all to hell—
then placed a curse upon the ground.
No crops will grow on the ground you sow,
all your livestock will surely die,
you'll toil endlessly,
in the end, you'll be
just the same as my Charlotte lie.
You'll burn in hell, you'll see,
in the end, you'll be
just the same as my Charlotte lie...
The days dragged on under the summer sun
as the child withered to dust.
Fred Harlan died,
Bible at his side,
felled by his curse and vengeful lust.
Down on Harlan's Hill you can hear them still,
mournful sobs by Pa and daughter,
when the moon's just right,
in the dead of night,
stay away from Harlan's Holler.
Lest you tarry there—
'neath the moon, beware,
of the curse of Harlan's Holler...
Copyright © Dean Kuch | Year Posted 2014
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Dean Kuch Poem
~The Greatest Show from Hell~
A circus quietly drifted through our town,
causing everyone here to curse the ground–
where they toiled to set~up their ghastly show.
They passed the town, demonic eyes aglow—
~*~
†
No jugglers, tight ropes nor funny clowns,
not one living soul– anywhere–to be found.
Not one was sure of their rueful intentions,
demonic creatures from hell's dark dimensions.
~*~
†
A diabolical debauchery– everyone surmised,
Malevolent menagerie's pure evil went undisguised...
~*~
†
The old Barker's visage–terrifying scene!
How his demonic minions danced, would sing;
–luring everyone into a cavort of death.
A performance designed to steal our breath
~*~
†
Like nothing we had ever seen before,
this pale white horrid, smiling troubadour,
raised single bony arm upwards, toward the sky
when, suddenly, from osseous hands did fly—
~*~
†
Such metaphysical mastery, it seemed,
his dead eyes with unholy forces— gleamed;
demanding the townfolks expiation,
or face the fires–eternal Hell's damnation.
~*~
†
A boisterous, bellowing wall of flame,
within the very midst, from whence it came;
all manner of devilish succubi–
did dance and sing a damning lullaby.
~*~
†
Like Pied Piper's rats led to the slaughter,
eldest townsfolk; brothers, sons and daughters,
entered into that billowing wall of flame,
were consumed, never heard nor seen again...
~*~
†
An epoch of such epic proportions!
These creatures, continued—horrific contortions,
until— mercifully— faded to crimson mist
evaporated them, like grain, churned to grist.
~*~
†
The spot is still marked where they all succumbed,
if you're caught standing near, then, back they'll come,
–unsatiated, taking not just young and old...
As they feel, you too, just might be cajoled.
~*~
†
Legend calls it the Greatest Hell on Earth;
a place of torture–a kind of new unbirth
The place I reside, not comfortably well,
having witnessed the Greatest Show from Hell...
Copyright © Dean Kuch | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Dean Kuch Poem
~Stripped~
~~~~~~~†~~~~~~~
If you believe this gift you've got
just be dismissed as afterthought,
or simply is a waste of time,
disclosing thought in metered rhyme ...
...then any questions you might ask
will surely take your soul to task,
for everything you write with care
transcends the cosmos — takes you where...
...few others vow they'll never go;
now, take my hand, c'mon — let's go!
Let's journey where the gods have basked,
like Nero's bards, our face unmasked.
We all wear masks to hide the truth;
some sneaky, saddened, sullen sleuth —
strip off your mask — come follow me;
through masks the truth is hard to see.
Just take my hand, again, I plea,
fly to the stratosphere with me.
Imagination's such a waste,
when what's suppressed has bitter taste.
The real you shines, if it's allowed;
shake off the pain, dismiss the crowd.
Expression's never commonplace,
lest masks are used to hide your face.
~~~~~~~†~~~~~~~
Copyright © Dean Kuch | Year Posted 2014
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