The great poet Bruce Boston:Hewitt’s work has potential and emotion.
Famous British horror writer Simon Clark, tipped as the new Stephen King, comments on various Hewitt poems:
This is a piece of real power, rich in imagery, sure to be published. (The fire of insanity)
incredible vivid imagery (Pan)
an intensely visual piece in a style that you seem to be claiming for your own." (It came from the swamp)
this is a darkly powerful piece. (Evil)
Andy Cox, Editor of T.T.A. Press:Hewitt’s poetry is brilliant, the best I have ever read.
Professor of Literature Michael Arnzen, a Bram Stoker Award Nominee, makes the following observations on some of the poems:
this is a good job of fomenting madness, and the insane chaos of pain, the collective voice is chilling, and creepy. (Pan)
youve definitely got a talent for mood, and atmosphere, this is a dark and dangerous piece (The fire of insanity) chock full of creepy images, dark and disturbing, you have an innate talent. (It came from the swamp)
L. Michael Lohr, Editor of Fables magazine, observes of It came from the swamp: this reminds me of Lovecraft, very visual and intense.
Famous author Steven Climer comments on The fire of insanity: this is a very visual passage, filled with deep despair and emotion.?
H.W.A. Member Peter Crowther describes The tolling bells as very moody and evocative.
John. B. Ford, editor and great Horror writer, remarks on various poems:
a very powerful piece (The fire of Insanity)
very gothic, and disturbing imagery (Pan)
its sentiment and imagery are chilling. Hewitt has lots of talent, and his writing is visionary (The future)
Hewitt’s writing has also been compared to author Lord Dunsany by Australian magazine Redsine, and he has even been considered the new Dante.
"Each age calls forth its own prophet, a poetic oracle who sees past the heavy drapery we call "the world" to the prime reality that lies beyond. You should feel both ecstatic and terrified that our age has elicited M. J. Hewitt as its prose-lapidarian. Ecstatic, for Hewitt himself truly resonates with the daemonic muse, a voice that echoes from the depths of Tartarus and beckons forth, by turn, angels, devils, monsters, and gods. And terrified, for Hewitt sings not of arm-in-arm brotherhood and cozy lovingkindness, but rather of Yeats's "blood-dimmed tide," an aeon drenched in gore-bespattered corpses and unrelenting pain for the pitiable humans left alive. "BLOODLAND TALES shimmers with the decadent imagery that Clark Ashton Smith conjured so easily, and in these opalescent prose-poems Hewitt both acknowledges his debt to "Klarkash-Ton" and progresses even further into a darkness-drenched universe without redemption, mercy, or salvation. There is no way to reach out to those we care for; only broad-axe slashes that leave gaping wounds. There is no bright afterlife with grace and holiness; only transmogrification through pain and torture as humans become parasitic spirits who lure others into torment. Love is destined to end in disillusionment and despair, and we learn our world itself is the black-tinged dream of distant alien beings our brains cannot even comprehend, beings who survive only through our suffering. "You will find no words of comfort in this scarlet landscape. But for those who are able to realize the Baudelairean beauty that lies in decay, the Sadeian pleasure of witnessing another's hopeless prayer for mercy, the Lovecraftian awe of glancing into unilluminated gulfs in which madness dwells, Hewitt fills our descent into chaos with exquisite scenes, mixed in equal parts, of glamour and gore. "I've joined the Cult of Hewitt. It's time you signed your soul away and joined as well."