General Poetry posted June 5, 2014


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The saga of Johnny continues...

The Devil Went Back to Georgia

by Dean Kuch




Young Johnny Tweed had grown, indeed, to be a special sort of breed,

a preacher man, God's biggest fan, as he spread the gospels' seed.

His honor—strong, his patience— long, taking good care of his flock.

Yet, secretly he longed to be up on stage just playing rock.

 

His fiddle playing (goes without saying), was the best you ever saw.

See, Johnny learned in hell some burned wishing on the Monkey's Paw.

He'd practice nights— talented delights— soon spread around the block,

many came, so thus the name— Fiddle playin' preacher who could rock!

 

Yet, down below dark forces know the opportunity that was lost;

for years ago, as you all know, that golden fiddle came with a cost.

As Satan fumed, his anger bloomed, each time Johnny drew his bow,

he planned his attack to gain it back and put a halt to Johnny's show...


 photo the_devil_went_down_to_georgia_by_johnstiles-d5kkg3v_zpsf1a62db8.jpg



All Hallows eve — cards up his sleeve — old Satan swept into town,

beaten once before (he knew the score) now he really would throw down.

Sure enough, though times were tough, there was Johnny 'neath the moon,

plucking Amazing Grace, to Satan's distaste; (he loathed that awful tune).

 

You back again, dark prince of sin? asked Johnny smugly, with a grin.

Once wasn't enough, you know I'm tough, I'm the best that's ever been.

Old crafty demon, his smile gleamin', opened up his golden case,

a bejeweled fiddle, hopes dropped a little, a hush fell about the place.



A gorgeous thing, its shimmering strings — so lustrous in Luna's glow.

Johnny stared in awe, then with a flick of claw, the devil drew a silver bow.

The crowd stood transfixed as harmonic mix wafted softly through the air;

Lucifer played on, well after dawn, the town's folk couldn't help but stare.




 photo satan__s_violin_by_whaleseeker-d4shxt4_zpsd160a5ab.jpg


They split the earth from their cumbrous girth, as dark demons came to see,

Beelzebub got down, filled up the town, with satanic harmony.

Old Elsa Finster, the local spinster, mouthed a quiet, whispered prayer,

echoing sentiments of those who went to watch Johnny playing there.



Fiery cacophonies flew from his symphony as he worked that silver bow.

Demons hissed with iniquitous bliss as they watched the Devil's show.

Yet, Johnny stood, tall as he could, his hands raised up in adoration,

to his God above whose agape love gave him his determination.


The Devil went back to Georgia photo TheDevilwentbacktoGeprgia_zps8b90b17c.jpg

 

Beelzebub now done, he cried, I've won—no way you'll beat me, boy!

You're in a spot, a demon's knot, kid, I played you like a toy...

Johnny crossed his heart, said, Before I start, bow your heads in silence, please.

He began to pray as the light of day filtered softly through the trees.



Johnny looked to the sky, prayed, Lord I'll try my very best to win,

for it's your name I proclaim, and one simple fiddle made of tin —

would sound far sweeter than the fancy bleater offered up here as prize.

He drew his bow, hunkered down, real low, with tears streaming from his eyes.



The consonance – tunes resonance – carried gently by the breeze,

made grown men cry, the ladies sigh — dropped Satan to his knees.

Each soft refrain, the Devil tried in vain, to block from pointed ears,

Johnny's composition, now joined by musicians, long dead for many years.



 photo the-devil-went-down-to-georgia-mia-delode_zps4b1be969.jpg

 

All Heaven's chorus– who've gone before us – joined in with jubilant song;

to the Devil's disdain, it began to rain, as he unwittingly sang along.

Strength depleted, Satan hung his head, defeated, — That boy surely has a gift...

Each new chord which drifted forward, the devil's smugness began to lift.



When Johnny was done, the battle won, Satan raised a heavy head.

Now the town had gathered, all the masses blathered, Now sin is surely dead!

Once again, to his chagrin, Satan laid the bejeweled fiddle at Johnny's feet

Johnny grinned, Devil, you just can't win, 'cause with God ...I can't be beat!



 photo giphy1_zps65261c9a.gif
 

He played Fire on the mountain—run boy run

Devil's in the house of the rising sun,

chicken in the bread-pan 'a pickin' out dough...

Satan get on back, now, go boy, go! ...


 



Poem of the Month contest entry

Recognized


The technique of plucking the strings of a fiddle, or violin, depending upon your musical preferences, is called Pizzicato. It's usually notated by just writing "pizz." above the notes that you are to play that way. The opposite off Pizzicato is Arco which simply means to use the bow.

I mean no disrespect to the fabulous Charlie Daniels and his remarkable group of musicians which comprise his band in the writing of this poem. In fact, I have even printed out and sent a copy to his promotional manager.

From his Dove Award winning gospel albums to his genre-defining Southern rock anthems and his CMA Award-winning country hits, few artists have left a more indelible mark on America's musical landscape than Charlie Daniels. Best known for his signature song, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," the song to which this poem is dedicated, Daniels continues to thrill audiences with boot-thumping, rowdy performances. The last stanza in this poem, for the majority, is used under copyright of the Charlie Daniel's Band, Inc.

So, I've often wondered (more times that I care to admit to all of you) what happened to Johnny after he'd defeated the Devil that day on the mountain.

For those of you unfamiliar with the tune, I've provided a link here for you to read the lyrics. Perhaps you might wish to read them first before diving in to this work. Or, you may just to decide to read my humble tribute to his song, and leave it at that.

This is just one fan's humble concept, written in the best poetic expression that I know how, of what happened to Johnny after The Devil Went Back to Georgia that day.

I only hope you all enjoy it.

Thanks so much for reading~

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/charliedanielsband/thedevilwentdowntogeorgia.html
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