The Abstract Art Gallery
A writing gallery created by writers from around the world. From poetry to song lyrics, from essays to entire novels and short stories.
…said, removing her glasses and bringing her left hand up to massage her temples. She was sitting in her computer chair with her legs crossed. Myer sat on her light couch, lowered his chin, and exhaled. “You’re the doctor,” he said. Myer came now and then for medication…
By Andy Cooper
Read More… for everything,
all I remember about Layla,
her kiss was among the least.
I missed only her soft …
By Andy Cooper
Read More…brought pristine
weather to our evening together.
The fireplace crackled, cedar burning bright.
In my new brick …
By Andy Cooper
Read More… lost youth sat in a darkened room
before flat screens in suburban homes.
Anti-flag posters are stuck to beige
walls as his lips drift…
By Andy Cooper
Read More…came to town, hung the sheriff in the town square, and called for the mayor. She entered the saloon, removed her coat, and took a seat. A bartender went to his feet to serve Darlena a frosty fountain mug with foam bubbling over the…
By Andy Cooper
Read More… shadows lingered a little longer than the month before, casting a cool, comforting shade over the world. When Eddie was out and about, crisp gold and brown leaves crunched under his feet, releasing a rich, earthy scent that signaled...
By Andy Cooper
Read More… paid for change with pain
over every word I prayed
for Leah, my wife,
but she strode out the …
By Andy Cooper
Read More…sat at the pine kitchen table. I sipped warm mocha coffee while she babysat Coke over rum. The morning light slowly seeped through the large, streakless window in the living…
By Andy Cooper
Read More… I started university, I set out to host regular parties in my flat. Two dozen people arrived for the first one and crammed themselves into my living room. We played music, talked loudly and drank, and …
By K. J. Watson
Read More… found a free seat on the bus. As the bus trundled its way across the city, he rummaged in his rucksack for his pen and paper. The traffic was the usual rush-hour gridlock. He didn’t mind the morning slog. The journey to work gave him chance to work on his latest...
By Chris Platt
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