Tag Archives: Abigail George

Biko Hani Mahola Malema Daddy (A Poem in Experimental Haiku)

Social media – flux. Lunch. History wilderness. Broken hinges. Spice. Post-apartheid child underfoot – There is footstomping-traffic in my house. Toy guns. Cowboy hats. I am the June guest – Greedy for ritual. Sonnets. Winter possession. Orlando’s river – Habits … Continue reading

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The Alcoholic in Recovery

I may be cynical, getting older, more set in my ways And I may not have the tongue of an angel, or much love for my fellow man My recovery begins with slowly peeling back the layers Of pain that … Continue reading

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Frieda (A Series of Haiku)

Ted Hughes Weave your poetry – shamanic-wisdom And not by accident it will prosper long-after-you-are-dead. For-all-the-raw-cutting-edge-of-the-world-to-see. Assia Wevill She slipped – she didn’t fall-like-a-body-or-wreck Could have been a striking pageant-beauty-queen-in-a-magazine. An anonymous-connection-with-men. Bewitched them. Sylvia Plath Flame. Troubled. Gossamer-hair. Flawed-and-most-powerful. … Continue reading

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The Lonely Mind (A Series of Experimental Poems)

Emptiness A drowning visitor in the system. Virginia Woolf her forehead shiny with perspiration. The lake pours itself into her body. Children who are Poets They play with lobsters in hand. For them seawater doesn’t come with a map – … Continue reading

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The Arrival of the Paper Tiger Empress

My wild ‘Sargasso’ sea Is a heaven That loves only me And the accomplished. Saboteurs’ pillow talk Like Assia Wevill’s and Jean Rhys’s Plant their airs-and-graces Inches from it. This is their playground. Gills do not matter. The possibilities of … Continue reading

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Patrice Lumumba

Uncomplaining boy-child Did you ever kneel beside Your bed at night with Dreams of the future, halo, Inside your head, goals, grief blossoming-like-waves To pray towards an-African-revolution Flowing in your veins All the great unanswered questions-of-your-country Bright star found-in-a-water’s-lake Your … Continue reading

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The English Teacher

I think of the symmetry of his mouth. The perfect chemical purity of it that tasted of salt and light. His everlasting darkness plunged head first into light. And this introvert’s intelligence, his mole-game, his boots, His poison weed, second. … Continue reading

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Assia Wevill, the greatest rival of Sylvia Plath

Love me I said But in the end, you hated me And bitterly so. Green was not our landscape. It was much more as if My childhood had begun to bloom again. Nazi Germany, the train, that awful train journey, … Continue reading

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They will eventually say nothing of my poetry

He was good at it then and even now this voyager. I had to go to pieces the afternoon delight. Perhaps if I had been rich, a funny girl, classy and brilliant. It would have been a different matter, significant. … Continue reading

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Going all the way with it

Head bowed at the desk. Stop talking. You’re no longer special. Notebook in hand. Rilke and Hemingway In my head. Always in my head. Their empires have become mine. Their knowledge has become mine. What masters of observation, lessons, intimacy. … Continue reading

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Shura

My flesh, my blood and your stem ill and bitter Sink deep into your grave my little bold skinned flower So small with your weak limbs heiress in your mother’s arms You killed an angel you filthy exotic paranoid foreigner … Continue reading

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The sinew of wit

A billion seasons are born daily. The writer stalled in a cage. You’re now light. Swimming in December, standing on the shore a well-oiled machine. You’re a woman, sibling. You’re a man, sibling. But all I can see is your … Continue reading

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Letter to a younger sister in the Czech Republic

I never had that kind of attention. I never received that kind of loud applause. Never called love rapture, or, passionate. We don’t talk anymore about the frog hospital, me landing up there again, relapse after relapse. You never called … Continue reading

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The bilateral symmetry of the nomad mitochondria

Then to leave you war, leaving me. To eat fish with a bib. How am I ever going to find healing and recovery in my life? Always misunderstood, grasping at straws, never thinking about the future, future-anything, future-love, future-life. I … Continue reading

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The singing and dancing and traumatised white blood cells

Voice be silent. Your blood will speak for us of blessing. The air is still. The air is still. It is waiting for me to say something. Say something to acknowledge the clouds gathering. This is what grown up people … Continue reading

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The philosophising social worker leaf on Monkey Island

There’s monotone snow in my mouth, melting on the staged wasteland of my tongue. The magus continues on his journey. He does not stop for me. Does not consider my potential. Just the broken string, the moon in the ice, … Continue reading

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Ingrid Jonker

(for my mother, sister, brother, and father) (Wild) visible flowers – It’s Gustav Mahler in June. June is my birthday. Signs of sunflowers – Joop is a perfectionist. I’m just obsessive. Woolf to the lighthouse – I don’t want to … Continue reading

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Antjie Krog

(for my mother, sister, brother, and father) Air. Heir can’t be cured – I’m bee farmer caught stealing. Hospitality. Swallows flit in the air – Only the houndish-rain can cure me. The don’t know regret. The nature of green – … Continue reading

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Paul Auster

I miss you. I don’t miss you. I miss you. I really don’t care if you care, I don’t miss you. Your head is Muir and full of devil-may-care girls, with fluff for hair, and who smell like you’re shielding … Continue reading

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Dorothea Laskey

My mother never taught me things (mostly nothings). My mother never told me that she loved me. My mother never spoke to me again after she dumped me at Tara. That godforsaken posh mental institution in the middle of Sandton … Continue reading

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Lena Dunham

You and that see-through dark-haired girl, you love her, don’t you. Let me count all the ways you love her. I could be dead, or just missing, or just missing out on you. Your name is a song inside my … Continue reading

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Jenny Zhang

I’m alone. I’m alone again, a solitary figure thinking ever after of you, for you are the love of Ophelia’s life, of you, and the ownership of daughters in a maze, the race question, the class system when in Rome. … Continue reading

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Charlotte Perkins Gilman

God’s will always be healing, always purposefully crafted, and as theology it stands on its own. In my hands, you’re a mountain, you are handsome, you are perfect. You eat my pasta, and say it’s delicious. Forget about the past, … Continue reading

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Guy Butler

There’s a song inside my head that I can’t get rid of, and I’m so tired of angry words, and the darkness in my life. I’m insecure, and vulnerable, afraid of being alone, sleeping alone, sleeping with you, and without … Continue reading

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Patrick Cullinan

I’m lost, lost, I’m lost, I confess. In a minute I’ll be gone. In another minute I’ll belong to the past, escape the present. I’ll be stripped bare. I’m a stranger to man, and I’m a stranger to woman, and … Continue reading

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