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Thursday, 31 July 2014

"MANSCAPES" My new book, now on PRE-ORDER on AMAZON!

"All women - from the most exquisite beauty to the plainest drab - want to believe in the Cinderella myth. Even the harsh-faced and sour-hearted, somewhere deep in their night-time struggles with their bitterest reality, dare to dream some Prince could still see past the dense veil of unkind nature and time, to the delicate, frail-hearted beauty within."

But Clara wasn't Cinderella, waiting for her Prince, she was Sleeping Beauty poisoned by a deadly kiss. After 24 years Clara awakens from a living nightmare of abuse and discovers her life unfolding miraculously; but the true miracle is her own blossoming: the maturing of a frightened abused girl into a strong woman capable of love, laughter and joy. In Tahiti's exotic landscape Clara finds her way from darkness to incandescent light, embracing in herself the strength of choice, and the power of decision. MANscapes is a powerful parable of hope and renewal, a story of one woman's discovery of herself and her journey into love.


SLUTS AND SLATTERNS SEX-WORKER'S UNION REPRESENTATIVE COMPLAINS ABOUT "GUILTY PLEASURES"

In an exclusive interview, SSSWU Representative "Lecherous Labia" (nome d'amour) confided:

"Look, men always complained their wives didn't understand them? They wanted blow jobs, or anal sex? That we could handle. All we had to do was deal with the penis, right? SO NOW OUR LIVES ARE COMPLETELY SCREWED UP! These guys are coming in whining that their wives won't give them NIPPLE JOBS! This bloody woman added a new erogenous zone to the male bod! SHE MUST BE STOPPED!"

On a personal note, this reporter was shocked to find her sound-man crouched behind the van panting and fondling his nipples. On being berated for unprofessional behaviour he replied:
"Fuck off bitch! Haven't had this much fun since my first wank!"

This reporter then complained to the Station Manager who seemed a little abstracted, constantly patting at his substantial man-tits and licking his lips.

"GUILTY PLEASURES - The Food and Fornication Fables" 
by Manuela Cardiga

THIS BOOK MUST BE BANNED!

Wednesday, 30 July 2014

ANDROID ARDOUR

I dreamed
That desire
Was a quiet
Lovesome thing;
Such tender fire
Promised
He to me,
Such words
Of passion
From his lips
Did sing:

"Yield to me
Let fear now sleep,
Look deep into
My eyes
Oh love
Drink deep..."

And then...
Oh then
My bruised
And lonely soul
Did weep,
Alas my joy
Was fleet,
And all
Too brief
Cause that's
When I heard
His bloody
Cell- phone
Beep.


Manuela Cardiga
Charity, or Solidarity, as it is now fashionably called, is practiced only by the poor. The rich do "creative tax evasion".

Manuela Cardiga

Sunday, 27 July 2014

This is an old poem, but goes to the central question every person asks of God, be it the inner or outer deity we believe in: WHY?

This is an old poem, but goes to the central question every person asks of God, be it the inner or outer deity we believe in: WHY?

GOD'S SILENCE

God fell silent,
He did not speak.
And at that silence
Dark angels weep:
"Are thou so lofty God
Wilt thou not speak?"

But God was silent
And Darkness cried
"Even I, even I betray
My willful blindness
And witness this,
Where is thy
Outrage, oh God,
I beg thee speak!"

But God
Was shamed
And did not speak,
Could not,
Would not
Did not
Speak.

"If thou wilt
Not speak,
Oh God,
Bow thy head;
Show regret,
At least.
At least,
Oh God ,
I beg thee,
Weep."


Manuela Cardiga

Saturday, 26 July 2014

A dear old friend passed away last night. A boy I knew since childhood. A beautiful boy called Gus. His passing made me realise how short life is, how frail, how ephemeral and how little time we have to waste. I don't want to count pain, or anger, or complaints of life's unfairness anymore.

I want to count life.
Days worth while; days filled with love, days worth remembering, days that count.
Let that be the algebraic equation of our lives.
Let us live now, now that we are alive.
Let us live while it counts.


Manuela Cardiga

Friday, 25 July 2014

"Life is a blend of light and dark, but we hold in our hands - and in our hearts- the power to add colour, fire and desire to the darkest night. " Sylvine handed her the delicate cup, "All we need is will. Oh, and courage of course! Because...Why, because sometimes we are so much more comfortable in the dark, clinging to the familiarity of our old pain; we would rather wallow in despair than risking the blaze of the awakening light."

"MANscapes"
by Manuela Cardiga

THE HYSTERICAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY DEMANDS: BAN THIS BOOK!

NEVER has historical fiction been so INACCURATE, so FUNNY, or so RAUNCHY!

"DESIRE'S DETECTIVE" is a DISGRACE
to the time-honoured and very respectable  
Boring Historical Novel Genre!

THE  HYSTERICAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY DEMANDS:

BAN this BOOK!



Monday, 21 July 2014

To the wake-up call we women need to listen to before we put on our make-up and step into those power heels...

MANIFESTO OF AN ALL-AMERICAN FEMINIST FASHION ACTIVIST

Thank God I'm
So thin this year,
So I can slip
Into those new
Donna Karan
Summer shift-dresses?
At 300 dollars a piece,
It was an absolute steal!
I got one in every shade,
(except for that yellow plaid)

What do you mean?
The Rape Of the Garment Trade?

I only buy American!
And don't we stand for
Free Trade?
For Fair Trade?
For a Fair Wage?

It's all there in the label
In the little letters
Right under
The Washing Instructions?
And I KNOW those
Are very accurate,
Beause once
I didn't follow?
And just RUINED
A Ralph Lauren
Shirt-waister
In this utterly lovely
But very fragile
Silk-linen mix...

Don't you DARE!
I AM SO NOT
A BITCH!
I do so care
About the girls
In the factory
In Bangladesh!

I saw that last night!
An absolute fright,
I was so touched
By their plight?

By the way,
I wonder
How they keep
That thin,
Season out,
Season in?

Manuela Cardiga


Sunday, 20 July 2014

We crave love-making beyond procreation because it is the closest we come to union with a particle of our Maker.

'n POP VIR KLEIN PETRUS KLEIN

Daar is 'n pop en
'n Model trein
In 'n doos.

Petrus, Klein Petrus,
Klein Petrus Klein

Sy Mamma gil:
"Nee Petrus, nee!
Kleine kêrels moet nie
Met poppe speel nie!"

Petrus, Klein Petrus,
Klein Petrus Klein

Hy kan nie,
Kan nie
Will nie verstaan,
Hoekom?
Hoekom nie?
Hy draai die kop
Van die pop.
Hy maak haar dood.

Petrus, Klein Petrus,
Klein Petrus Klein

Daar is ´n meisie
´n Pop-meisie
Op die trein
"Min jy, min jy,
Min jy my?"

"Ja, Petrus, Klein Petrus,
Klein Petrus Klein"

Petrus Klein Petrus
Sit met sy vrou
Op die stoep:
Hy draai sy
Pop-gesig
Hierna toe,
Daarna toe.

"Nee, Petrus," lag sy
Klein Petrus Klein,
Ek is nie ´n pop nie,
Jy kan nie so met
my speel..."

Maar Petrus, Klein Petrus,
Klein Petrus Klein

Hy kan nie
Kan nie
Will nie verstaan;
Hy draai die kop
Van sy pop.
Hy maak haar dood.


Manuela Cardiga

Roman Phase: Military ways, now-a-days, or back in the days.

WHISPERS FROM A FALLEN EAGLE

Tomorrow
I say goodbye
To my wife.
I will strap on
My caligula,
My helmet, my pack
Turn my back
On putrid Rome.

The Quarter-Master
Gave me a dented
Helm, with the felt
Rotted and mended
And when I complained
He politely explained:
"You Capita Cenci
Arses want to walk
In and make
Demands?
You want comfort,
Something
To fit just right?
You go
To the Subburra
Get yourself fucked
There instead;
Here you lucky
I don't break your
bloody head!"

So I left
And here I am.
Publicani,
Pour me another!

Yes, tomorrow
I say goodbye
To my wife;
We're headed North,
North, with Varus,
Cause Augustus
He is taking
This measuring
Up to his Daddy
Real serious.

Great Caesar, now!
There was a man!
Ate with us,
Marched with us,
Fought and bled with us.
Once he even joined us
In this place in Alexandria...

Never mind that!
He was a man.
Him?
I would have followed
To any land.

These Germans, now...
They not like the Gauls,
Or the Italians,
Good warrior folks.

These blokes
Won't shame us
Under the yoke:
If we lose,
They take
Our heads off
With a single
Stroke.

So tomorrow I say
Goodbye to my wife.
I'm a bit nervous
And it's not like
I'm new to the life;
Third stint
With the Legions:
A thirty year man.
But this time...

I don't know why.
It could be
That Varus
Isn't worth a wart
On Caesars cock;
His Senate stock
Is higher, and his
Cognomen prouder
Than his military
Roll of honour.
(though mind you
Caesar was a Patrician,
And a  real one too)

But enough of that!
I still got some
Things to pack
And tomorrow
I say goodbye
To my life.

Manuela Cardiga

Saturday, 19 July 2014

There are no heroes in defeated armies, history moves on.

VETERAN OF THE LOST WAR

They said:
These a true man
Holds
Most Holy
His Soul
His Land
His Love
God Only

For these
He fights,
Strives,
Survives
The odds;

Does any
Dirty ugly
Jobs,
So put
Away
Those toys
For these,
Those are
For boys.

So you,
For these things-
Sacrificed
Betrayed
Defiled
Denied
Your Soul
Most Holy
Self alone.

The blood-rain
Stained
Your hands,
And on your face
You could find
No trace
Of the boy
You were;
He was
No longer
There.

They said:
"You Sacrificed
Betrayed
Defiled
But now all this
Must be denied;
We did not know,
We were not there,
The communication
Was not clear.."

And this ultimate
Betrayal: a smile,
So innocent of intent;
"You understand,
We are proud,
My boy, proud...
But don't ever speak
Our names out loud."

So you walk away
Deprived
Of all a man
Holds Holy
His Soul
His Land
His Love
God Only

But I say:
These I hold
Most Holy
This man's
Soul;
His courage,
His greatest
Glory
Let me be
His Land
His Love
God Only

No stain or taint
Defile him;
And on his face
Surfaces
The tender joy
Of the slow
Awakening
Of a man-boy.


Manuela Cardiga

MANGROVE LOVE

The mud-skipper
Rolls a gold
Ocular globe
And pauses mid
Stuttering-stride
Watching
The slow-flow
Of the heaving
Salt-tongued sea
Slipping through
The aching arch
Of straining
Muscular roots
Held up, up,
Up, upright;

Watches with
Voyeur-delight
The mangrove
Making tender
Tidal love
To the slender
Swooning
Sickle moon

Manuela Cardiga

SENSUALITY AND SEXUALITY

The sensually Awakened are not promiscuous. Quite the opposite: in fact, they are even more selective than the ascetics. Promiscuity is a symptom of the frustrated frantically searching for fulfilment, be it emotional or sexual; and which is always - always - just out of their reach.

The Awakened demand a richer meal: a delicate balance of love, humour and desire in their lives - and in their beds - which cannot be provided by the casual, and casually satisfied, visits of transient carnal desires.

I challenge you to a little experiment: step forward in your own flesh. Abandon the fortress you carved out for yourself in your skull. Slide along your skin. Feel how your flesh moves in the world, and how the world moves around you. Become: be awake-aware in that osmotic barrier permeable to sensations and dreams that is your skin. Press yourself forward to your lips, from the inside feel the flutter of your mouth; the slow watery stirring of your tongue. Open your eyes. Your real eyes. Inhabit your body, encase it, rather than be encased by it. Awaken. Awakened you are living NOW, completely. Not yesterday with its pains, or tomorrow, with its fears; you live NOW with a promise of dizzy revelation.

Don't be afraid to embrace yourself - your senses- in this way. The Awakened wholeness of spirit-flesh you become is so in love with life and itself it holds every moment too precious to waste. The Awakened are, by nature and necessity, chaste.

Manuela Cardiga

Thursday, 17 July 2014

WHAT WOMEN DO INSTEAD

Oh sacrosanct
Flesh plundered

Oh sacrosanct
Tower tumbled
Humbled by
Vicious power
Oh flower
Despoiled
Destroyed

Oh sacrosanct
Shattered
Screams unheard
Pearls of tender pride
Scattered
Ripped stripped
Of virile joy

Oh sacrosanct
Laid low
Oh bitter biter-blow
The taste and smell
And touch of it
The unending
Memory-vision
Sight of it

Oh sacrosanct
Chest embraced
Close-cradled:
Why oh why?
Did I by smile
Or word or deed
Invite this spite?

Oh sacrosanct
Do they
(will they) know?
Does it show?
(oh that final
hideous sound
that grunting moan)

Will they know?
Will they all know?
(I screamed
for mercy
under that blow)

"Get up
Get up
Get up
Get out of bed;
Do what women
Do instead:
Raise high
Your head.
Did you think
Yourself sacrosanct
Precious alloy?
Your flesh sacred
Exempt?"

"Get out of bed.
Do what women
Do instead.
Straighten that spine!
Will you repine?
Cradle the sick-pup
Of your male pride?
The only sacrosanct part,
What they cannot
Reach with a prick
Or tear apart
Is your heart"

"So get out of bed;
Do what women
Do instead,
Go home to your wife,
Get on with your life."

So I did
What the woman said.
I got out of bed.


Manuela Cardiga

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

NARCYSSUS SMILED, ECHO DIED

your greed
to be
the centre
of attention
and affection
counts
no cost

your creed
in the saving
grace
of your own face
gives you
leave
to act
at will.

you feed
your will,
and savour
the power;
you feed me
the flavour
of this bitter pill
and I cower

there is no
choice,
for me
no choice:
this moment
brings no choice

but oh the next
as yet untainted
by regret,
is mine
not yours.

so I bow,
I bow before
your frown,
I cower before
your power.

do as you will
feed your need
your creed
by every deed

I let it go
I let you go.
I let no more
anger grow in me,
 no more:
I give you
your victory

but I pity you,
I pity your passion
for your own
shallow reflection;

I pity your need
for the sound
of Echo,
the echo
"no will but yours
no will
no will
no will..."

you hear
that musical tone?
it explains
why you are
so ultimately
alone.


Manuela Cardiga


LAST DAY!

Manuela Cardiga's 

"GUILTY PLEASURES - The Food and Fornication Fables" 


FABULOUS SUMMER PROMO ENDS TODAY!



What's been said...


Elise de Sallier 
Best-seling romantic Author of "Innocence" and "Protection"

The very first page of Guilty Pleasures saw me laughing out loud. By the last page I was close to tears. In between was a beautiful, engaging, colourful, delicious, funny, enthralling, gut-wrenching, erotic and heart-warming ride. The characters were multi-dimensional, the plot unique, and the storytelling an absolute delight. Thank you Manuela Cardiga for this fabulous story!

***

Elana Sabharwal 
Author of "The Delhi Deception"

Debut author, Manuela Cardiga, arouses all senses in her stunning novel of epicurean and sexual pleasures. Guilty Pleasures is hilarious, entertaining and erotic. Cardiga has an uncanny understanding of our deep rooted emotions and relationship with all thing pleasureful, but guilt inducing. Her main protagonists are wonderfully flawed, yet at heart, both as courageous and romantic as long forgotten princesses and knights in shining armor. Beautifully written, in at times Victorian-like prose, Guilty Pleasures is a must read and will surely satisfy most readers' hedonistic side.

***

Janet Grace Riehl
Poet and Author of "Sightlines: A Poet's Diary"

Cardiga's writing is rollicking and elegant--a rare combination. Her wry humour, careful observations, imagination, and erotic evocations redefine and expand our understanding of sensuality--found anywhere we are open to it.At heart "Guilty Pleasures" explores a time-honoured theme: If love opens us--spilling out both our beauties and secrets--can we embrace our fragility and that of the person we love? "Guilty Pleasures" graces us with literary layering. We see Lance Packard's book "Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate" become a sensitive manual on how to fully love a woman and make her happy. I'll definitely be handing that to my next lover! Cardiga has given us a world that's a joy for readers to belong to, and inspiration to take back to our real life worlds when we close the cover.

But dont't take their word for it...


SAY YOU LOVE ME

I wonder If my hunger
Makes me weak
Makes me meek
Makes me speak

I wonder if in my desire
For some fire;
For belief,
To be entire,
I make of you a liar

I wonder why I seek it out:
Beg for it
Kneel for it
Plead for it
Weak and meek
And slick
For it,

I wonder if what
I do is trick
And teach
Your mouth to speak
The plausible lie
For which
My soul so aspires.


Manuela Cardiga


Tuesday, 15 July 2014

Happy Mother's Day to you all...and a special thanks to my daughter for having chosen me for her own.

INÊS

She's mine,
Mine

She's mine
I remember
Cradling
Her through
The dense veil
Of my flesh
Wondering feeling
That strange
Stirring

She's mine,
I remember
The unfolding
Blossom-hand
Petal-fingers
Most fragile
Ferocity
Of love.

She's mine,
And leaps high
In my sight
Yesterday,
For one second
I glanced aside
Just last night
And I see
She left me
Behind

She's mine,
Not mine

She's taken
The world and
Turned it
Inside out:
Petal-heart
Blossom-face
Strange ferocity
Of grace

Fragile-tensile
Strength
Of mind,
She's hers
Herself
Alone
And she
Claims me:

I am hers,
Though she
Is no longer
Mine.

Manuela Cardiga

Monday, 14 July 2014

DON'T MISS IT!!!

Manuela Cardiga's

Guilty Pleasures 

SUMMER PROMO
Ends 
TOMORROW!



WORD SALAD WITH A MODENA VINEGAR DRESSING AND OLIVE OIL OF THE FIRST PRESSING

I am waiting
Waiting to unfold
Unbend
Stop
The pretend

I am waiting
Waiting to be bold
Take hold
Of the moment
Take  or 
Lose control

I am waiting
Waiting to discover
Unfold
Unbend
Be bold
Take hold
And maybe,
May be
Be a lover.

Manuela Cardiga

EK PRAAT DIE TAAL

Môre, Meneer,
Liefste Mevrou:
I'm a good honest girl,
And a clean living "vrou"
I ain't got nothing
Interesting in my bed,
As a matter of fact
My "suikerbos"
Is dead...

I don't "vreet wors"
I don't "praat" flirty
And I'd never ever
Do nothing dirty;
But see, "die volk"
Must procreate,
So even though
I really hate
This whole
Sex thing?
I close my eyes
Breathe real deep
And scream:
"For Sarie Marais,
Van Riebeck and all
Come on Koos!
Lets have a ball!"


Manuela Cardiga

SELLING ROMANCE AT THE CAFFÉ OF "LAST CHANCE"

Flirt with a glance:
Give love to life
And life to love;
And breath
To no-regret,
Cause tomorrow
You may just
Be dead.

Manuela Cardiga

Sunday, 13 July 2014

MATRIMONY PATRIMONY ALIMONY

I want a fool
Just like the fool
That married my Ma
(and I don't mean
My Pa!)

I mean a cool
Investment tool...
You know, the kinda
Guy who leaves
You with smile
When you finally
Get him to say
"Goodbye"

What do you mean?
Earn my own life?
Break my nails?
Risk the strife
Of daily work life?

DARLING!!!
Don't be such
A sanctimonious bitch!
I done my bit!
I married RICH,
I'm now looking
For Number Two,
And I'm trying
To teach silly you
To do it too!


Manuela Cardiga
TO POETS: TO MAKE THE MOST OF RHYME

God did not gift us
To whisper seduction
But to scream from the rooftops
Words of discomfort:
Make them laugh,
Make them wince,
BUT LET'S MAKE THEM THINK

Manuela Cardiga

IT'S NOT HIGH ART

Comedy and Tragedy
Are as close and apart
As Life and Death
A scream and a breath.

Manuela Cardiga
ZOMBIES IN LOVE

I want to crack open
The safe of bone
Where you use
Your intellect
To hone
Your passion:
Fashion desires,
Theories 
And rhymes.

I want to run
My avid tongue
Over the tremulous
Convolutions of
Your cerebellum:
Leave it pink
And sweet;
Slick-shinning
With my spit.

Manuela Cardiga

And last but not least, how to get ahead in today equal-opportunity for women world!!!!

EROTIC CAPITAL - A Tribute to Catherine Hakim

"Steady on those heels!"
The Sargent screams
"TITS OUT!
Stomach in!
Wiggle those hips
Show me some skin!"

"This here is
REAL LIFE
Not one of
Your stupid
Little girl dreams!
So you bitches
Thought an IQ
Was enough?
Forget it girls,
This world is
TOUGH!"

"You Grandmother
Picketed Capitol Hill
Burned her bra
And screamed for the Pill?
Read a "Woman's Room"
"The Female Eunuch"
And that made her cool?"

"Well gals, let me
Tell you-all the truth!
The New Rule
Is the same
As the OLD RULE!
You want to get ahead?
You gotta make men drool!"

"It's not enough that
You can out-think, out-work
Or out-drink the stupid dicks,
You got to entertain...
And I don't mean
With your brain."

"You gotta tint
Those nipples
And pout those lips!
And on that note...
Dismiss!"

"Go shave your legs
And don't even think
To miss ONE SPOT
I don't take slop
In my Company!
You-all be back
At OH-eight hundred,
Captain Divine
Will give us some tips
On how to use
Those lips
To get a-head.
YES! Number One
That was a pun!
I'm still a woman,
Sensitive and fun!
So get on the phone
And practice
A husky tone...
Its time to enrol
In the Erotic Capital
Patrol!"

Manuela Cardiga

Saturday, 12 July 2014

REVELATION THROUGH MEDITATION

The Sound
Of One Hand Clapping
Was the Guru
Wanking

GOD BE NOT PROUD

God, forgive me 
that I have learned
to love thee more
in this frail flesh -
alabaster shimmer,
fragile cup
holding a flicker
of thy
divine spark.

God forgive me
that i was so bold
as to have found
completeness
mirrored in
the spinning hope
of another
human spirit:
thy immortal soul


Manuela Cardiga

Friday, 11 July 2014

It's international woman's day, and I am going to post some poems about women, and their reality as I see it. This is how we start...

For all the women whose femininity is their greatest drawback because it makes them a marketable commodity:

LOVE IN MY HEAD,
SONG FROM MY BED

i want
i want
he moans
and in my head
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"

i stand
and cock my hip,
tits high and toned,
hair tousled
slightly stoned:
first customer
has purple lips
fat and shiny
with sequins
of spit.

i want
i want
he moans
and in my head
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"

after he's done,
uncle var-var comes
takes my money
bites my cheek
fucks me
and hits me
when i weep

i want
i want
he moans
and in my head
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"

it's all my fault
for being weak
for being afraid
to speak, to say
"no...i wont go"
when papa said:
"you go to work
it is far, but i spoke
to uncle var-var,
there's 6 of you
and i can't cope"

and so that night
when i felt him grope
i thought:
at least there
i will have hope;
it can't be worse
than this curse
of hearing
my father moan:

i want
i want
and in the next bed
my granny says
"young whores
don't make
old bones"


Manuela Cardiga

Thursday, 10 July 2014

OUT DAMNED SPOT!

You can imagine
My surprise
When my shrink
Just plain refused
To analyze
My new craving.

The man went raving
Mad- proverbially
Mad as a hatter!
Can you believe that?
And threw down
His notebook and pen
With a clatter,
Tore out his hair
And screamed:
“It does not matter
To me one jot
If a polka dot
Is a spot or a blot!”

Let me tell you
I was so shocked!
“Get out”
He screamed
“Out! For I swear,
You stupid bitch,
My trigger finger’s
Developed an itch
And I just can’t decide
If I blow you away,
Or beat you
Within an inch
Of your stupid
Futile life!”

I was a little miffed,
So I left, taking
With me all
My swatches
Of spots and dots,
And blotches?
Really,
I’m rather saddened.

My passion
For the beauty
Of patterned
Fabrics and
Decorating life
Is so ill-received
By a man trained
To perceive
The deeper truths of
The human psyche?

It is really very,
VERY sad.
Next week,
I will try gingham.
Surely he can’t
Find fault
With that?


Manuela Cardiga

MUCH HAVE I SEEN, FAR HAVE I TRAVELLED; ALWAYS BEFORE HAS TRUTH UNRAVELLED

(disappointed)
I stand with my head
To one side
Quizzical child:
Am I toy?

(disappointed )
I stand with my heart
Astride a divide:
Do I play?
Do I hide?

(disappointed)
I stand with my mind
In a bind:
I know it is
All a lie.

(disappointed)
I stand with my eyes
Opened wide:
I bide my time
And watch
For random
Reasons for
(disappointment)
In your smile.

Manuela Cardiga
SHORTCOMINGS

The best story
I ever heard
Was about a pig
And a poke.

Well,
A pig IN a poke.

Cause see,
When we talk
About Piggy-Heaven?
What the old folk
Never spoke
About was…

Well, Piggy Orgasm, see?
And we not talking about
SHORTCOMINGS here,
But about thirty
Bloody minutes
Of wedded bliss!

If you somehow miss
The point?
PIGS DON’T SUFFER
FROM PREMATURE
EJACULATION!

And to add to it all,
Lady Pigs, here-forth
Referred to as SOWS,
Who, quite unlike
The poor cows
Or female humans
Engage in an anatomical
Wonder known as
The UP-SUCK
When stimulated so
Ably to ecstasy
By the Piggy-Poke
(not to be confused
With a human reaction
Known as 
The UP-CHUCK
When inadequately served
By an under-par stroke,
Oh hell!
Let’s not be so coy,
A pretty bad fuck!


Manuela Cardiga

From 
"Shortcomings and Second Comings"





I WENT LOOKING FOR SHOES AND FOUND MY FEET

I WENT LOOKING FOR SHOES  AND FOUND MY FEET

I went looking for shoes
That felt right:
Satin (bright red)
Or skin untimely ripped
From dead
Crocodilian smiles,
I paid no mind.

I went looking for shoes
That combined
With the varying shades
Of my fickle mood
And flattered me the way
A good shoe should.

I went looking for shoes
To dance and romance in,
And attend to business
More bitter than the
Transient flicker
Of love in my life.

I went looking for shoes:
High stilettos
Or low mules,
Slippers with ribbons
Sandals with crystals
Or odd heels
Shaped like pistols.

I went looking for shoes
And looking down
Saw the odd delicacy
Of toes budding
And wiggling with delight
Grasping at the ground.

Like Dr. Frankenstein
I proclaimed:
"It's alive, alive!"
I think the shoe-salesman cried...

Manuela Cardiga


Wednesday, 9 July 2014

TWO VIRGINS - An Ode to John and Yoko


Come. 
Let us now set aside 
Our separate pasts
Here let us begin:
Two virgins.
No masks
Will I set before you,
Nor will you wear mine.

Let us set the stage
Here sit you, Sir, right there-
Now: pour out the wine
A toast and we shall
While away this very night
In high argument 
And metered rhyme.

Do your worst, 
Be not kind
Throw at me 
Your sharpest arrows
Lay caltrops fit to pierce 
My mincing pride,
Stretch my vanity 
On the vivid rack
Of your integrity.

I swear with equal passion 
I will reply
“Think you so to best me, Sirrah! 
Not I!”

Lean forward into the light
Bring down your brows
Fix well my face,
Ignore the vile distractions
As our traitor hands 
Conspire to trace
Another story 
In each others palms.
Ignore them!

Mold your discourse:
Oh I beg you 
Do your very worse
Bite out your every word 
With rapier grace;
Lay out your argument,
All the intricacies of lace.
Make me earn my victory,
So while our fervid minds contend
Our gentle fingers touch, 
And still we pretend.

I now lean in to deliver 
One final triumphant jibe,
And find my own hand blocks it
Fingers spread wide;
Hopelessly, helplessly 
Trying to hide,
My mouth - swollen 
And pregnant 
With kisses:
It also will not lie.


Manuela Cardiga


CROSS-ROADS

I choose.
Every day starts anew.
My gift, my choice.
So today I say:
This is the way,
The path I follow;
And who can say
Where I'll be tomorrow?

Here is a cross-roads,
An invitation to a new dance

Oh will you not
Take a chance?
Quick! That-a-away!
Will you not join me?
Or will you shy away?

When you flee from pain,
You hide from joy.
And even as I believe
You do but toy
With this odd choice
That I may be;
I choose to play,
I choose your path
For one more day.

And then tomorrow
Who can say?
I may choose
Another way.

Manuela Cardiga

SUMMONING A WILD WITCH-WIND

I tear up the old map and take another road.
I will set my feet on a shadowed lane
Perfumed by sweet verveine,
I kick off my shoes- I will feel
Barefoot my way on the tender green
And cut soles will bring me no greater pain
Than to the Mermaid who loved in vain:
Poor fool, who gave up her voice
And traded in her free life and choice
In the glassy wilds of the endless sea
For bloodied footsteps;
Such a thing is not for me.

I will walk and perhaps at the end of this very day
I will pause at some cross-roads
And let down my hair.
I will hold wide my arms to summon
And become a weather-vane
Follow my tumbled wind-tugged mane
Down another way
And there… who knows?
Perhaps, someday; a welcome-home,
Someone to lay claim to heart and soul.

Today we start again, free of past and stain:
Nothing, and no pain, is foreordained.


Manuela Cardiga

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

OK GUYS!!! GET READY!!!

'Cause have I got WRITER'S BLOCK for you!!!
(NO! I don't have Writer's Block! I resent that relieved sigh!)

I GOT A NEW BOOK...

"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It"


"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It" is about...
Well, Writer's Block.And being a writer. And loving writing, and words, and "w"s and all sorts of good and bad advice on writing and living. It's about beating the Bitch, winning and loving it.
And loving it even when you lose, writing, that is.

"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It" is a wry tongue-in-cheek take on Writer's Block: sometimes humorous, sometimes lyrical; always passionate about storytelling and storytellers.

"WRITER'S BLOCK - Licking It and Loving It" is dedicated to all of us out there living a desperate unrequited love with that fickle Lover, the written word.

CLICK ON THE LICK! (I mean, link...)


Poetry is your heart
Trying to pour itself out
Through the narrow slot
Of your mouth

Manuela Cardiga

NO EVIDENCE, NO CRIME - Poem and Illustration

NO EVIDENCE, NO CRIME

Do you all
Remember Alice?
Big-eyed Alice,
Chaste Alice,
With her blue ribbon
And her pretty dress?

How we were all
So impressed...
That Lewis Carroll
(such a kind man)
Took silly Alice
And made her a star.

Twinkle little Alice,
Twinkle from afar!
So Alice twinkled,
But I wonder
Did she cry?

When Uncle Lewis
(such a patient man)
Took her boating
Or walking in the park,
When his hands
Wandered so;
Or even just his eyes,
Did Alice shrink?

Was that
The magic potion
He made her drink?
The poison brew
To make her think
Something was wrong
Something absurd...

That she was a bad girl
Getting upset,
Raising a doubt,
When he was such
A kind, patient
(affectionate) man.

Yes, I think
He poured it out
Into a pretty chalice
And served it to us
With charm:
(such a witty man)
The pain and the fear
And bewilderment
Of silly Liddell Alice
And made himself
A star.

Manuela Cardiga



We are so completely conquered, we sincerely believe ourselves to be free.

Monday, 7 July 2014

The reason I absolutely adore History is that you can really dish out the dirt about the famous dead. They can't contradict you, and better yet, they can't SUE!

Manuela Cardiga

Sunday, 6 July 2014

TRIBUTE TO MR. HALLOWEEN, TIM BURTON!

FRANKENWEENIE

I know it sounds
So gruesome,
But I kept that body
On my bed
For a long
Long time.

It was a natural death,
And not a homicide,
So I figured
It was alright,
And no one
Would mind?

I kept it clean,
Kept it fed,
Made sure
It had breath?
Sort of a
Heimlich Manouver
To double time,
The Moonlight Sonata
For me worked just fine,
Kept me in rhythm?

So hands up...
In came the air
Hands down,
Push-push
A groan like despair..
(See, the air oozes out
And makes
This odd sound?)

So this one night
Joe stops by
Stood by my door
Looked kinda shy:
"Want some ice-cream?"
I looked up at him,
Then down at the bed,
At my hands curved
To that rib-cage
And I shook my head.
"I can't, I just can't!"

He nodded sadly
And smiled,
So I looked down again
At the thing on my bed,
(It was so dessicated
The torn heart
No longer bled red)
And so I got up
And took Joe's hand
Instead.

And that is how
It all happened.
I admit it,
I gave up.

That is how
Our love died.


Manuela Cardiga
To this very day, I have yet to meet a man whose wife understood him...
As much as we claim to want to be loved for ourselves, we are too enamoured of our own little self-deceptions...

We would turn away in fear from anyone who threatened to see us too clearly; and love us for who and what we really are.
Truth and lies french kissed, and somehow the story got tangled/mangled in the tongues...

Friday, 4 July 2014


Praise for Guilty Pleasures


Elise de Sallier 
Best-seling romantic Author of "Innocence" and "Protection"

The very first page of Guilty Pleasures saw me laughing out loud. By the last page I was close to tears. In between was a beautiful, engaging, colourful, delicious, funny, enthralling, gut-wrenching, erotic and heart-warming ride. The characters were multi-dimensional, the plot unique, and the storytelling an absolute delight. Thank you Manuela Cardiga for this fabulous story!

***

Elana Sabharwal 
Author of "The Delhi Deception"

Debut author, Manuela Cardiga, arouses all senses in her stunning novel of epicurean and sexual pleasures. Guilty Pleasures is hilarious, entertaining and erotic. Cardiga has an uncanny understanding of our deep rooted emotions and relationship with all thing pleasureful, but guilt inducing. Her main protagonists are wonderfully flawed, yet at heart, both as courageous and romantic as long forgotten princesses and knights in shining armor. Beautifully written, in at times Victorian-like prose, Guilty Pleasures is a must read and will surely satisfy most readers' hedonistic side.

***

Janet Grace Riehl
Poet and Author of "Sightlines: A Poet's Diary"

Cardiga's writing is rollicking and elegant--a rare combination. Her wry humour, careful observations, imagination, and erotic evocations redefine and expand our understanding of sensuality--found anywhere we are open to it.At heart "Guilty Pleasures" explores a time-honoured theme: If love opens us--spilling out both our beauties and secrets--can we embrace our fragility and that of the person we love? "Guilty Pleasures" graces us with literary layering. We see Lance Packard's book "Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate" become a sensitive manual on how to fully love a woman and make her happy. I'll definitely be handing that to my next lover! Cardiga has given us a world that's a joy for readers to belong to, and inspiration to take back to our real life worlds when we close the cover.

But dont't take their word for it...

Judge for yourself...



Wednesday, 2 July 2014

Fables told around kitchen tables at Guilty Pleasures...

"The day I was born luck smiled on me. A sardonic smile, but a smile none the less. I was lucky, I still am.Considering my history and the story I will now be telling you, child, you will think my idea of being “lucky” peculiar.

I was born on a ship: a dank and rusty tramp-steamer plying the East Coast of Africa, hitting every forgotten rat-ridden port.The day I was born, the River Moreno, under the flag of Panama, was docked in Mogadishu. The charming gentlemen of the crew were entertaining.

I rather imagine my Mother waddled in, slick fleshed and glossy, to general delight; the crew being rather partial to generous female flesh, probably as a welcome change from each other’s sinewy and hairy buttocks. I’m quite sure she was hotly contested. So much so, that she was the resident guest for several days, until suddenly and inexplicably, she vanished, taking with her several treasured belongings of her most ardent admirers. We cannot, however, accuse her of theft. What she took, she took in trade.

She bartered in flesh, so it surely must have seemed logical to her. She bartered me. My squirming new-born flesh was deposited in the onion basket. I see now how my fate was determined: my very first seller was my Mother. I must believe some tender feelings of motherly concern intervened, for she left me in what was the most welcoming place in the River Moreno: the galley, redolent with delicious smells, a paradise of cleanliness and plenty. When her time came, she must have made her way down to that galley, squatted down and grunted me out in a business-like fashion. She tied off my umbilical cord and carefully cleaned up all traces of her labour, in fact all traces of her part in my life’s history end here.

So it was that Anatoly Servinski, coming into the galley to make the morning’s bread, found me: a scrap of dark squealing humanity, glistening and naked, waving fiercely clenched fists at the world, and that, dear child, was all the luck I’ve ever needed, all of my life.

I believe my pugnacious character, that was to be such an asset in the future, was evident from day one. I screamed with demented rage, punched and kicked at the soft cotton swaddled around me, tears jetted from my eyes, my tiny body thrumming with fury.

My Father mixed powdered milk from the stores with boiled water, and soaking a cloth in the tepid liquid, carefully dribbled some into my yowling mouth. Apparently the silence was immediate, although I continued to valiantly wrestle with the sheet wrapped around me, and struggled to focus my new-born eyes on his face. With fierce strength, so he told me, I managed to grasp the index finger of the hand holding the milk-soaked cloth.

That was the moment, according to my Father, that his fate was sealed. He transmuted half a century of pent-up loneliness and homesickness into love. For me: a squealing bundle of bad temper and misshapen flesh, and that love was to be my talisman."

Serge Moreno

Guilty Pleasures
The Food and Fornication Fables
by Manuela Cardiga


Intrigued? Read more...

It started with a lie, and became his only truth....

GUILTY PLEASURES
The Food and Fornication Fables

"NEVER HAS FICTION BEEN SO REAL"

Review
Helen Stothard rated it 5 of 5 stars

"I've never read anything quite like this, it was a cross between a sex manual, a sensual cookery book, a history book and a romance!

Each chapter starts off with a snippet from 'Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate', Lance's book that he is writing, he's a sex therapist, some of them are absolutely hilarious.

Lance takes on the persona of Will reluctantly, his job is to get Milly pregnant, he hadn't bargained for falling in love with her. He become a kitchen assistant to a black, Russian dwarf called Serge who has an unbelievable history, including being a sex worker. He's a rogue, he's gay, he's absolutely loveable, and he's survived some truly awful experiences, and he'd kill anyone who hurt his beloved Milly who he this of as a daughter.

Guilty Pleasures is a private dining club that encourages extravagance and excellent food, from a wake to celebrate a divorce to a full Dickensian evening, the events unfolding leave you laughing out loud and very untrusting of cello players! The menus created in the book are downright gluttony at times, and this is where the cookbook element comes in, every time the menu is discussed there's a real passion for food shown. Some of the dishes described make your mouth water, but often the evening descends into drunken debauchery.

This book is a lovely journey through one couples reluctant romance, both terribly hurt in the past, trying to take things slowly but with an insatiable appetite for each other.

As with secrets they have a habit of being found out, people get hurt, and lives are upset.

This is a hugely entertaining story, with endearing and fascinating characters that was a real pleasure to read."

PLANTING A GREEN-BEAN IN A PAPER CUP ON MY WINDOW-SILL

Some nascent seed
Is stirring
The dormant ground,
Pushing the heavy clods
Aside with slippery
Delicate fillaments
Of fragile green,
Willing to dream;
To find the sun,
And be found.

Manuela Cardiga
Always remember to take charge of the encounter from the very beginning.
If you cringe and snivel and act the slave, you will be the slave.
Be the Master, and your chances of surviving unharmed will be that much higher.

Lady Wu, the Empress of China

BOOK 2
The Food and Fornication Fables

Manuela Cardiga

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

ISANDLAWANA

Nkosi, we scream
And I taste the thunder
Of our feet.

Nkosi, and brandish high
Our bloody assegays.
Nkosi...

He stands,
The Great Bull-Elephant
And raises his hand.

The White-Mother
Sent us boys
Who still stumble.

Boys to fight men,
We will humble
Their pride.

Raise high,
My Impies,
Your assegays

Let us make
The English Mothers
Cry in their huts!

Let us take back
The place
Of Shaka's Stand!

Nkosi!
But the boy
I killed did cry.

He had eyes
Pale and watery blue
And he gripped my hand.

My blade in him
And he gripped
My hand.

And parted those
Pale strange lips
As if he did not understand

He did not undertand,
Nkosi, I saw in his eyes
They told him lies.

His hand was hot on mine,
And his blood was hotter,
And his breath rushed out.

He did not believe
We were sharing
His death, this kiss.

So tonight, Nkosi,
On my mat,
I lie with my woman;

And tonight in the shelter
Of her moon-eyes
I too will cry.


Manuela Cardiga