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Karin Schimke
Born
South Africa
Website
Twitter
Genre
Karin Schimke isn't a Goodreads Author
(yet),
but they
do have a blog,
so here are some recent posts imported from
their feed.
REVIEW: Hitler, Verwoerd, Mandela and me
Hitler, Verwoerd, Mandela and Me – A Memoir of Sorts Marianne Thamm Tafelberg REVIEW: Karin Schimke The age of identity politics has ushered a strange medley of ghosts into our lives. Strange, because they sit so uncomfortably together, at once
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Man Down (Rogue, #2)
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published
2013
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12 editions
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Red Tide
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published
2015
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4 editions
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The Karen Book of Rules
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Bare and Breaking
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published
2012
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2 editions
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Navigate
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Open: an erotic anthology by South African women writers
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published
2008
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African Innovations (JAWS: Science and Technology)
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published
2011
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Contraception and Prevention
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published
2011
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The Internet (JAWS: Science and Technology)
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published
2011
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![[(Bare and Breaking)] [Auth...](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1697921208i/157105427._SY75_.jpg)
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[(Bare and Breaking)] [Author: Karin Schimke] published on (April, 2012)
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“...and only if your wounds let me
I will stand beside you
in the black cold cave
and let fireflies nest my hair.”
―
I will stand beside you
in the black cold cave
and let fireflies nest my hair.”
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“Ninth Floor
she ran across the parquet slipped the flokati mat
crashed the window
no
she stood at the window prism looked up at sky bruise night
spread her
no
she tilted dived swanning spinning
tip-toed ink air broke fingers first
no
she climbed the small gap the window gave
hung her finger joints clotted the view with frightened breath
fell ligament torn and sorry
no
she wandered to the glass hatch to watch tranquilised lights sputtering
leaned too hard fell faster than a bottle of Jack
no
this is how it was:
drunk screaming she crashed the parquet with grief
roared the ungiving window frames which gave
she spangled spaghetti-like ribbon-voiced
street lights crashed on her
no.
She did nothing.”
―
she ran across the parquet slipped the flokati mat
crashed the window
no
she stood at the window prism looked up at sky bruise night
spread her
no
she tilted dived swanning spinning
tip-toed ink air broke fingers first
no
she climbed the small gap the window gave
hung her finger joints clotted the view with frightened breath
fell ligament torn and sorry
no
she wandered to the glass hatch to watch tranquilised lights sputtering
leaned too hard fell faster than a bottle of Jack
no
this is how it was:
drunk screaming she crashed the parquet with grief
roared the ungiving window frames which gave
she spangled spaghetti-like ribbon-voiced
street lights crashed on her
no.
She did nothing.”
―
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