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.
We are worthy of a beautiful life regardless of what we look like, what family we came…
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…is the first thought that goes through your mind when somebody says that to you? Be honest now... I can tell you the first thought that goes through my mind is usually not very supportive. It usually runs somewhere between "If you only knew me", and "Are you…
By John C. Davis
Read MoreThere is a tension between knowing that it’s good for us to stay and commit to the situation at hand, and knowing that it is healthy for us to stretch and grow.
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…as a society are always looking to something outside of ourselves to fix us. You can call it an addiction, envy, or restlessness. But, we all know what I'm talking about. It's the belief that if we could just be…
By John C. Davis
Read MoreGrieving is not something any of us look forward to. But, the gifts contained in the experience of grieving are rich with opportunities for healing.
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…admit it. None of us like to grieve. It is not something we ask for. It is not something we look forward to. It is not something we hope…
By John C. Davis
Read MoreA brief essay on the loss of my best friend. Inspired by the prompt, "Time of Death".
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…part of her died the day she was diagnosed. Pancreatic Cancer. She once told me she would have taken any other Cancer: breast, liver, colon, stomach. The survival rate for Pancreatic Cancer is 9%. I was convinced that my best friend, Sonya, would be one of those 9%. Sonya was one of those people…
By Christine Obst
Read MoreMusings on the death of my father
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…rang the front doorbell for the third time and followed it by banging on the edge of the security door. Her client was deaf but usually, after the second ring, she would hear him shuffling to answer the door. The house was as secure as Fort Knox. There were deadlocks on both doors and all the windows. Security doors…
By Alexandra de Fircks
Read MoreSo, I am 72 years old. Early this morning I had a chance to talk to my Future. It was one of those casual, chance encounters and my Future grabbed a chair and sat down before me. “You know,” it said, “at 72 you have certainly gathered a lot of memories and experiences. So, you probably wouldn’t be bothered too much if I told you that you only had 8 more years of your life. I mean, lots of people die long before even…
By James Geehring
Read MoreOur past failures were paving the road to our future success. Redemption takes place when we can embrace all of our experiences, and love ourselves completely despite our past failures.
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…is something that I have often been challenged with. That is, the idea that failing is part of success. My perfectionist brain wants to tell me that if I am to be a success in this world I must be a success all…
By John C. Davis
Read More…enormous, at least two-metre thick, concrete double door slides open, and a dark and cool throat of the mountain is almost sucking me in. My jaw has dropped. No…I’m not reading you an excerpt from some horror or thriller novel, and my name is not James Bond.
I’m standing on the doorstep of the once top-secret facility on the Black Sea coast and now the Naval Museum Complex Balaklava on the south-east of Crimean peninsula, just a stone-throw away from the city of…
By L. Salt
Read MoreThe road to success is long. Is it fraught with setbacks and failures. When we honor this process we will be better able to get back in the game. We can start over any time we choose.
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…is a part of my mind that tells me that I should be able to achieve great results just by some sheer act of will power on my part. This idea of getting into the trenches and doing…
By John C. Davis
Urge to Rome
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…stood in the kitchen with the five other mothers of the settima classe—the seventh grade. Curious to visit an Italian home since our arrival in Rome, here I finally was, one of le ragazze, the girls. There was nothing exotic about the room: modern counters, appliances, wall phone with an extra-long cord. A window looked onto a back yard where a yapping collie blend wrestled with a pink rubber ball. I could have been in New York. Ohio. Anywhere in America. Only the clouds of cigarette smoke, the undecipherable staccato banter and the Moka pot on…
By Kyra Robinov
