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William and Virginia

All is silent. The lighthouse
guides us into night's port.
There, we shall gently bob
beyond rocky reaches, becalmed
among lengthening shadows
of suburban beaches.
A small son crouches,
peering across his knees
at portraits he draws
of mum and dad,
'It's you' he says,
'Well done' comes
the reflex reply as I glance
at myself – dead
ringer for William,
the Conqueror,
complete with
topiary beard, gargoyle
with a faux-Norman look.
Mummy is beautifully
drawn; long ethereal face,
lyrical goddess, anguished
and torn. Virginia Woolf reborn.
Paper recreations,
what would they have said
to each other? Lying
side by side – strange,
unaccustomed bedfellows,
newly acquainted
long-lost sister
and ghostly brother.
We turn out the light
and all go to bed.
Deep in the night
comes the murmur
of voices; she, reciting,
he, muttering of strategies,
battle-sites, the spot
where his bold plan
will unfold is hastily noted.
The time on his clock
reads 10:66.
She reads aloud,
her rhythmic prose,
describing her characters'
foibles and machinations,
comings and goings
at London's railway
stations. He listens
and marvels at
the language
he bequeathed.
Their models sleep
abed, effigies who lie
as knights recumbent.

A collaboration, written with my wife

4 Jan 05

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WOW...i got an inferiority complex just from reading this. usually i can dredge up some scrap of criticism, but not with this. my compliments to you sir, and your wife. this is wonderful. wish i could offer helpful insights to help you elevate your art, but this is perfect as is!
 — Catbox

wife or Larry
L1-2 wife
L3 Larry
L4-5 wife
L6 Larry
L7-10 Wife
L11-19 Larry
L20-23 Wife
L24-36 Wife
L37-40 Larry
even too bored for this now
 — unknown

hermaphrodite poetry - nice one
 — unknown

Dear Catbox

Being descended in direct line from William The Conquerer and also being on intimate terms with Virginia Woolfs pet cats niece Mimi, i can tell you that none of my Uncle Normans ancestors fought in the Battle Of Hastings but i have read To The Lighthouse and found it rather illuminating

Larry recumbant Lark
 — larrylark

Dear Unknown

I told a little lie when i said that my wife and i wrote this poem.Actually Grandma Moses who lives next door contribited L18 as she said those words reminded her of Ripper, her dear departed but not forgotten bulldog

Larry sleeping in the kennel Lark
 — larrylark

Dear Unknown

Some of the sounds emmanating from downstairs might lead one to think otherwise.

Larry  living dead Lark
 — larrylark