The sad fact is beautiful, trauma is just like fire, and giving regret the once-overNew writing 2019-11-20
“You’re mine, love, but
you belong to another, and as a man
you belong to the world.”
Where they can’t hurt me and Sylvia PlathNew writing 2019-11-06
“They can’t hurt our words,
Sylvia. Let us dance, then, in the arms
of our lovers, and our friends”
RespectNew writing 2019-10-15
“It is enough to know now that you are the love of my life. I listen to eighties music now. I am happy. I want you to know that.”
StrandloperNew writing 2019-08-21
"So, put that in your pocket for a rainy day. The world comes to life around me, and I’m alright again. I find it hard to trust people now. I go for long walks."
To that young woman eating watermelonNew writing 2019-08-14
Poem by Abigail George:
you little show-off! You heathen, or if it is by your choice,
atheist, then, if it pleases you. Are you happy?"
Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie: To my motherSkryfkompetisies 2019-08-06
LitNet se Vrouedag-skryfkompetisie – Poem by Abigail George:
"You’re opera in the
wilderness. See the tragedy in my eyes, mother.
I ponder the hush, the inner music of the shore.
I’m always seeing the same shore."
Like writer father, like poet daughterNew writing 2019-05-03
"That’s being honest, and after the rain
she’s Jean Rhys, and during the rain she edits me
away, censors me, declares me Mrs Rochester.
Her hands smell like spaghetti."
Introducing the third dimension in this modern eraNew writing 2019-04-24
"I remember now. I remember everything. I remember my brother’s defiance, my mother’s tears and heartache and defeatist attitude. The music school behind her eyes, and I would see the sea in his father’s knuckles."
Just our luckNew writing 2019-04-09
"He was still a dream. Roberto, Roberto, Roberto. She had phoned him once. Once was all it took to realise that her dream of him didn’t quite match up to the reality of him. She didn’t even think of her own dignity and pride."
Eye of the stormFiksie 2019-03-20
"Come down from where you are; come down from your house, your horse, your wedding carriage, your mountain of mountains. Your mouth is a summer in New York."
The language of bougainvilleaFiksie 2019-03-07
"Jakes, you’re the scavenger, his stage-actress mother called him. You’re never going to get married, are you, Playboy? You’re never going to give me grandchildren. I don’t understand this. I don’t understand you. Was there some traumatic incident in your childhood that I just don’t know about?"
The sunPoësie 2019-02-19
"Love can fill you up, up, up.
Spit you out, out, out."
Three poems by Abigail GeorgePoësie 2019-02-06
"Look at the winter leaf. Look at how it gathers
under your bedroom window. Look at the
arrangement of light as it falls on this cool
as spring Monday afternoon."
Never going backNew writing 2018-09-06
"Thomas had given her a map. She thought that she would never be lost again. Judith loved Thomas. She also knew that he didn’t feel the same way about her. That there was no earthquake shattering him into millions of pieces when they kissed or touched each other."
The history of my insomniaNew writing 2018-09-05
"It’s been a quiet day today. Rain in the
air fresh. The streets are wet. There’s a
purity about the day."