I sit here weeping like an infant child. Uncontrollable.
My love of wolves has culminated here, to this Poem, where the breadth of its force enters me, dissolves there, reopens, into a cracked howl of pain and sorrow and knowing.
Your words move inside me . . . I am stricken with awe and admiration and primeval understanding from a Soul-point of fading light.
You take me to places in my heart that no one ever touched before or that I often denied because it would reduce me to being raw and vulnerable. But here I stand with the full knowledge that you have looked inside my Soul and left a mark there, a paw, a whimper.
Therefore, I come alive within your stanzas, and this Poem is like my mantra. You have spoken my heart, licked my broken Spirit, for I am a lover of wolves, and a lover of your words, and now the two have intertwined.
As they should. And I knew they always would. I was just waiting for the right Poet to come along and piece them so flawlessly together. And so you did.
OMG this is so wonderfully Dark. Being a Dark Poet myself, I so identified with the terror and loneliness of this, that I ache inside my bones and I shiver with memory of despair so deep, I am lost in the void.
You are terrific. I'm so glad we found one another on this site. Oh my God my eyes welled up with tears on this one, and my heart stopped momentarily, and my Soul remembered . . . . my Soul remembered an eternal loss it couldn't let go of.
Beautiful, extraordinary work. I have instantly added YOU to My Favorites so I will keep up with your Port.
This was so poignant and realistic and straight from the heart. Why do Bus Stops conjure such emotions of loneliness and neglect and despair and unrequited love? A place where we are dropped off, like dogs in a strange neighborhood, like an abandoned animal to fend for itself in the snow, the rain, the elements of life without proper protection. I think like you do: bus stops are our ticket to sorrow and solitude, to nowhere out of somewhere, and then to face the hour of our emptiness, another stop that means nothing in the realm of sure uncertainty.
You have described perfectly the emotional imbalance we find ourselves sinking inside at a Bus Stop, a place where dreams have dropped us off a long time ago, and we, unaware, remain behind, still looking ...
Absolutely a brilliant piece of work. You are a true poet.....your words dive into my Soul and scrape me there ......I am forever altered by your words as I read and re-read and I thus am changed.
For the better. For the sadder. Excellent spill of talent upon this page.
I am so proud of you for your accomplishments, Jimmyfin. This is wonderful that the world will be able to witness such words of honor and poetic deepness. I am so glad you have gone with this self-publishing mode, you have done a fine job. I wish I had more time to self publish, but alas, I do not, and so my third and fourth books are with publishers now, in their hands.
Anyway, I am proud of your endeavors here and I hope others come to know you as the Writer through Wandering Wounds. You are tremendous in every way and I am a better person and writier myself for having known you in such short order.
It's so realistic, like what one would really do and how they would really react. I like poems based in a raw realty, and told with a poetic sadness as shown here. You definitely have a gift and I would keep up the great work. This impressed me by its pure, unbridled simplicity and the cut-throat reality behind hidden grief.
The bleak, inexplicable darkness that decapitates even the most rudiment of hollow joy .............is severed between your words of despair and utmost agony. I have never read such lines of sorrow and I think only in my darkest of muse, the ones suicide failed to kill, will I ever taste such wicked non-light in a Poem so wrought with the iron casts of ill and dying hope, left to bleed on a thread of string, about to snap.
You are the Wicked Muse that makes Darkness lick in jealous tongue.
Stunning and breathtaking words, WW, wow, you have it in ya girlfriend, yes ya do, keep it up. This was so sentimental and touching, that I felt the warmeth of the words as they melted across the page. WTG Gigie, you have the Poet's touch, no doubt about it. Keep up the great work.
This is a grand, structured Poem. Though I am a Free Verse Poet by nature and desire, that doesn't meant that I don't appreciate ALL FORMS of Masterfully written, Traditional works, and this was just fantastic, in plot, content, irregardless of the strict structure and rhyme, which, by the way, was flawless.
Bravo, bravo, you give Traditional a Good Name, my friend. Stand up proud and be recognized.
Very sad, Meg. Is this true, or just a poem? If its true, I sure understand. I am the last one standing in my own family. They are all dead. If it was not for my husband, I would be alone in this world. I have my animals, of course, as far as human is concerned, I mean, my husband is all I have.
I'm sorry Judy. Hon, miracles happen everyday. You have the love and support of family and all your friends here at WDC. We are in constant prayer for your speedy recovery. Hang in there, we all are behind you 150%.
George, you are just so utterly brilliant its rediculous. i love your extended knowledge of people and places and languages. You are intelligent on many levels. These continuing chapters are as spellbinding as the first three. This is what I admire about Novelists. I'm just a poet, and I can't write anything longer than a Novella because i lose interest in my characters and the plot, instead of widening and getting more involved, wavers in integrity. But this continues in true form and fashion, weaving in and out of blissful fantasy and reality mix that its a delight to the Soul and reads like a symphony.
I'm glad Bartolomeo had nothing to do with John Lennon's death. I love the Beatles. All this with the Rock & Roll stars is a hoot.
And I especially enjoyed the section of New Orleans, since that is my hometown. i live in Colorado now. I agree that after Katrina, New Orleans will never be the same.
You are a brilliant writer and there are no words to describe your talent. I would be cliche-ing all over the place if I were to try to express my admiration here, so I will quit while I'm stead a head (and a foot, and an arm, and the rest of my body, LOL)
Absolutely tremendous, one of the best stories (besides Vampire, that was a bonus) that I have ever read. This is something Old Stephen King would be jealous of himself. I love your exceptional knowledge of instruments, foreign lands and languages, history and Biblical history, wherein, tied together, you create the most spellblounding, masterffully written Masterpiece that I have ever encountered. There were times I wept, laughed, and was chilled to the mortal bone and one heck of a storyteller you are; but that goes without saying. I could almost believe this and your imagination and creativity is a true, blessed gift. You make us all stand in awe and I'm bowing (curtsying? LOL) as we speak, can you hear me, all the way here in Colorado? I am so blown away right now I can't feel clear nor see straight.
Terrific, wow, wow, wow, there are no words to encapsulate such a Masterpiece as this. Five stars are insufficient. If I had 20 stars to give you, we'd just be getting started . . .
Exotic, erotic, to the fullest of the best, you have captured a moment in time when passion was as fertile as the crops outside, growing tenderly towards the care given it, the light that beams inside of it, giving it a life force once unknown even to itself. You are as spellbounding as a story teller as you are a famed Poet and I think you could write the yellow pages and we would all at once, commence to the floor in a unison of awe and wonder and beg for more.
So beautifully well-written, Autumn. I am a friend of your mother's. My name is Susan, handle is SonnetWolf. I hold your mother in high respect and I admire her writing. Though you have her talent, you are an individual with your own right of passage into this literay world, and so my Review is based on your talents, not your mother's. YOU are coming into your own as a fine writer and I wish you all the success in the world.
As ravishingly beautiful as the fitting story here told, of a man's infatuation and ultimate desire and love for the woman of his dreams that has become, to his awe, a reality he can touch with the embrace and vigor of his wanton Soul, as the fires within flame heavy for the course of life he would choose to live with her, not a waking ember would go by without her vision succumbed within it.
I may not understand all your Poems, but I always walk away with a "feeling." I think that is just as important, if not more. That you have the power to provoke someone into an alter-emotion.
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