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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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 Slow hands finding the car keysSlow hands finding the car keys by Abigail George
(for dad)        The subtle signs of
 FallingFalling by Abigail George
Falling    Our choices change the future    evolution of the universe. His    body is heaven’s plateau. A cold
 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
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 On dwelling in the house of the Lord foreverOn dwelling in the house of the Lord forever by Abigail George
I am dove-wing and prayer.  In the family way, I hold atribe of birds in my heart-all  waves of golden-mystery.
 All day I've dreamed of youAll day I've dreamed of you by Abigail George
All day I’ve dreamed of you(for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)Once,
 Woman ReadingWoman Reading by Abigail George
“Are you alive? Come swimming with me.”“I’m tired.”“That’s a no then. The exercise would be good for you lazybones. Just tired.”
 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   
 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
 Chant of the wild birds in my throatChant of the wild birds in my throat by Abigail George
(for my mother, sister, brother and father)My mother never taught me things (mostly nothings). My mother never told me that she loved me. My mother never
 The ghost fadesThe 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
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