Books: Experimental Haiku by Abigail George

enchanted book

Image: Bigstock.com


Beast in the kitchen –

Drowned thing with her rosary.

At war with the roast.



Throne. Ghost. Leaf. All guests.

Pale. Ancestral bloodlines – a clever-experiment

In romanticism.



Beach-life. A green-ish plate.

Swimming towards velvet rays of light.

A child’s-laugh (bees). Sea mist.



Jasmine passion – reel.

Flowers in a lonely mind.

Illness for breakfast.



Children underfoot –

There is traffic in my house.

Toy guns. Cowboy hats.


After leaving Mr. Muirhead

Alleys. Streets. Wolves. Sheep.

The shores-of-Johannesburg do not smell like anything-like-Malibu.

It’s primitive living-for-sale.


Remember me

The weather that day. Rain and-then-it-stopped.

Flesh. Skin-on-skin’s-compass. Perfume. And more rain.

Keys to not buying post-apartheid things.



To the lighthouse soul.

To Sappho, Antigone’s divine-ceremony.

Go fishing in rifts.


It’s losing its darkness

Something is damaged –

There is a richness in dust – mother-tongue.

Post-apartheid things. Compasses.


The hours

You are a typhoon –

Waves in the folds of daylight.

Childhood stars are past.


Shade in my bedroom

The end of violence –

The world’s feast is not my home.

The heart of worship.


Inside a public library

I am the June guest –

Greedy for ritual. Sonnets.

Winter possession.


Success for personal growth

Orlando’s river –

Habits of tsunamis past.

What remains is life.



I read as a child –

In books, there are valleys. Hills.

Worlds were within reach.



Infatuation –

Winner of America.

Paper tigers ghosts.


© Abigail George

Image: Bigstock.com

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