desperation crawls under her skin and robs her of worth not one ray of sunshine is left to show her where to go and find the light that night’s bleakest hour hides in that infinite sad while before dawn all she hears are the tacit words that bruise her heart words that break her and leave her nothing but the cruelest spurning of her self and no other choice than to cede her soul to the dark
Tagged: #amwriting, Anselm Kiefer, melancolia, Poem, Sunshine, YA literature
the sternum cracked from the inside alveoli plugged with broken stone sand cement water my brain taut with blood thoughts judgments incoherent rambling pushing to where I can’t go so I stay nameless invisible alone and die
Tagged: #amwriting, Mina Witteman, Revision, San Francisco, Sunshine, YA
the soles of my shoes scuff black-spotted concrete pavers i wind my way past withered faces tied up bags a crumpled newspaper never read city doves flock the streets innumerable like the homeless equally maligned i slip into gough’s sanctuary sit and listen to the opening of my heart i watch the smile inside my eyes and strain to look beyond the vagrant paintings from outside
I love writing! Particularly in a month like this, with the Spanish translation of Mia’s Nest – El nido de Mia – coming out with Panamericana in Colombia. They delivered a truly gorgeous book with the awesome work of one of the most talented author/illustrators I know, Angela Peláez Vargas. And yesterday Boreas en de duizend eilanden – Boreas and the Thousand Islands – had its book birth, which made me super happy. Both books are on their way to San Francisco and I can’t wait to hold them in my hands, my book babies. I hate writing, too! On nights like this, when I wake up at 2:30 am with my brain reeling like a kite caught in a tailspin, because I remember something my muse must’ve whispered…
My apartment is in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. And Tenderloin is, as a friend said, a bit dodgy. If I walk home from the library, I don’t even have to look around to know that I’m nearing my block: the air changes from a light kale-and-goat’s-cheese infused richesse to the dense odor of human waste that heralds the vast number of homeless that scurry around. It’s an odor that seems to envelop you, that tries to cling to your skin. Does that scare me? Yes and no. During daytime, I’m fine. The homeless are fairly harmless and we slowly get to know each other. I pass by small gatherings of men and women hanging around a former hotel, now a shelter-like facility for the homeless,…
Tagged: #amwriting, Homeless, San Francisco, Taxes, Tenderloin
a terminus spews travelers out into the city’s streets i jump a line and fly the five to where le nuit debout resides, encircled by black uzis from my camp four stories high i count the stairs and steps to anselm kiefer’s looming lines that suck me in and spin my brain through barren scenes of leaden books, burned and black, that dot a paint-encrusted field of snow paul celan recites his strophes the muse climbs up me silently i am alone and wonder if my words shall survive the summer
Tagged: #amwriting, Anselm Kiefer, Aschenblume, Ash Flower, le nuit debout, Paris, Paul Celan
an elm tree stands oblivious of the misery in my witless brain its bark rutted with waterfalls of moss and mould that suck up sap buds the color of crimson crowd its branches festering wounds ready to burst a swift breeze whips quicksilver over chocolate water eyes that mock and flee similitudes of the words that mock and flee my pen before I can ink them in a line a boat floats by fingers point sunglasses stare up cameras snap as if they can capture the illusive muse and me in an embrace of body and mind a display of fire that feeds me the final scenes and carries me to the climax of a novel that gutted my soul
Tagged: #amwriting, Amsterdam, canal, Herengracht, Mina Witteman, muse, YA
Mina Witteman 