Persephone Abbott

Posts from the “Poetry” Category

The Professor’s Apples

Posted on May 14, 2022

On my wall there was a modest space available, large enough for a mirror, but then I thought, no, not a new mirror, better find a secondhand mirror, maybe oval or maybe rectangular. I felt there was an element missing between the paintings hanging on my wall and, besides, the middle part of my studio, the part between the front windows and the back balcony was a bit dark at times. A mirror might help. Did I, and I asked myself this while standing on the Keizersgracht one evening with a small object between my hands, favor this little mirror, poorly wedged into an old chipped frame? Someone had put it out on the street. I thought not. Months later, I passed by a…

Two Today

Posted on May 13, 2022

Poems in the Car

I imagine you waiting
in a parking lot for something to happen
for the signal to go, go, go and
you reach down for your phone
mentally spin out off the road 
read a poem by Simon

I imagine your blond head bent
in concentration, trying to find 
something to report as you anticipate
a familiar occurrence appearing 
above the horizon of your dashboard
meanwhile Simon’s slow words, 
searching fingers tips, enter your sightline
and explain to you it already happened
sometime ago and you are free


Give me a bottom I want to say
a motherfucking smack the fanny
nectar bleeding pimpled dumpling
doughy dog-haired bruised apple
gooey cheesy pink crackly frosty
yes, the best one on the menu
what I am yakking about here and
hey the futurette is not looking too good, 
in a glass.

Do you ever….

Posted on May 5, 2022

Do you ever think of sex, Bathilde?

I know you’re spayed.

I paid for it, and I am sorry

about the sloppy stitching

they must have assigned

the task to the trainee

almost gone though, the rough edge —

your belly skin and the stumpy suture work

has relaxed and anyway,

because of your eczema

you don’t like being petted much


when I scratch the fleshy fold of your abdomen,

the saggy sterilized pouch that

merges with your hind legs, you respond by

stretching out your limbs and spreading your toes

until it’s too much good stuff to handle and

show time for your alter ego

Ms. Fangs & Claws

I know you’re limited, I just thought

you might have more to tell me

I try to imagine from time to time,

what else enters the receiver section between

your ears other than the chore of shaking down

the automatic food dispenser the way you

used to harass me every morning by

sticking your paw into any exposed orifice and

swatting at my temples, maybe

I shouldn’t have bought the model with

the little window displaying all that potential

Fame Comes Knocking

Posted on February 15, 2022

My doorbell doesn’t work and nor does the buzzer. Hasn’t worked for ages, and I like it that way. People ask me how do you….? For a short while my downstairs neighbor was very obliging. But then she went, like so many have gone before, and now I have a downstairs neighbor who won’t open the street door. I don’t know his first name, but I noticed from the mail in his box that he is the owner of a bike delivery service. Maybe he’ll stick around more than five months. But back to the story, some time ago my downstairs neighbor, then a young exuberant Italian woman with a nose ring, buzzed open the street door. * A man stomped up two flights…

Four Poems

Posted on November 7, 2021

Eli   on the floor recovering from yoga I listen to the marbled glass ceiling light the waves playing a soundtrack from a 1980’s cult movie old world Baba Cool – Only a handful of people I know would probably remember that film   and today on The Other Side of the World my friend buried her son. Biking Mater Nostrae Plump mound of Venus Orange lace legs Toffee colored saddle Thrusting nose Denim mini dress Pregnant belly High heels pumping Amsterdam The Time When I Brought Chengdu Peaches to Singapore Between my fingers this poem not so distant from a peach   Peel it hang it below one nostril wok fragrance in other nostril   Have you ever tasted the swollen peaches of…

Leaving the USA Sept 2021

Posted on October 24, 2021

The pedestrian lobbed A thick gob of spit at the taxiWe were on 3rd, up a bit, almost at 34th“Fucking dickhead,” the walker yelledThe taxi driver didn’t flinchTwenty six years drivingA cab around New York City,His career move from Russia,Some guy in a tee-shirt screamingProfanities at him in the middle Of the street just as he was Heading towards JFK About to get some country air….so….AnywayBehind the wheel the Russian perked upSeeing that cute white Nissan sportscarEven accelerated a bit, switching lanesTo follow a little closer maybeAlready forgetting about the traffic ticketHe got on Hudson after I climbed inTardy seat belt maneuver and the copsWatching, nodding at me “Ma’am” As they approached the taxi Pulled over on top of a bunch of white lines,Pretty…

Three Poems

Posted on August 27, 2021

Germany in August Listen now In the meadow near Old sheep stalls Musicians performing Mosquitos dancing – Take up knitting The suggestion came For the singer songwriter Less rhyming, More sequence. – Out of touch I ordered A whatever schnapps. Last week I inherited music from Larry Fishkind. He was a one of a kind tuba player. Unknown to him he graciously bequeathed to me a short stack of scores folksongs, Christmas carols Copeland Americana All without words. Socks It’s timeFor new onesA binary orbitStar adventureOne foot in tuneWith the other

A Poem

Posted on November 21, 2019

Wet Noodle

We’re playing at wet noodle

my dog and I

because no one is watching.

She threw up

I limped home after physical therapy

We can be nauseous and upset

all we want

together as overcooked pasta

her body glued onto mine in this chair.

This is a good reality

much better than pretending we’re fine

someplace else

forced to

accommodate secret blows

covert bashings.

No holding up a false picture of bliss

around here.