Writing Forums

Writing Forums is a privately-owned, community managed writing environment. We provide an unlimited opportunity for writers and poets of all abilities, to share their work and communicate with other writers and creative artists. We offer an experience that is safe, welcoming and friendly, regardless of your level of participation, knowledge or skill. There are several opportunities for writers to exchange tips, engage in discussions about techniques, and grow in your craft. You can also participate in forum competitions that are exciting and helpful in building your skill level. There's so much more for you to explore!

Blog: Winterstorm

Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone— Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness—for then The spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are again In death around thee—and...
After great pain, a formal feeling comes— The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs— The stiff Heart question 'was it He, that bore,' And 'Yesterday, or Centuries before'? The Feet, mechanical, go round— A Wooden way Of Ground, or Air, or Ought— Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment...
What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars...
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you cry alone; For the sad old earth must burrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice...
I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At two-o'clock our neighbors drove me home. In the porch I met my father crying-- He had always taken funerals in his stride-- And Big Evans saying it was a hard blow. The baby cooed and laughed and...
I am! I am-- yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes-- They rise and vanish in oblivious host; Like shadows in love's frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live- like vapours tossed Into the nothingness of...

Blog information

Author
Winterstorm
Blog entries
6
Last update
Top