LESSONS IN LOVE

“You are a bitch,
Like your mother”
She said,
And I nodded
Inanely as if
I hardly understood
What she meant.

I’d recently found
Being quiet
And looking stupid
Had served me
In good stead.

Besides, I was five;
And not supposed
To get the subtleties
Involved, or the
Acid hate distilled
In her voice.

So I picked up
The ball of twine
And quietly began
To wind and wind.
After a while
She almost smiled.
“Thank you,” she said.

And that was when
I first realized:
A modicum
Of approval
Was to be had.

If I could not
Be loved
I could be
Useful
Instead.

Manuela Cardiga

LOVE BE THOU BLIND: VALENTINE WAS JUST ANOTHER SHITTY SELFISH SCHMUCK

The reason
We have a day
That will stay
Forever
Dedicated in the
Collective mind
To the sublime
Experience
Of romantic love,
Is because
The poor girl
Who loved
Valentine
Was blind.

Manuela Cardiga

SPRING WILL BE FAIR
AND MAD AS A MARCH HARE

My Oracle said
It is the best
And worse of times,
With the Moon rising
In the empty quarter
Of every heart;
The season of goodbyes,
When Constellations align
And spin in the skies
And in our minds.

She drew me
The card of Science,
Swords plunged
In the heart of a Rose;
Oh but then
Her fingers caressed
The Nine of Cups,
Joy and abundance
Flowing out,
And cried:

“The Happiness Card!
It is the Sun
In Splendour
Rising high
To herald
A new beginning
And bless
The Ides of March!”


Manuela Cardiga

DADDY'S GIRLS III

Good daughters
Make bad wives.
And that, my child,
Is a great truth.
(or at least the daughters
of good fathers do)

They see
Too clearly
For comforting lies,
And whatever
Billy Joel says?
Honesty does
Not strengthen
The ties
Of passion
In the same
Adorable fashion
As saccharine
Smiles.

Anouk, now,
She had it right!
Screaming
Snarling
Spitting
“Nobody’s
WIFE!”

To give you
A perfect example:
I once said
To this man
As frankly
As only
The daughter
Of a good
Father can:
“Darling ,
Do you know?
As a man?
Ethically?
I thought you
Stood taller!”

As you can
Imagine
That marriage
Did not get
A single day
Older...

So daughters
Of good fathers,
Take my advice:
Good daughters
Make bad wives.


Manuela Cardiga

Existential shit I just spout once in a while

What wears us out, both the physical and spiritual heart, is bending under burdens the soul cannot accept.

Our will enforces the bearing of crushing weights, and so we hitch those traces to our shoulders and take another, and then another dragging step.

We deem ourselves strong, we revel in the fortitude of our will, our unflinching dedication to thankless duty; and all that time, our hearts wear out.

Manuela Cardiga

MANscapes - Journey into Light by Manuela Cardiga

“When we have been abused, as you and I were, Clara; some part of us learns to believe we are unworthy and undeserving of love. So we give ourselves to people like Walker. Who will love us, oh yes…But…It is not good love, Clara. It is vampire love. Love that will hurt and burden us; that will syphon off our energies, feed on our souls.” Sylvine’s gentle fingers stroked back Clara’s hair from her forehead and her temples, where it clung, damp with tears. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “So we tell ourselves the story of unconditional love. We will give, and give unstintingly; and then one day, that magical love will transform the undeserving into deserving.” She paused, “But you see, Clara, the undeserving we wish to transform by that giving is ourselves.”

Clara turned her face deeper into Sylvine’s cradling form,
“No…”

“Yes. True transformation will only happen –happiness Clara!- when we learn to accept someone else’s gift. When we finally accept we deserve that very same love we so doggedly give and give with no return.”

5.0 out of 5 stars Beautiful and compelling! 

August 9, 2014

By Elise de Sallier

Format:Kindle Edition

"Manuela Cardiga’s Manscapes is beautifully written - so descriptive. Her evocative writing brings the scenery and the character's emotions to life. But it's a sad and painful tale- it made me cry - a lot - which is testament to the author’s wonderful storytelling ability. Manscapes is a captivating story about the reality of so many women, and thought it is a painful journey, it does end in hope."

MANscapes ONE CLICK AWAY

BE QUIET,  I'M TRYING  NOT TO CRY

I want
To go home
And watch
The tugging wind
Play tag and tumble;
And fumble under
The skirts of
The blushing
Namaqualand daisies,
Shedding their petals
By the side
of some road.

I just want to go home.


Manuela Cardiga

A poem for the moon-dark eclipse. One dark night pays for all, and tomorrow we awaken to a new dawn.

LAST NIGHT'S MOON
SHONE OVER-BRIGHT

I think most nights

I dream sweet
Odd dreams
Woven into
Bizarre imaginings.
The kind virgin maidens
Once swooned
And mooned over;
Fools' dreams.

When the sun rises
I take them
And drape
Them around
My shoulders
So when

The harshest light
Of scalding noon
Falls bright and white
And shows too much
(oh every cruel detail.)
Those are the dreams
I use to veil
The harshest
Contours
Of my reality.

I have seen

So much of it.
Reality.
Too much.
And soon, I think,
Will see even more.

Does it make me weak
If I sometimes need

And so long
To believe?
Just for an hour.

Is it too much
To ask that between
This noon and dusk
There be one brief hour
When can I rest my eyes
From bitter sight?
A place to lay
My head and heart.

Most nights I dream,
But not last night.
Last night's Moon
Shone over-bright
And because I am
The thing that I am;
(much as I insist 

on conjuring up
that self-deceiving veil)
My eyes do not fail
To see what is or isn't
As the case may be,
And just as I cannot
Lie to others,
I cannot lie to me.

Last night the moon
Became a mirror
Brightened to a perfect
Sheen by the wine;
Shinning bright
With a pitiless
Mocking light,
And showed me
The cruel reflexion
Of the ill-made-night.

Manuela Cardiga

I HAVE A SPLINTER IN MY PALM

I offer up myself again,
For nothing in return.
I stand here
With my hands full
Of all the little pebbles
And odd things in boxes:
The ribbons and pearls,
Fragments of sea-glass,
And bright bottle tops,
A scale from a dragon,
And a splinter from a wheel
Of a Voortrekker waggon.

I offer these up,
All these childish
Treasures
I have gathered,
And I tremble
Least I see them
Scattered
Or mocked.

These words
And dreams;
These foolish schemes
And baubbles,
They are all
I've got.

I have no more
Of value to offer,
Add or give.
And none
Of my treasures
Counted up
Are enough
To buy me
One spark of love.

But still I
Stretch out my hand,
Open my mind,
What ever the cost.
And if the dream be lost
It will not be the first
Nor the last.


Manuela Cardiga

OLIVER TWIST  IS THE MAN FOR ME

Every man

I have ever met
Has always
Needed me
To be LESS.

Less funny,
Less bright,
Less intense.
Just LESS.

Less SOMETHING.
Some can't
Actually articulate
What it might be.
They just know
That what ever it is
That I am
Is more
Than they are
Comfortable with,
So the request
Is always for LESS.

But now, after years
Of trying to please
I am finally tired.
So I must
Advise you,
Dear friend,
I have discovered
To my distress
That I cannot.
And will NOT
be LESS.

In fact this
Will likely appal?
But I have decided
To ask for MORE.

So if all that I am
Is just too much?
Don't worry, darling,
All it probably means
Is that YOU
Are not enough!


Manuela Cardiga