Personal
O/
What For?
Why sing a song, paint a picture, pen a poem when real estate is so easy to flip and stocks so simple to trade?
Tuesday, June 2, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Thanks for joining me in this experiment of language with the sunrise.
Every morning for the past couple years I wake and write with as much clarity, honesty, and concern... what's on my mind.
Because there's more to language than facts and figures. There's identity and the potential for beauty in every sentence shared.
With so many quick text hellos, so many business get-it-done messages, and AI prompts returned lighting up every screen, I thought a reminder of what language is really for might be of assistance.
To share the experience of being alive is what words are for.
Artificial Intelligence is using a video game to help you cheat on a test.
But Life is not an exam; it's an opportunity to make and know and experience and share beautiful relationships.
Words are more than tabulations; they express experience. We have no better tool for relaying what Life is about than the symbols, sounds, and shapes of language.
Today's sunrise electric blue sky. A slow steady breeze through the green leaves of a successful Spring.
Just as important for Life's success as the healthy shine of the firmament on new foliage is our experience of it. Why else be able to know anything at all if it's not mandatory for Life to endure?
Birds sing in the morning for the same reason dreams want to come true.
Hearts beat for more than Scientific reasons; what's music for?
Your heart is the metronome of your life. Your body is a symphony for your arrangement.
This morning's sky is the definition of blue. How does it matter that I noticed? What compels me to share the seeing with you?
My whole Life was a struggle to share my witness in words with you.
What for?
Why sing a song, paint a picture, pen a poem when real estate is so easy to flip and stocks so simple to trade?
Because I humbly know if so many people could see this morning like I do, so much suffering would end.
And so I write.
Thank you for reading. I do hope these words help you live a better day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🔗link
Archaic Slab
Let's Talk Shop
Reading is like listening to music in the theatre of your Imagination.
Tuesday, May 26, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Let's talk shop.
How are we with the acronym? ^
If you're new here, it means The Wonder Fell Way. It's a help I created years ago.
During darker days when the noise of the world would attempt to disrupt my work, I developed that catch phrase to write to keep me going.
Writing is a physical exercise; it's something we do.
As basic physics reminds: All objects and artists tend to stay in motion unless interrupted. 'Good morning' gets me moving again.
The idea is to write. Perhaps, Writers, you'll come up with your own nonsense phrase to help get you back on track.
Visual artists doodle, I write 'Good morning.'
The circle-slash is my one-artist-gang insignia. O/ The pic for my avatar: +he Ghos+. A point made.
Somebody is waving to you. Who? How do you know me? There's no pics or videos.
My circle-slash is a poet's answer to AI.
Because: O/
Hi.
Your dream of me is in that wave.
Whatever experience you have viewing that sign is for you... me.
I hope your dream of me is a positive one.
But it's not just that symbol. The feeling that wave creates in your mind as you read it happens with every word you read.
Reading is like listening to music in the theatre of your Imagination.
Every sentence is a musical phrase.
There is a lyrical quality to my lines because my dreams are best shared that way. I've worked at it a long time the way a concert pianist does.
There's something unique about each of us, a quality worth sharing.
Each one of us holds within a hope for The World, some purpose to help further Life.
It's why stories work, to show us the way.
A Hero has a dream for a better life. Something happens in the world that only they can help. Helping the world makes their dream for a better life come true.
Viewed this way all the issues in your life aren't problems, they're Life giving you the opportunity to make your dreams real.
There's a process to it that every story shows.
When we view the issues in our life as hero opportunities, we're living right. It's why I still have a positive outlook on life after having beat death twice.
This dream to share words with you is my Hero's Hope.
Thanks for reading, for making a dream come true.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🔜soon
Archaic Slab
Nobody Writes Like Me
I thought it might help us all if you knew.
Sunday, May 24, 2026
Good morning, Twfw. O/
Welcome to the show.
Subtle dawn. Cloud cover keeps every birdsong to a gentle murmur. Sometimes the sky plays a ballad to announce the day, tucks the trumpets away to croon the morning.
I haven't brought up +he Ghos+ bit in quite awhile...
+he Ghos+, my avatar, my purpose, my life's work to share it with you.
"What is it?"
-New Reader to Wonder Fell
"O/"
-Author Giving You the Honest Answer
Who's waving to you? A writer made entirely of words?
As humbly beautiful as these lines are they're still only scientific scribbles on a screen.
Where'd I come from, your joyful deep-thought poet friend?
I'm obviously not AI. No one's ever wrote like me before.
"Who is this guy?"
-Inquiring Readers Who Want to Know
Your friendly Nation-hood Poet reminding you the true power of the written word in this time of AI's infancy.
Thanks for joining me. O/
I can be traditional, can share pics of myself and details of my day-to-day life, but any Large Language Model in any Appstore could do the same.
Words do more than paint pictures and relay information; they communicate who we are.
That's why Wonder Fell is a journal. It's the best 'poetic form' to express the point: Words are all about identity.
To recap why this site exists:
Imagine your favorite concert Diva before she was discovered. She'd drive around blaring ballads to herself and friends. She loved to sing and knew she was exceptional at it. It's not vanity for her. It's honesty. It's a gift she wants to share.
Instead of her getting recognized for her gift she develops a chronic auto-immune illness which she fights almost full-time for over a decade of her adult life.
She still sings every chance she can, but the chances are limited by the illness.
Imagine having the flu everyday for over a decade. That was her life.
One day she hears the word she's been fighting to achieve: Remission.
What does she do? Her whole adult experience has been fighting through the Hell of illness.
Courageous, certainly.
But what does she have to show for it?
She still has her voice and her dream. It's still a gift worth sharing.
She's sacrificed friendships and social media accounts so she could survive.
Where to start? The Online World, The Whole World itself, will think she's a ghost...
I've known I write better than most since high school. I've always had the dream to share it. I've fought my whole life to get these words to you.
To one-up the Diva in our story:
A couple years post-remission, while developing my portfolio and audience, I was killed. An SUV crossed a double yellow at around 50MPH and drove into my driver's seat. I flatlined and woke up three days later in an ICU with a host of internal injuries and a left leg split in two waiting to be conscious enough so the doctors could put it back together.
I took about a year to learn to walk again and another couple to heal all the internal nerve damage. While I healed, I wrote.
Still going.
I decided to use my 'ghostliness' to help us all deal with the reality of AI.
Just like if we ask AI to generate a picture in the style of Cubism, it can't unless painters like Picasso did first. Artificial Intelligence can't do a single thing unless a person did first.
Nobody writes like me; I thought it might help us all if you knew.
Thanks for reading. O/
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 👻ghost
Archaic Slab
It Wasn't Always Like This
I don't write often on my life before remission.
Friday, September 12, 2025
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
It wasn't always like this.
There was pain for so long I changed its name to normal.
There was medicine and there were side effects and there was exhaustion.
I don't write often on my life before remission.
Imagine living everyday with the worst flu you've ever had. Sometimes different symptoms flair-up. You want to live so you fight it. Sometimes little to no symptoms show, but there was always the exhaustion from the struggle.
Asking me for a biography of most of my adult life is like asking you what you've been doing all week when you spent the whole week healing from the flu.
I see now just because there's not a lot to say about my life doesn't mean there's not a lot to be said for it.
Sure, this Wonder Fell business is necessary medicine for a world that's forgot wonder, but there's more to it for me.
"Why keep going? Why show up everyday to share?"
-Favorite Reader
Because for so long I couldn't. And every morning, while I sit in the sunrise with my pen in hand, write today's date and Good morning, I remember I won.
A life worth the investment of love.
Thank you for reading. The words of Wonder Fell are meant to inspire and lift, encourage and direct.
Like Virgil in Dante's Inferno, I've been through Hell, let me show you some ways out.
Science sustained me. Miracle cured me.
Faith and the refusal to give up on my dreams made and make every word here possible.
I found opportunity where most would see despair.
After I healed I had so much to say and offer the world, but I also had a lifetime behind me with little to no time or energy to make Facebook memories or Instagram stories.
"People will think I'm a ghost."
-Wynn Right Before He Had The Great Idea
Boo. O/
Post remission it took a couple of years to recover from all the side-effects of the many medications I required to keep myself alive all those years.
Once those cleared up, about a week before I planned to start contacting agencies regarding my poetry, an SUV travelling 50+ mph crossed a double yellow and drove into my driver's seat and into my lap.
I woke up 3 days later in an ICU with my left leg split in two, a whole score of internal injuries, and a hospital staff waiting for me to remain conscious enough to attach a metal rod from my knee to my ankle to keep my leg together.
Other than a few scars the damage to my leg is now barely noticeable.
I've spent the few years since working on Wonder Fell and a couple other pieces to share with you.
My health is excellent, miraculously so, for years now.
Perhaps it's vanity, perhaps it's like I write about how bringing our dreams to life works like stories do, that all the Hell thrown at me my whole life was what I needed to overcome to get my words to you.
Maybe they can mean that much.
I look at the news every morning and almost all of it is an exercise in slinging hate. I think of the billions of dollars made everyday by people writing all that, and I think about my words full of hope, encouragement, love, spirit, and the power of dreams being so easy to read and so enjoyable and I think...
If I make news about what's best about us profitable it will make a lot of hatemongers lose a lot of paychecks and help heal a very sick world.
Healing a very sick world is something I have a lifetime's worth of experience with.
Take care, be thankful for something, and make wonderful this wonderful day.
+he Ghos+
If you're interested, there's more posts about me here:
Why
America's never had an Epic Poet; I had to make my own way.
Monday, March 30, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
Let's talk about why.
I rarely go personal here. Wonder Fell isn't a memoir or a self-help guide. It's not a coaching manual or advice. I'm no guru. I'm a poet whose experience of adult life was Hell for no fault of his own.
A chronic auto-immune illness, Sarcoidosis, took the opportunity of a decent life from me. After a decade of fighting just about full-time, I beat it into remission.
Recognizing the value of time, I went to work doing what I love most: Writing. Non-stop.
It was during the time of Co-vid. I put together an anthology of poetry to give to the world.
One morning while driving to one of my favorite spots to write and work on its publication, an SUV travelling over 50 miles per hour broke a double yellow and drove into my driver's seat and lap.
I woke up three days later in an ICU with a host of internal injuries, my left leg split in two, and a medical team waiting for me to remain conscious enough to operate on.
It took me a year to learn to walk again and another two years to fully heal all the nerve damage from the crash.
In the meantime, I worked: On Wonder Fell, On New-New Hampshire, On Colore.
I've known I'm a poet since high school. But what the Hell is a poet supposed to do in America? Work for Hallmark, teach at a University, or pick up a guitar and start a rock band.
I considered all three, but accepting any is an admittance that poetry is not enough.
The Ancient Greeks, Milton, Chaucer, Blake, Shakespeare, and so many other great minds that helped move civilizations forward disagreed, too.
There's more to poetry than University classrooms, Pharmacy Card Aisles, and lyrics for popular songs.
America's never had an Epic Poet; I had to make my own way.
Wonder Fell is an Epic Letter Poem sent to the Creative Spirit of a Friend every sunrise.
Hey friend. O/ Thank you for reading and sharing it.
I've beat death twice, scientifically so. I believe I've been able to because my dream to share words with you is so strong. And maybe the message inherit in these lines can matter that much.
Humbly, I believe it can.
Beauty, Hope, Love, and Joy... the stations of Poetry are what's missing most from my Country's monologue.
And so, from your life.
There's no self-help, guru guide here... Wonder Fell is what's missing.
Art, Music, Life alive! Where are you? As of late... where are you?
The volume is turned up too loud on the radio to hear the music. That's the state of The Arts in America, at present.
Let's paint, draw, write, and sing tribute to quiet worthwhile moments, to the beauty of a sunrise.
You see, it's a journal of a poet whose only had hope and his desire to share words with you his whole life.
I've been through the worst; it's why I share the best: That's how we rise.
Words worth beating death twice for the chance to share.
I hope you find inspiration here. Life really isn't worth much without it.
Go ahead and have that wonderful day, it's up to you, after all.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 📬mailbox_with_mail
Archaic Slab
Why I Went Ghost
2026.02.23 It's a back to basics exercise... a modern day Walden, of sorts.
Monday, February 23, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
March's 'in like a lion' is about a week early. Snow, wind, blizzard-like environment for some of the Eastern United States.
Winter waves hello to Spring with post game party highlight reels.
Hope your weather is well... at least worth a poetic description or two.
Every morning for about a year and a half, I wrote down the sunrise at sunrise.
It's a back to basics exercise... a modern day Walden, of sorts.
Why I went Ghost... to remember with all this social media madness, all this distorted News, what living deliberately is all about.
Waking up to do the work you love is the best reason to wake up at all.
No alarm clock needed.
Sounds ideal to most, but after fighting for remission and winning, then beating Death and learning to walk again, I believe ideal sounds fair to me.
Do you give yourself enough credit?
You should; you've been through a lot.
There's this helpful habit called shaking it off I picked up a longtime ago.
The only issue with using it often is not giving yourself enough recognition for your accomplishments.
So I'm doing that this morning.
- Chronic auto-immune illness that took over a decade and a half of a healthy adult-life from me: Beat into remission. Check.
- SUV at over fifty mph that broke a double yellow and landed in my lap in my driver's seat flat-lining me dead, snapping my left leg in two, and damaging multiple nerves on my left-side: All healed and walking again. Check.
- Dream to share words of hope to help the World and my Country as often as I can that I've had for decades: O/ Check.
Give yourself some credit and make a wonderful day.
~ Wynn ~
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🎓mortar_board
New-New Hampshire
I sing my songs in quiet lonely rooms
I sing my songs in quiet lonely rooms,
While fed-up unapologetic looms in each street...
A pharmaceutical salesman from California said:
"You can buy this same dose,
(this exact same pill)
For 100, 200, 300% less in another Country."
I told him:
"A Nation that advertises medicine is always sick."
My poetry was wasted on his bottom-line mind.
His wares wasted on me.
Words are my nectar,
Ambrosia, Olympus in a cup.
If what the salesman with the Pacific seaside tan says is true,
(can we ever trust a salesman or elect one President?)
I'll order the balm online directly from Greece.
Depending on the tariffs
A round trip flight may be more economical.
Catch a classical Tragedy in Athens.
Good for your health and wallet.
Heard an audio visual tech representative from New York
(the City and the State)
Blare his sound systems made him a fortune.
He hipped and hopped:
"The subwoofers might as well be seismic gold."
I told him:
"The trouble with treble is it prefers quiet introspective mettle."
He didn't hear me. How could he?
Why would he? With bass so seismically oversized.
Online shoppers in all of America say the World
Is full of mountains, lakes, and seaside shores.
They say:
"Many vacation destinations are five-star review worthy."
Presently I'm living in New Hampshire;
Enjoying all of them,
Rather than bothering to write a five-star review.
~Wynn ~
Read the whole anthology (top of the page) or this friendly link.
My Country Could Use Some Help
The way a plumber, electrician, or carpenter fixes up your home so you can have a better life, so the poet works with language.
Thursday, January 22, 2026
Good morning, The Wonder Fell Way.
Glad you're back. O/
On with our show...
...
Getting the words right... my life's work.
You see the craft of the Poet is a very practical thing. The way a plumber, electrician, or carpenter fixes up your home so you can have a better life, so the Poet works with language.
Your home and your words haven't always been here. Someone had to build them, care for them, keep them going.
Imagine your life without words. We're monkeys without the work I do.
We take language for granted because we rely on it, but words are made.
There are times when our words aren't doing justice to our shared experience.
Like lately.
Enter Poets.
Because Love always begs definition Poets are associated with romance. But my business is the word business. Assuring we have ways to best express our experience is what Poets are for.
A carpenter helps you fix your front door. A Poet helps you heal your language.
Sure you could fix the door yourself. Maybe watch a YouTube How To or ask an AI bot to walk you through it.
But the professional who's been fixing doors everyday for nearly three decades is going to do a better job than you or AI.
And so I write.
Making words to overcome impossible situations is how I spent almost everyday of my adult life.
My Country could use some help.
Healing language finding, and at times making the right words, is my business.
Enter Colore.
The stories we share aren't representing our best selves. Moreso, our words don't mean all they could, so they don't mean all they should.
If we want to be patriotic about it: In a Nation with a Living Document as its foundation, Poets are our Country's best defense.
And so I write.
The idea of Colore is to remind us the power of our words and stories.
The juxtaposition of speeches and conversations in our day to day life (The Side-stories) with that of a story in a world of stories helps prove the point.
Our language is not only how we define things but also ourselves.
We can only ever be as good as our understanding of our words.
A story is the best genre to remind us of the power of, and our responsibility for, our stories.
Colore will remain entertaining to some degree. Our stories go best when they are.
But a story's point and purpose isn't entertainment. Every tale told is a reminder of what it means to be human.
In earlier entries I wrote, like a social media artist painting a picture while you watch, I'd write about the crafting of Colore as I write it. Consider today's post doing that.
Writers. O/ Make sure you know why you're writing whatever you're working on.
"Because I'm good at writing," is never reason enough to write anything at all.
"Because I have something important to share," is the best reason to write anything at all.
As always, thank you for reading.
Take care and make wonderful this wonderful day.
Wynn
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🦉owl
Pic Prompt: Create a stick figure pen and ink illustration of a document and a quill on a desk on top of a hill at sunrise.
Archaic Slab