As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music — hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.

Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.

The last of the light of the sun
That had died in the west
Still lived for one song more
In a thrush’s breast.

Far in the pillared dark
Thrush music went –
Almost like a call to come in
To the dark and lament.

But no, I was out for stars;
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked;
And I hadn’t been.

Recently, I read an article from a lady who left WordPress and returned. She thought that the proverbial grass was greener on the other side; she admitted that she was wrong about her assumption.

Some blogs would obviously take time to grow and amass a large following.

I can even make an educated guess by saying that your blog is not the same when you first started. You refined your ideas and your writing and you even personalised your theme to suit your taste.

I can also add that the longer you stay on WordPress is the more it is going to evolve into something great.

Besides, we on WordPress, without a doubt, are part of  a friendly, loving and highly supportive community.

Be True To Yourself

There are some blogging experts who believe that in order for your blog to be attractive to others, you have to choose a niche that the majority of people would be interested in — something in the lines of celebrity gossip, entertainment news, fashion, sports and your everyday run of the mill news; while these categories do attract lots of attention, it isn’t mandatory that you jump on that bandwagon.

What is really important is: find a niche or a topic that you genuinely LOVE. Although some of the experts have claimed that most people don’t really care about what you think, you can prove them wrong.

Now, if you are a highly skilled artist (or a mediocre one), you can create a blog that features your artwork. Don’t force yourself to write an article on insects if your heart is telling you to go into the direction of art.

We all have an area that we are good at. Some of us are good cooks, bakers, writers, musicians, dancers, information and technology experts, psychologists and financial experts, to name a few.

What are you good at? You can base your blog on those strong points of yours.

Learn To Play By Your Own Rules

Although there are countless guidelines available on the topic of blogging, you still need to bend a few of those so-called rules. For example: if they say that you shouldn’t exceed 250 words per article, push the limit. Write one that has 305 words.

For the record, I came across a few long articles and was daunted by the fact that if I went through the entire thing, I might miss out on reading other short stories.

Then there were other instances where I enjoyed some long articles from, Wes Annac.

Now, some people can get away with writing long articles while others cannot; I would advise that you use your discretion where this is concerned.

Experiment Regularly

We human beings are known to redecorate our homes and our offices where we work. So, it wouldn’t be a far-fetched idea if we decided to redecorate our blogs; we can do this by experimenting with various themes (other people in the blogosphere would know them as, Templates).

You can even customise your header; the title of your blog could be in some type of cool stylish letters or you could upload a breathtaking background picture for your blog; do anything that would make it pleasing to the eye.

Make Things Easier For Your Readers

A few months ago, I had a black theme; it’s background was a dark one and the print was in white.

Then one day, my friend Sindy told me she had trouble reading the white print in the dark background and she joked about it being a little hard on her “Old Eyes.”

Without delay, I made a few changes; I found a new theme; one with black print on a white background.

I remembered her giving thanks in the comment section for showing such consideration.

Always Be Polite To All Those Who Commented On You Blog

Now, there would be times when a reader might be flustered about something you wrote and they may want to blow off some figurative steam in your comment section.

Now, if you are like me and you didn’t program your comment feature to await moderation, chances are, you are going to encounter some unpleasant surprises.

Be diplomatic and tactful when it comes to responding to all comments; including those comments that you are not in agreement with.

Radiate LOVE to the person who made the hateful comment; it’s the best way to handle the situation.

Never Be Too Anxious To Press Publish

The most educated blogger on the planet is capable of making mistakes; for this reason, they should proofread their own work.

There are times when a person may read over their article and the errors elude them; from experience, I recommend taking a short break from blogging. You can spend about approximately 45 minutes to 1 hour doing something else; that gives the mind some time to rest and revitalize itself.

When you go back to your proofreading, you might be surprised of all the errors that eluded your consciousness.

The Conclusion

Since the creation of weblogs (that is what they were actually called when they first appeared on the internet), people have been experimenting with various methods to make them more palatable to the public.

I genuinely believe that the implementation of these 6 pointers (without a doubt), will enhance your blogging experience.

A poor—torn heart—a tattered heart—
That sat it down to rest—
Nor noticed that the Ebbing Day
Flowed silver to the West—
Nor noticed Night did soft descend—
Nor Constellation burn—
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.

The angels—happening that way
This dusty heart espied—
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God—
There—sandals for the Barefoot—
There—gathered from the gales—
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering Sails.

O FLY thee from the shades of night,
Where the loud tempests yelling rise;
Where horrror wings her sullen flight
Beneath the bleak and lurid skies.

As the pale light’ning swiftly gleams
O’er the scorch’d wood, thy well-known form
More radiant than an angel seems,
Contending with the ruthless storm.

I see the scowling witch, DESPAIR
Drink the big tear that scalds thy cheek;
While thro’ the dark and turbid air,
The screams of haggard ENVY break.

From the cold mountain’s flinty steep,
I hear the dashing waters roar;
Ah! turn thee, turn thee, cease to weep,
Thou hast no reason to deplore.

See fell DESPAIR expiring fall,
See ENVY from thy glances start;
No more shall howling blasts appall,
Or with’ring grief corrode thy heart.

See FRIENDSHIP from her azure eye
Drops the fond balm for ev’ry pain
She comes, the offspring of the sky,
“TO RAZE THE TROUBLES OF THE brain.”

Him whom I could not then love much
Why do I now remember thus at this late
hour, a Mother?
Today I remember every night he lulled
me to sleep by kissing my eves,
Kisses followed kisses breaking my
early dawn sleep under their heavy load.

I felt then much distressed
And sought an early release.
The memory now fills my eyes with
. a flood of tears.
Me unfortunate! Under griefs
overwhelming weight vanity doors
now kiss the dust.
The over-flowing caress of the fuIlness
of his young breast
I trampled under foot, a Mother!
Why then this hankering today
These feet he pressed on his breast
And on them did print a thousand kisses,
While tears inundated his eyes,
With no response from me, so vain
was I, a Mother!
Thus awfully disgraced he had to go away.
Indeed I saw his breast with scars of neglect,
From pillar to’ post went he disgraced,
He thought of mea a haven,
A protection from insult, an abode of peace.
A fool that I was I shut my door
upon my lord through ignorance.
In disguise of a beggar called at my door
my King of Kings.
He lost his way and came, he,
my welcome kingly beggar,

Me wretched! How could I recognize
him, O Mother?
So his offerings of worship,
His garland of pearls I refused,
My Lord himself worshipped me with
ample offerings,
Alas! I knew not the worshipper
amid the encircling dark smoke of
burnt incense.
Who knew he came to me last?
Nothing is left behind save farewell
message of the princely guest.
O my Love!
Where didst thou nestle,
When called at this door my King?
Earth now heaves a sigh: ‘He is
not here, seek him in vain.’
He is an eternal traveller, free. of the
bonds of home.
From far afar comet the magic call
of the shady path
Beyond the heath, in the thick of the forest,
Hark, the amorous jingling of his
tinkling anklet?
He blossoms with the flower, wanders
over hills with the clouds,
Now here, now gone, I know not
whom he wants.
Mother, where should I get power
enough to hold this gypsy lover?
For him is not love, nor evening
lamp to call home.
So the doors of my heart
Responded not to his knockings,
I thought I then loved
some one else.
I pushed afar the homeless wanderer,
with his offended sentiment.
In loving embrace, he wanted to press
me closely to his bosom,
A wretch I was to run away in trembling fear.
The shade of kingly beggar’s eyes
From a distance charmed me,
At his near approach the tearful depth of
his long hungry look,
Overwhelmed me with pain and the lyre
of my mind went out of tune,
Why then, Mother, do I hanger now
for him to come back,
And long for his touch of love and caress
I then disregarded?
Today, I feel I can bury my face
in his bosom in deep felicity,
And can easily weep out my soul
laden with sorrow.
Will my wails reach him across the dim
forest of his abode, O Mother?
Today, I understand, my whole wealth of
life’s peace and happiness
My lover, the King of thieves, has stolen away.
O My King of Spring Season!
Come back and take my garland
as laurels on thy brow.
Today, my bosom bursts under the
load of grief and lamentation,
Come and see how heart-rending are
now the wails of that marble-hearted one.
Thy prophecy comes true, blood flows out of stone
The terrible conflagration of forest
burns today a mountain of stone
A stupendous flow-tide arises in my bosom,
Breaking barriers, breaking bulwarks,
In the breast of the dumb appears the
God of speech amid a tempestuous sea-
Now my bosom bursts, my mouth speaks
Whom can you stop, Mother?
My heaven was lost with his departure,
Now I toss on my sleepless pillow alone
with no companion on this sad night-
He ill not come by my side up
To wake me up before peep of dawn
Never will he come at deep of night in the,
amorous pursuit of stealthy kisses,
His companion is doomed to weep out.
a stormy night across a forest.
Had I but found him today. I would,
O Mother, have fallen flat at his fear
Holding his lotus like feet on my breast
bathed them in my lake of tears
Seated him on one-half of my skirt,
The flood of dears appearing unbidden
I would have wiped out the wet collyrium
from his eyes, face and lip’s corner,
With my disheveled hair wiped his feet
imprisoning him within my embrace.
Thou couldst see then, Mother, this
Wayward girl, this cause of all ills
Leaning her face on his generous bosom
and saying, ‘I love you’
While thus unbosoming herself, a
pleasing bashfulness
Would make her blush and swear,
Her face would unwillingly descend from
his breast and roll unawares on his lap
I would see, Mother, how could he then
restrain himself on ground of
injured sentiment!
Thus now arises in me many a hope
and thirst for love,
From offended vanity, anguish, passion’
and attachment rolled into one.
Leaving me as a debtor of tears,
Has he crossed high seas for an
unknown island?
Is it far beyond rivers, Mother?
Is it that tempest itself cannot
reach that far-off land. O Mother?
If he now learns that I do love him,
In wild ecstasy will his sepulcher burst open?
His shouts will make
The wide ocean of tears overflow,
His frantic thunder will make a
volcano burst forth
Mountain and ocean and sky and air
will encircle him in a cyclic dance,
for shame! Mother, why shouldst thou weep
plaintively like that?
Rather recite to me some lay heard
by thee from him.
And listening let me fall asleep on thy lap.
But who knocks at the door?
Is it the storm that strikes like him?
O West Wind’ Wild West Wind!
Thy friend is on the other side of the sea.
He shall not come where I do exist.
Gone is he to that land where falleth not my shadow.
Why, still, from time to-time,
Do I feel inclined to call him?
To whom should I breathe what remains
still unsaid by me?
O Mother, my heart’s anguish doth struggle
hard on the threshold of my boso
Adieu! Adieu! Speak to him of me
if thou dost meet him?
A King’s offering can a beggar-maid.
ever refuse it?
I know. I know, Mother,
My offended lover, shall come again
In search of me at dead of night
to this door of our cottage,
Tell him then I am lost in darkness
in search of him alone!

Once I said to a scarecrow, ‘You must be tired of standing in this
lonely field.’

And he said, ‘The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I
never tire of it.’

Said I, after a minute of thought, ‘It is true; for I too have
known that joy.’

Said he, ‘Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.’

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled
me.

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest
under his hat.