Fiddlers Rock

A tale of an old fiddlers ghost.

Fiddlers Rock

I will tell you now of a tale

A tale of woe and dismay...

Of a lonely backwoods’ gentleman

He was a fiddler, so they say.

He jumped upon this rock each eve

For he was fairly known,

He let fly a furious medley

As the smoke rose from his bow.

He danced and sang all through the night

Until the moon cast its eerie glow…

It was then that all the spirits would rise,

And the demon’s grip took hold.

For as the hour grew late

Just before the dawn,

The fiddler's eyes grew cold,

With screams of a thousand banshees...

The fiddler…all at once was gone.

Its been so many years ago,

But every now and then…

you will see his shadow upon that rock...

As the old fiddler plays again.

Antony King 2018

performance poetry
Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Antony King

Antony King, a published poet from Eastern Kentucky. His work can be found in SpillWords, Rye Whiskey Review, and piker press to name a few. His books are available at B& and

See all posts by Antony King