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Sunday, August 13, 2006
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About The Writer's Haunt
The Writer's Haunt was initially designed to be a place for the people in my writing group to present their work without distracting advertisements and other online detritus. Since then, the Writer's Haunt community has grown to include many members from all over the world.
Joining is extremely easy. You need simply to email me a few of your pieces, a headshot, and a short bio. There are directions on the site. After this, your work will be examined by the community reviewers who will then decide whether or not to grant you admission. This is a blind process, so they will not see your bio or your picture, so if you're banking on your good looks to get you in, tough.
When you are admitted your personal page and a few of your pieces will appear on the home page of The Writer's Haunt for no less than one week. There are only two new writers added at a time, so you can be sure that your writing will receive tons of attention. Typically our new writers are read three to four hundred times in that first week. Pretty cool huh? Stop by the site when you get the chance. We have a developing forum, and an active community, and an ever-evolving library of new poetry, essays, and fiction.
I can't wait to meet you and read your work,
Justin Schrager
1:29 PM
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Three of my poems
Current mood:  artistic
Category: Writing and Poetry
Advice, A Reflection
Imagine the immutable
And divine disappointment.
Scour tide pools for the
Truth of passing tides,
And find life in the vacancy
Of greatness. Such is the
Amplitude of events, a
Foretelling of ambitious flights,
Burnt wings, and logarithmic
Minds of gold and diamond.
Reflect upon the water;
Look to the unchanging
Moment for a vision of the
Next. Do not shiver the glass or touch
The subordinate creatures, but,
Rather, imagine a mere
Returning to a repatriating sea.
Falco Perigrinus
Because I am young I learn from the old.
There is no need to imagine aging
It resides and exists like
The particulate vibration of quartz,
Consistently.
None can designate, none say here,
Here is the deforming, here is where
The bombs burst in air,
Here is where free r adicals bombarded
What was formed and invariable. Time is but a scar, and, perhaps,
The depth and darkness of one's
Pupils.
My own are dark, I see that already.
But I am merely close to the knife,
What of the brave,
The ones who have faced the radiation of life,
The continual outward journey,
And come, finally, to the boom,
The rapport, between then and then?
The intrepid elderly,
Meandering matriarchs,
Peripatetic patriarchs,
Decaying denizens, all-
Forced into the estrangement of custody,
Consigned to the hollow pleasure of collecting
Stickers for a spectrum of states
To adorn their itinerant homes-
Urge their return.
With their aide we reform
And glide to solemnity.
-Justin Schrager
Battle-scarred We slowly start in summer's swell,
A sanding hand's look at our lives.
Friends hug and shake and start to tell,
Stories that the sunlight revives. In time we find the fault line
Where
Forgotten
Friends
Fell
And where the dull dying glint
Of our scarlet eyes
Breaks free from the rusted line. On the mantle, the carbine cracks,
In the drawer, the flag unfolds,
In rhythm now, the stories flow. We gather in such a place as this,
To bury the bones that thirst,
In a party meant to reminisce,
To sing and drink to our curse. -Justin Schrager
1:09 PM
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