Friday, 29 December 2017


I can't remember much
Except for the sudden lurch
Of that soggy organ in my chest

The one covered by my
Carefully revealed breasts
(not too much, just enough to entice)

It all tasted of smoke and beer
Nicotine-scented, horned
Like a steer, bristly as a hog.

I saw it all through a fog
Of mascara and horror
Felt the hook of the song

As chance would have it
Ironical sing-along
From the Good Book

Oh Lord Oh Lord
A stuttering song
And then I felt the bullet

It slapped right through it
And the heart thing mangled
And dangled and jangled

I thank thee, Lord I'm a country girl,
All for Birth and Gun Control
Into thy hands I commend my soul


Marching Song Of The Little Mermaid

Trudging along
Walking that mile.

And yep
You betcha
My feet hurt;
And the shards
Of my heart
Sticking out
Shish kebabed
On my ribs
Sure sting.

But I'm trudging along
Cause I promised.

And though
I'm weak,
My word
Is my bond,
My one legacy.
My word
Is strong
And I plod on.

I'm trudging along
And I fake that smile.

Cause I know
It will soak in
And lighten
My load.
The words
They spoke
That gift of hope
Makes it so.

I'm skipping along
Grunting a song

And that thin
Ruby trail
Will veil where
I ended and started,
Hide where
I faltered,
Traded my choice,
And gave up my voice.


Friday, 22 December 2017


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

Sunday, 10 December 2017


the thief of words
the lurking killer
of layered worlds

let us deny it
welcome the liar
make space for it
by that inner fire

come, my dear
pour that tea
let us set aspired
desired dreams aside,

dulled but free
we have no schemes
to shatter, no stars
that matter out of reach.

pour that tea, and look!
the tea-leaves scatter
porcelain slips and
heart's fragility will shatter


Saturday, 9 December 2017

And so is science servant to Art, a follower and not a leader;
because we crazies can see the curving shape of a galaxy as a lovely equation in blue, and when mathematics fails to define that hue, physicists kneel to poets.


i skipped the rain
slipped past
the teardrops
of heaven's pain

i fled again
under opened palms
of sheltering hands
of loving friends

i fled but met
that pain again
as memory was gain
again, again a mad refrain

come back oh rain
sweet sour rain and soak
that dead dry tongue
of loss that pain
made liquid lyric
song again