Persephone Abbott

Posts from the “Poetry” Category

Lamento: All That I Read

Posted on January 22, 2024

All that I read is not my story piled under pieces of furniture I’ve collected books from other people’s bookshelves like the air delivers dust and in my home it gathers in the form of blocks of prose behind my reading chair under the wardrobe jammed against the wall between the kitchen and the bathroom just in case I might pause midway for some literature. This week I finally cracked open a 1960’s pelican Hypnosis: Fact and Fiction reminding me of Mel Brook’s “Get Smart” so unlike today’s mindfulness courses and fentanyl addictions back then in Cold War time a spy could be managed by another’s persuasion sent off to deliver ciphers that might save the world pigeon carrier style strapped to a hippocampus…

Mending the Blue Sky: A Postcard Short

Posted on January 6, 2024

In 2016 the book “A Sample of Gouda” with photographs by Vinita Salome and postcard short texts by Persephone Abbott was published by Carl Bink Printing Press, and edited by John Graham-King from AngloINFO South Holland. The texts were inspired from the 2013 publication of “Gouda: City of 126 Nationalities”. In the book “A Sample of Gouda” I explore the identities of the local people of Gouda and the expat community or visitors to Gouda from other cultures. Here is the first story called: Mending the Blue Sky which touches on the Dutch colonization of Indonesia and the old fashioned heavily Protestant community in Gouda.

In Memoriam P. B. 1939 – 2023

Posted on December 25, 2023

The Best Cup of Coffee in the World It was most delicious – especially prepared for me by a dying man bone china he said tapping the saucer bought two cups in France souvenirs sourced at a thrift shop you can’t find such nice ones here in the Netherlands He was standing in his kitchen managing the coffee machine a one cup of coffee at a time type he’d been on his own quite some years By all accounts my exfatherinlaw should not have been standing in front of his coffee machine on his own two feet but he even had a little bit of oat milk left I noticed the fridge needed cleaning a smattering of fuzzies caught my eye as I closed…

Keith Abbott reading his poems in 1975

Posted on September 26, 2023

I was recently reading some of my father’s poems that were published in a collection called Putty.  And today I found a video on YouTube of Keith reading from this book in 1975. I happen to own the copy that he dedicated to his parents-in-law, Hannah and Lloyd Hansen, in 1971, the year we were living in Bellingham, Washington not far from Tacoma.

Keith, recollections from his daughter

Posted on September 16, 2023

Keith Recollections from his Daughter I am unable to remember when I met my father. He told me he recalled the moment even though The nurse thrust a substance upon his person To keep him (well mustached at 23 years of age) from fainting And falling on the hospital floor in a heap. He admitted he liked both: The baby and the intervention. It was a good day. I remember my father busy in the mornings writing something important. Then he’d come out of his lair for coffee. He was adored and admired for his charm and wit but he also drank coffee. He ground the beans first. It’s not a secret to making good coffee. When I was a young girl, my father…

We’ve been missing you

Posted on September 4, 2023

We’ve been missing you The pews weren’t even half full – “My mother,” HR said to me her youthful words dancing forth from between her painted lips, “Finally saw the light.” I had been on the job one week and listened carefully about a series of step-fathers next to the office aquarium HR again, this time about an interviewee “It’s not that she is too old,” she explained as we stood in front of the dishwasher also seriously in need of an update It reminded me – the congregation trying their hardest to sing the tune, mouths stumbling across the words in the hymn book Here I am Lord My new boss strolled casually behind my chair “We’ve been missing you,” she murmured low…

Cobalt, a poem by Persephone Abbott

Posted on July 24, 2023

Cobalt Twenty kilometers south They closed the factory In 1898 Cobalt I knew it was the farm As soon as I saw it On my left Even though the place didn’t Look like the photographs From 1904 A switch flipped in my mind I turned into the driveway On automatic pilot Cobalt I don’t suppose my great-uncle Would have ever worked In the cobalt factory or the saw mill or the grain mill Even if the mines and the factories hadn’t closed Even if he, at age fifteen, Hadn’t left for america Along with a lot of other Local teenagers holding Tickets to board the Celtic. He wasn’t the type to work in a mine. Yet I still can’t find what he did For…