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.
The whirr of time comes again.
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…every seventeen years the air is filled with a cacophony of click-clacking buzzing, that seem to be vibrating everywhere at once. It is the song of the cicadas. It is properly called crepitation. It is more commonly called a damned…
By K. L. Shipley
Read MoreHanna's character is…
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…once was a little girl, who wrote a little poem, about a moon that wasn’t there. Her teacher had asked her class to look at the evening sky and write a poem about the full moon that would light the sky that night. Little Hanna, was a very good girl. She intended to do just what her teacher…
By K. L. Shipley
Read MoreI use the term "cosmic poetry"…
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…mingle within the cosmos and to speak about it as though you are, yourself, one of the trees in a jungle with countless details, or a wave in an ocean that no one knows how and where to locate; one deer among the multitudes of its species, or a moose that veils herself in the depth of a…
By Fadi Abu-Deeb
Read MoreWhat shows greater character…
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…spirits with a note of caramel lingering on the tongue. Morning light dancing through the glass. How pleasant. And, if you don’t get drunk, where’s the harm? I imagine most drunks start their day with similar thoughts and get drunk…
By K. L. Shipley
Read More…o some pieces of the Gymnopédies and the Gnossiennes by the French composer Erik Satie, I always feel as if I’m living in the 18th or the first half of the 19th century. Among other images, I’m walking into a Parisian alley, perhaps searching for a French book…
By Fadi Abu-Deeb
Read MorePatriots are grateful…
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…you hear of Sweet Betsy from Pike, Crossed the wide mountains with her lover Ike, With two yoke of oxen and one spotted hog, A tall shanghai rooster, and an old yeller…
By K. L. Shipley
Read MoreI retreat to the Monastery…
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…trees outside are swaying. The rain patters down. Bright new leaves glisten sweetly in the ozone saturated air. It’s a gentle spring rain, peaceful and beautiful, though it might change at any time. It might become violent…
By K. L. Shipley
Read MoreIt was the beginning of a peculiar friendship.
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…carefully lowered the stylus and dialed the volume to recklessly high. The glorious opening chords of Thus Sprach Zarathustra filled the room with explosive unearthly beauty. It was, thunderously overwhelming. It might have been heard throughout the block. There was every possibility police would soon be knocking…
By K. L. Shipley
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