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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	Living vicariously through Dorothy Parker by Abigail George (for Staff Sergeant Joseph William George)I dope myself up with the dead poets and sleeping pills,with Marilyn, with Bukowski (it was booze), with Sylvia.I just want to rest, ch
	The Sea by Abigail George
	On mourning and paralysis by Abigail George (for Staff Sergeant Joseph William George)I’m lost, I’m lost, I confess. In a minute I’ll be gone. In anotherminute I’ll belong to the past, escape the present. I’ll be s

	The shapes that were crying in the rain by Abigail George (for my slave ancestry)Shroud don’t say anything if I changedmy hair, if I spoke my thoughts, don’t
	People are always watching me by Abigail George
	The origins of the "X"-men by Abigail George (for Staff Sergeant Joseph William George)Most people live in between the married and thesingle life. I want death. I want life. I want my lifeto be celebrated in death. I just
	The aftermath of loneliness by Abigail George (for Staff Sergeant Joseph William George)I want you to bring me to life, bring me flowers, Ihave become nothing. In the station of the metro, girls arebeing woken up by kisses.
	The ghost fades by Abigail George (for Vincent Moloi, a pair of boots and a bicycle)I miss you. I don\'t miss you. I miss you. I reallydon\'t care if you care, I don\'t miss you. Yourhead is Muir and full of dev
	In the bedroom of the poet (novella excerpt) by Abigail George
	Over the tree whispers turn into screams by Abigail George (for my mother, father, sister, and brother) I haven’t fallen in love in eighthours. I wish I could fly out of thisroom to any place th
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