Objects of desire for Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel BasquiatNew writing 2020-03-17
"Like the sea I have chased with my mother, and like
all of these words, I am thinking of you too much."
Papaya for Rainer Maria Rilke, cold plums for meNew writing 2020-03-03
"I am finally on my own again. Flying solo. Gather this, hunt this, reward yourself with this."
If John Steinbeck had been a poet, I would have loved himNew writing 2020-02-26
"I have a certain knowledge of madness that no one else speaks of, a certain kind of madness that comes alive at midnight."
Boris PasternakNew writing 2020-02-12
"We all had feathers. Then we all had wings. Then we were shipped back home to our physical address."
Giacomo LeopardiNew writing 2020-02-05
“I am Emily Dickinson’s winter revisited in Amherst-land. I am so much more aware of age and getting older than I have ever been.”
ClarissaNew writing 2020-01-28
“When I’m with Lewis, I think of you; when he yells at me, I think of you; when he hits me, I think of you, Malcolm ...”
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."