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The ghost of punishment, repentance and hope
by Abigail George
2018-09-30 08:49:06
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The ghost of punishment, repentance and hope
(for Catherine, Dharam, Julian and Mikale)

    Once she was my lover (or rather,
the love of my life). She’s neither now. Just ghost.
    She was the furthest planet planted
    there by the king of this world. Two
    moons circled it. On her land I was
    grace. I was loved. This land that was
    semi-alive with constellations. Useful
    stars. Dad was a sad man on a windswept
beach. A ghost filled with regret. Mum was
 dark01_400   a lonely woman. It showed at the
    corners of her mouth. Every time we
    went to the sea, it told us about its
    patience. We could learn it from her

    if we wanted to. The sharp-edged waves
    and vibrations cutting through the
    bright golden air filled with the common peace
    that sliced bread offers us. Oil on
my hands. Once she was skin and flesh and flesh and skin.
    She’s opera or mountain-peak now. I
    know what this image means now.
    The image of the fragile. She is
    the ice now running through my veins. She’s knowledge
    and landscape. Once she was like
a volcano in my world, a representative of heat and dust.
    In my arms I was free to love her but
    I’m not anymore. She’s the open sea

    and river. Ship planted at the bottom

of the ocean. I think of the ex-girlfriend’s
    hunger and thirst. Prosperous fields
    delivering a good harvest. Arrows
    sharp and truthful. Homeless beggars
    like flocks. But most of all I think of
    her in this environment. Call her botany.
Call her Spain. Her blood lilac. Smelling
    of roses, of ritual, of parliament,
    of winter. When it rains, I think of
    the patio furniture getting drenched.
    I think of strangers as night falls. I
am hurt but that’s okay. I am wounded but that’s
    okay too. When you win, say nothing.
I think that
    it’s important to remember that.
    I want her to get plenty of rest and
    I even want her to fall in love again.
    And as she moves from country to
    kingdom, from kingdom to country,
    I want her kingdom to get plenty
    of rain. I want it to flow into her bones
and over her flesh like oil. I want her to look at
    the world with gladness in her heart.
    And when I think of her, I will think
    of her clothed in glory, inheritance, and waves
    that will wash away all her sins.

Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!


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J. Bersee2018-10-04 08:27:56
A well crafted and gorgeous George poem. Interesting lay out, words sticking out on the left!

Abigail George2018-10-04 12:23:10
I always hope that the internal struggle within me and the external nature on the page will have a subtle meeting point. I always want to ask questions with my poetry. Thank you for your feedback J. Bersee.

Abigail George2018-10-05 11:30:33
Poets are gamblers at heart. After all it takes small steps in the right direction feeling detached from the rest of the world. We accept poverty, accept the cause of issues of faith and withering spirit and the awareness of spirituality when it comes to our work. Progress is slow like the effort of love and I think that's how it should be when it comes to writing poetry.

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