Furor Poeticus

[Poeticwolf]

Greetings and Welcome.
This is my little niche, my den, my warren of solace.

What is Furor Poeticus?
In the time of the Greeks, it was Inspiration. Poetic Frenzy sent from the Gods. The poet would be consumed and possessed by a God and transcend the mortal plane to speak and write and perform the purest form of true art. An expression if you will of the soul burning bright.

That is what I seek. I had it once and I crave it forever more. I found it through expression of emotion, the most intense, sensual constructs of sex. Where Trust, Honesty, Respect are pushed to their very limits of definition. Where all fantasies become real in a safe and comfortable environment. Passion reigns supreme and pleasure fountains pristine. Let down your walls and expose your inner most desires. Where you can be vulnerable and carefree in a protected environment of respect and be appreciated, nay praised, for your most bare weaknesses.

How I long for a Muse to susurrate her words of ambrosia and feed my starving soul to write...

Let us see how deep this rabbit hole dwells

 

[Poeticwolf]

A lone wolf

A lone wolf cries out at the night
only the stars and moon answer back with their light,
the night breeze chills him to the bone
on nights like these, he knows he's alone;
But still he calls out desperately above
knowing she is out there, his lost love,
Hanging on to a single hope
like a flame to a wisp of smoke,
His pleading, dying call
for him there is nothing, it is all.
1992

This is one of my earliest pieces and has always described me succinctly

 

[Poeticwolf]

A tear rests in my hand,
fallen from the sky, so grand.
I left you so far behind,
a result of my crime.
A cold, lonely wind blows through,
footsteps echo, but from who?
Realization; yes I remember,
leaves fall, like in November.
And the skies have wept,
Our memories together, I have kept.
The tear rests in my hand.
2-13-95

 

[Poeticwolf]

A Tale of No Heart
Cold wind. Your touch is known more
thoroughly to me than any lover a’fore.
You can be softer than any sigh, as now,
you caress my cheek and I know not how
I could ever hope to feel a fleshy touch from
fingers so soft. But I know the life that is spun
for my existence, and I know that God laughs.
Every touch on my cheek ignites my repasts,
memories of nightly death, a yearning to live,
to feel dawn’s warmth, energy she will give.
These thoughts are dreams, nightmares for some,
but my greatest fantasy is love. I will feel none,
no warmth, no passion for my heart is cold.
Who could love me, no destined One foretold,
to hold in an embrace, to feel the softness
of her lips, the caring of her soul, all bliss.
I stand in silent vigil, with the wind, the stone,
the mountains, and the night all cold and alone.
In comparison to my heart, each is warm,
heat unbearable to touch, to feel its form.
Wounds of my past flicker like a star,
those whom I thought to love from afar,
those that twisted lies to confuse my sight
and those that slipped my grasp like the light.
If my punctured heart could bleed, t’would cease
for the blood t’would pour in welcome release,
and be empty. For whom would dare the deep,
unbottomed, infinite abyss, my life and keep. (2000-01-17)

Music, an escape for death and a subtle melody,
everywhere, you are, to surround me in melancholy.
Carry my emotion upon your measured wings,
so all can hear the toll of the bell's rings.
The sinners whose voices are heard by none.
Death prowls the quiet tapestry for some,
the unwary destined to die during this night.
Can you hear the snow fall in the moonlight?
When the wind dies, and the song comes to its end,
The finality only a prelude to the beginning,
and your last spark of life seen by me grinning.
And still, your lifeblood continues on in my dead
body. The insanity of my desire for your blood, red.
Pain, I will feel for you after you have passed,
my emotion, akin to love, that for a night will last.

Memory, reflective emotions sharp as the broken glass,
overwhelming passions of my past, and more alas.
I was a child of Nature, existence simple and sweet,
dancing in the scorned sun's light, full and complete.
Beauty surrounded me more fulsomely than this cloak,
that the cold wind pulls, its ruby-clasp at my throat.
There I basked in all my wonder, more in love with myself,
than the many women I courted as trophies upon the shelf.
I was a lover of beauty, a heart to desire, an avid poet.
Until that heartless night, where I succumbed below it.
Seeking solace, a heart broken, in the bottom of a bottle,
blind to the hand, fingers around my neck, as they throttle
the little bit of life left in me that night.
As if I would resist and put up a fight.
I welcomed the attack, the twin points rending my neck.
In my drunken misery, I giggled, for I was no longer a speck
maring the window of the world, an idle raindrop
slipping down the pane unnoticed. Don't stop
I pleaded, but I felt the flow ebb and thus end.
And then the real pain began, as I lay on the ground.
Bitingly cold lips, frozen seemingly in time, surround
my mouth. Aghast and repulsed at the thought
swimming to the surface, attacking one who I sought,
who could give me what I thought I wanted, death.
Biting the creature's lip, blood mixing with my breath.
Gasping, swallowing, hands like ice pin me to the dirt,
until my convulsions rip through me, blood to spurt
forth from my neck, ending in a blackness of despair.
Pushing up through, worm-infested dirt, I stare
at a world changed through my heightened sense,
and now, I seek the unknown attacker, for recompense. (2003-03)