Wednesday, 13 July 2016

Saturday, 9 July 2016

Sad to say I was so right...


So who now speaks
With tongue of angels
When brass trumpets
Sound the tune?

Sayest thou TRUMPET?

Dire and portentous
Warnings Trumpet
Through the shivering
Aether contaminating
Thought and souls
Of the "common" people...
But do we listen?

We shiver and grimace
And feel superior
Is it no so? 
My brothers and sisters
Of the evolved soul...

We sniff and stare
Down our well-bred snouts
Even as the Brassy Creature
Pouts-mouths indignation
Drains the abscess of rage;
Mines rich veins of fear
And blue-collar pain.
Digging deep to gain
A few more votes
To win the Nation.

We laugh and peer
Through the rarified air
Of our Ivory Tower
At the teeming weeds
Determined to flower
As the Upstart Creep
Greedily grasps at power...

We laugh, and laugh
Sure the right will prevail;
We laugh knowing
The foolish multitude
Will follow-swallow; 
Nibbling at the democratic
Carrot-creed, even
As we brandish
The ignorance-stick...

Oh we laugh, 
We joke
We poke 
Derisive fingers
At the well-crafted
Colourful Clown
Designed to catch-detach
Our silly sheep
From our rational
Sensible lead,...

We laugh and I remember
German intelligentsia
Laughing at another jester:
Short and bug-eyed
(Liebeling! Have you ever
seen such HAIR?)
Leaping and screeching
And spitting poison and despair.

We laugh 
And I remember
German intellectuals
With a superior sneer
Smirking at an hysterical
Fool and a wagging finger,
With full faith in the good sense
Of the German People...

So laugh, 
And write 
An erudite account
Of why such Demagogues
Must fail
Will fail
Need fail.

As we polish
A well-turned phrase,
And our complacent leaders
Laugh on their way
To the bank;
As others once laughed
On their way to
The camp.

Manuela Cardiga

Friday, 1 July 2016

There is no Death. There is no end, there is only a moment when we take a deep breath, a pause before we begin again.

You ask: is there Life after Death?
There is only Life after Life.

We are immortal ambition in a sleeve of flesh, so when our sleeve becomes ragged, we wear another.

The moment we call Death is only the space of a breath when we stand naked; that one breath, before we join the dance again.

Manuela Cardiga