Love it. I feel your Poetry, it goes beyond words. It's an emotional love affair with words again. It took me a long time to try to describe how affected I am over your work. You have made us all fall in love with Poetry again, the way you write. Because it makes those of us who feel dead inside alive again. That's the gist of it, I guess. You bring many of us back to life with inspiration.
You write with such convinction of the human essence, of human nature, the part of us we don't always talk about, the parts we hide away or forget about. That's what I like about you . . . you bring it all out in the open, raw light of reality, exposed, naked, to the watching world.
Your Poetry makes me cry, weep, uncontrollably. I always come back here for inspiration. You are the finest Poet I have ever read. I know you have probably been told this a million times, I hope you never get tired of hearing it. You are the best I ever read, the deepest I ever felt.
One of your greatest fans,
Susan
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The ecstasy is so short but the forgetting is so long ~ Walt Whitman
I waste not time by buying time. I squander it by always reaching far
beyond my grasp ~ Rod McKuen
Beautiful. I feel your Poetry when I read it Eliot. It's not just words for me. You have such raw reality and emotion in your words that it transcends time and space and the Reader grasps it in their own unique way, according to their personal worldview, but I always walk away feeling rejuventated, like, this is Poetry, this is the real deal. That's how I always feel with your poems. I am opened up somehow to a new reality.
Just beautiful, Kristi, and I totally agree. I have trouble getting close to people too, I don't just let anyone enter, but when Stacy came along, with her kindness to me, it was easy to let myself be myself with her, and she accepted me the way I was, flaws and all.
This is beautiful and so well deserved. You are an Angel to many of us, Sherri, and we love you like the light we need to survive. Without you, we are in total darkness. You mend the way to health and peace and friendship.
Just beautiful. This story was full of as much rich detail as any Romance Novel I ever picked up for my lonely heart to brood over. Just as tight and neatly well-written and heartfelt and tugging at all the right nostalgic strings that play a human in all its fiery tempo. I felt like a spirit spectator hoovering over this man sitting there with his guitar, strumming over his lost-love past, trying to reach out for something he knew he would never hold onto again but would try anyway. You put us there in the moment and I felt the ache in his heart; I could hear the melancholy chords play out in the wind, a Solo of his broken link to the woman he left behind and will never forget.
You are very talented and I applaud you 100% for making me feel like I was somewhere else. That is the mark of a true gifted writer to displaces us to another time and place outside our realm.
This broke my heart. Was this true Sherri? What a tragedy, one you will never, ever forget. If not true, this has happened and what a lesson to be learned by those that drink and drive. That in an instant, your life can be altered forever, or taken away, or that of others. One mindless moment can cause a catasrophe and change forever the lives of others and yourself.
It doesn't take but a second to make a fatal mistake, one we never have time to regret. It's already too late.
There is no reviewing you . . . for you are a Master, and the rest of us, merely apprentices. I learn each time I read; I learn how to weep at my own insecurity, like fingers itching to play a Violin it never learned to touch but craves to make a beautiful noise somewhere in the cosmos, when it has the moment to do so and feels that it can't; I often crawl away from your port, thinking, I should never write again, I'm not that good, but I know you would never want anyone to feel that way. YOU would only want them to join in the poetic dance in their own way, add a pivot or two of their own. But when I read you, I feel like I should dance alone, no one should see me slip and fall into the bare of nothingness. You are so good that I feel inadequate (that is my shortcoming). I come to you for inspiration and I find more than I ever bargained for; I find something larger than me and I want so bad to taste it and I feel that that is all I will ever do ~ taste what I can never swallow on my own. I'm such a foolish woman . . . thinking like that. You must think I'm crazy. No . . .I'm just one of your biggest fans and everytime I read your work, I feel like I neve wrote anything at all, I feel so inconsequential. I wish I didn't feel that way. I wish I could just enjoy your work and move on and feel inspired to do better and that's what I attempt, but I feel I fall short.
I'm sorry Eliot. You are great in my book and there is no one else out there that can touch you. You seem to me Larger Than Life and it saddens me that I feel like microscopic dust in your presence. Again, my own insecurity, but that's how your work affects me. You are the Master and I'm just the wind passing by your face.
There are no words, Eliot, to explain how your words move mountains inside of me, especially since I thought what lay dormant is me were merely forgotten hills.
I am inspired to the point where I become afraid of myself, because I know I will never be this good, as good as you. We all have our depths and though I crave to dive into the bits of unknown as you famously do, I wonder, can I ever breathe different again and love it so as not to breathe that same way ever again? That's how you move me inside . . . to be more than I am, unrecognizable to shadows, even. And perhaps just as unloved. But forever remembered . . . .
When I hunger for inspiration, Eliot, I come to you, to bask in your Port, because it dares to take me miles from myself, where I get lost in another land, which is what I wanted to do anyway, lose the standing position of my present and be forever lost in a new, inspiring gravity, which only YOU, with the mastery of your talent, can take me, and drop me back down, gently, into a new dawn of awakening sensation and fervor.
The question was answered and with the flair and quality that only you could give it. Thanks Sherri for sharing not only your sage/wisdom, but your talented gifts with us. We could all learn so much from your port.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooh Web-Witch, I am laughing hysterically. Hehehehe, men and machine always had a run-in. I know I'm machine challenged. My own Vacuum is so damn heavy, and bringing it up and down the steps of my old Victorian is enough to break my back and bend my last nerve. Anyway, here, I was laughing with you, and, I'm sorry, hun, at you, imagining all this going on and now the lawn mower? Oh for goodness sakes, break out the Chardonnay, I will have to have a drink on this one to get me thru..........
Excellent, Kiya. I love how you tell a story that is filled with poetic flair and oftentimes comic, too. You have talents on many fronts and this was a delight to read. I always enjoy my stay when I come for a visit and surely I will stop back in. This was quite a little ditty with a hidden meaning ~ a real thriller that sent shivers up my spine. Keep up the great work, girlfriend!
Love ya, Sis....
Susan
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