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Abigail George

Abigail George

Abigail George studied film and television production for a short while, which was followed by a brief stint as a trainee at a production house. She is a writer and poet. She has lived in Johannesburg and Port Elizabeth but she is currently living in Port Elizabeth. She has had poetry published in print and online. She has had short fiction published online. In 2005 and 2008 she was awarded grants from the National Arts Council in Johannesburg. She is not purely devoted to poetry but to pursuing writing fulltime. Storytelling for her has always been a phenomenal way of communicating and making a connection with other people.
 
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 Despair and hardshipDespair and hardship by Abigail George
(for Ambronese)    There was a home and a family that belonged to her. Fragments in a diary. You’ve
 The painted birds The painted birds by Abigail George
(for Ambronese)    I’m helpless. She knows this and tells me     to forget this place of weeping and change.    She’s an
 Slow hands finding the car keysSlow hands finding the car keys by Abigail George
(for dad)        The subtle signs of
Badboys Radio Show Ovi Gallery Le Meteque Ovi Exhibition Ovi Bookshop
 You're good at those thingsYou're good at those things by Abigail George
You\'re good at those things(for Ambronese and Voldi)Rapture is the son of Johannesburg.    The same way that Prague is  
 When love is not enoughWhen love is not enough by Abigail George
When love is not enough(for Ambronese)    A thousand-people loving me could     not undo the onion-layers of damage  
 DespairDespair by Abigail George
Despair (a diary entry)My breath is caught inthe downward arch ofthe wave’s-length. I feel smotheredby the wise heat of the
 RobRob by Abigail George
 FallingFalling by Abigail George
Falling    Our choices change the future    evolution of the universe. His    body is heaven’s plateau. A cold
 While watching the first snowWhile watching the first snow by Abigail George
While watching the first snow(for mum who believed)   
 WisconsinWisconsin by Abigail George
Wisconsin(for my brother and his son)    There is love here. A kind    of resurrecting. A life instinct 
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