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Virginia Woolf

by James Shammas (Age: 48)
copyright 03-25-2006


Age Rating: 7 +

Its light shaded the sand the look of cotton wool.
Barely breezing, the misted and moldy air
Hung heavily on its pointed prism,
The lighthouse rooftop shining even brighter
In the lofty night-- a lighter, softer night,
More lenient than you could have conceived.
The clarity of its long-measured beams
Made pristine patterns on the printed page,
And were, in fact, your moments of cyclic being
That pierced the divided darkness which blindly
Longed for you-- the "non-moments" you called
Cotton wool. Did you see yourself standing,
Highlighted against the ever-welcoming sky,
Even as your inert and anonymous stones
Pulled you under? Looking up with one last gasp,
Did you see yourself distorted, looming larger
Over the slowly rolling, turqoise waves?--
That you were that lighthouse-- fragile, yet firm,
Monumental and whole against the somber sky?




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        03-29-2006     Richard Reed Jr        

This is such a great metaphorical poem. Your skills as a writer absolutely amaze me. II feel honored to be here with you. Technically, the poem is perfection. For me, it filled with that ultimate sense of wonder and mystery.

Great Write!

Rich

        03-25-2006     James Shammas        

Note: References here are made to one of Woolf's more famous novels, "To the Lighthouse," and to her autobiographical essay "Moments of Being." She killed herself by walking into a river wearing a coat stuffed with stones.

Jim S



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