WEEP, FAIR SCOTLAND FOR THY KING IS DEAD

Robert the Bruce
Did he hold truce?
Or did he lie?

He sat on that
Stone of Scone
Like a medieval
Al Capone
And plotted against
The English throne.
His big mistake
Alas, was snickering
At Long-Shanks' passion

For puce stockings...

Now Eddie
Was a bit of a shit,
Who could not
Countenance
The mocking
At his lovely
Violet stockings,
Or his cod-piece
Neither,
So he sent
His army hither
And we all know
How THAT
Worked out!

It is my view
That without a doubt
Hosiery was to blame
For the disgrace
And ill-fame
Of Robert the Bruce,
Otherwise known
As the wooss
Who lost
Fair Scotland
To lame Eddie
Long-shanks.

(Look if Mel Gibson
took poetic liberties?
Then so can I!)

Manuela Cardiga

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
Beautifying 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

INTERVIEWING HECUBA
ON THE BURNING PLAINS OF TROY

It has always been
My Achilles' heel.
The sort of skin
That just won't tan,
Will just redden
Flake and peel,
And take bloody ages
To heal.

So forget about Summer,
Or plans to lie and slumber
Under the tropical sun;
I´ve always had to shelter
Under broad-brimmed hats
And parasols and things like that.
And I made rather a point
Of claiming
It wasn't necessity
That made me hide:
It was pure
Unadulterated style!

So I wore my wide black hat
Like a girl from a Fellini movie,
And a red lipstick to match
The fleeting highlights
In my dark hair;
And pretended

My languid
Fopping around 

On chaise-longues
Was a mission statement:
It was where I,
As woman-art,
Was at.

Honestly I rather like that bit.
I really do have a passion
For chaise-longues...
(and crystal chandeliers,
and long black satin gloves,
opera-length pearls,
and red wine,
and deep-pile
silk velvet,
and fast living,
and men with slow 

gentle hands)
unlike fumbling
stumbling Priam

I think this conversation
Has actually gone
A little too far?
All I was supposed
To talk about
Was my Achilles' heel
And why I peel;
Not make all these
"Really, darling!
Who gives a shit"
Revelations.

Oh but now that
We're on to that?
One last thing-
I wear mink.

Manuela Cardiga

Roman Phase - Empire: How rap-music brought about the end of the Julian/Claudian Line

WHY I GOT KICKED OFF THE TARDIS
AND ON MY BUTT BY DOCTOR WHO

I danced through the Empire.
And I suppose you could say
I tripped out
Over Julius Caesar's
Funeral pyre;
Oh! And that bit
Where Nero
Sung to his lyre?
And warmed
His chubby toes
To the fire...
That was just so cool!

I really admired
The guy, seriously!
I know he was cruel,
And had major issues
With his mum
And his poking her corpse
Was just sooooo gross?

But he was hip-hop
Beat happening
Before it was
"Hey man! What's hangin'?"

Look the guy was
Just that cool...
He had a groove.
That's all I'm sayin'.
It's not that I approve
Of his martyring dudes
And being cruel to animals?
(Feeding people to lions
Can't do them no good.
To the lions I mean,
But you gotta understand,
Nutrition wasn't a big deal
In Ancient Rome.)

I just liked him, is all.
I'd buy his record.
Nero Claudius Caesar
Rock on!

Manuela Cardiga

HARPIES HAIRDRESSING IN HADES

She sat in the chair,
And tapped impatient nails:
"Off with their heads!"

I ran my fingers in a slow caress
Over each long sinuous tress.
"Cut it off?" I exclaimed,
"All of it!" she cried, "Off!"

I entwined my fingers
With the langorous curls:
"It will grow back, you know..."
My reluctance must have shown
For she raised her eyes from
Her own reflection to mine-
Long dark lustrous eyes-
And a slow perfect tear
Ran down her cheek
And turned to stone.

"I'm just so very tired
Of being alone."
"Yes," I whispered,
"Sister, I know..."
And I lifted the razor.

It was a labour of love,
Let me tell you,
For the bloody vipers
Were unwilling
To be beheaded,
And soon I was knee-deep

In blood and venom;
But in the end I had to agree
She looked quite sweet
With the snakes trimmed.

She jumped up and beamed:
"Oh thank you, dear sister,
I feel so much lighter!"
I had no desire to blight her
Patent joy, but I knew the truth
She chose to avoid.

It was not the snakes
That made men quake;
It was the tranquil
Pale perfection
Of her dreaming face;
Or perhaps the fear
They'd find themselves truly
In that silvery reflection;
Lost in the power of
The spirit-snake.

So I let her go.
I watched her
Sway away in her heels
And her red silk dress;
And screamed to
The waiting Manticore:
"NEXT!"

Manuela Cardiga

MIAMI MAENADS AT THE MALL

Run, little god,
On your sharp hooves
Little god of wood and bower,
Little god of the three horns,
Run with us.

We scatter
Silken linens,
Palace-soft feet
Sting to the crackle
Of breaking twigs
And tearing skin,
Our mouths sweet
With the red blood
Of men and grapes,
Free and wild we run
So come with us,
Little god,
Be not afraid.

Frantic clouds
Race moon darkling
Shadows in the wild
Before us wavering
Through the slender
Saplings runs tender
Palest flesh
Panting breath,
Enticement lures us
Feeds and breeds
Desires in us.

Run, little god,
Tomorrow we return,
Mouths bruised;
To spindle and cradle,
To mind the fires,
And weave and ladle
Gruel to our masters,
But this night
We run, and hunt
The heated dark;
Run, little god,
Love is devouring
And is devoured
By us.

Manuela Cardiga

Happy New Year

There is no place in this world I would rather be than right here, in this moment; with all of this wonderful year of promise unfolding before me.

And if I ever had any regrets? Things I did, and went through, some so painful I can hardly believe it could be true; that such things happen?

Those regrets are gone, discarded. Not one step would I undo, because every stumble, every mistake and crumble in resolve brought me here, right here and to this now.

So like the man said: there are no mistakes, and no wrong ways.

And though I really don't know what comes next (and to be honest, I don't think I want to know) I do know enough to let go, step away from the railing, close my eyes and stretch out my heart. Rather than crawl through the mud, let us fly blind. Tell me, would you rather look with your inner eye and see life, love, delight? Or close your heart and see the loveless blight we live in when we neither love nor trust?

So here is my resolve: to be just as open to life as life has shown itself open to me. I hope I can be as generous too; and pass on the love I have received to who ever may be in need of a word or a hand, or a hug and a kiss, as I was. I hope I can contribute, throw back a bit of the magic I received into the pot for the next person who comes along.

Happy New Year

Manuela Cardiga