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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.
 The Quiet WomanThe Quiet Woman by Abigail George
 JuliaJulia by Abigail George
 Lovers of TeaLovers of Tea by Abigail George
The wuthering heights of lovers, of swans, dappled things and daffodils. It is an explosion. This
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 A glimpse of stockingA glimpse of stocking by Abigail George
 The InvasionThe Invasion by Abigail George
Into the window of despair that is written all over your face. What do you know of terror? Walk towards me is all I asked.  You could not love or rather could not love me. This
 Dear Runaway GirlDear Runaway Girl by Abigail George
It’s the year of having beliefs. I feel lost. A little hopeless at this fact finding mission. All I know is this.My father has had a stroke. Perhaps he is on his deathbed. This frightens me. So I am going home.
 Such happiness!Such happiness! by Abigail George
 When a man forgets himself in old ageWhen a man forgets himself in old age by Abigail George
When a man forgets himself in old age(for Ambronese and all the women I have ever truly loved)    I did not know then what     I know now. That I was a     pione
 EliseElise by Abigail George
It feels as if my bones have been put into a box for safekeeping until I am sane again. Until all the madness in my life has left me. This makes me happy, elated but I am a
 The most important people in her lifeThe most important people in her life by Abigail George
So I turned to my father. I was this kid and said to him.‘You’re mean. You’re just being cruel. Stay away from me. She’s not dead. I just saw her this morning.’What does de
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