Manuela Cardiga's Blog, page 61

Rumi said the closest we come to completion - union with ...

Rumi said the closest we come to completion - union with a higher state - is in the embrace of the Beloved.

CRIE DU COEUR FROM AN OUTCAST

I open the embossed cover
With the reverence of a lover
Lick my trembling thumb
And open at page one:

ON LYRICALLY LASSOING
LANGUID LANGUAGE
TO PULL THE CARRIAGE
OF VERSE FOR A
LONESOME POETESS

I thump my chest
Harrumph, pick up
My pen to prepare
And declaim:

Oh lovely, so lovely
The hummingbird
The loveliest sound
You ever heard...

And the butterflies
Oh, Flutter-byes
Dandelions
And turds...

SHIT-A-BRICK
Did I say
TURDS!

Oh Lawdy, lawdy...
I ain't no poet!
That word
For manure
Nobody's
Heard it,
At least not
From the lips
Of a Poet!

Oh deary me!
What can I be?
'Cause I say
Rude things
I drinks a bits
And have all
Sorts of saucy
Flings...

I GOT
Ta be a Poet!
Please?
Oh, please
Let me
Be a Poet?
I rhyme
All the time;
And further more,
I'm a bit
Of a slime.

And as for my ego,
I wont say it's divine,
But it is absolutely
Elephantine!

So maybe
I think its absurd
To say "manure"
Or "ordure"
When I really
Mean "turd";
So is that a
Reason to throw
My sweet verse
In the toilet?

Come on?
Let me in
To the Poet's Club...
I swear
To curb my rude
Tendancy to be crude
And be ever so
Academic
Literary
Ordinary,
Placid...

I swear to be
Poeticaly correct
Grammatically abject.
Use only vocabulary
To which you'll not object.

I will be the most
Obedient pet:
House-trained
Bland-brained...
Or is that dead?

Oh please
Just say you'll
Let me in
To the  respectable
Poet Set...

MC

It is nine years today that my Father went away.He was no...

It is nine years today that my Father went away.
He was not like me, big-mouth, jumping around, finger up in the air, spouting sound.

He was a shy man. A quiet man who carried a hidden universe within him, and when he spoke every word counted.
I love him, I miss him more than ever.
MC

PEPITA BUONAPITTA RIDES THE SOUL-TRAIN

"Shit! Shit! SHIT!" she screamed, and slammed the taxi's door behind her.


This is how we meet the Right Honourable May Huffingdon-Smythe. You must forgive her. May is usually very polite. Painfully correct and polite, in fact, but this night we really must forgive her, because this was a watershed evening, one of those moments that transform a life.

The evening that May Huffingdon-Smythe's life changed she was dead drunk. "Drunk as a skunk", she might have rhymed, if she'd been halfway sober. May was that rare and precious creature: a usually sober poet,which may have been why, she was also a failed poet.

May staggered into her genteelly dilapidated Boston brownstone and up the charmingly rickety stairs, and kicked open her bedroom door. She tottered in, switched on her desk-lamp and stepped off the dizzy silver gilt-sandals that had been burning welts into her narrow feet for the last four hours.

"My mouth tastes like shit." May was surprised to hear her own voice. "SHIT!" Actually she said "sheeeth".

"I feel like shit." she paused with a drunks devotion to sincerity, "Because...My life IS shit." She walked to the gilt-edged mirror off the door to her bathroom and peered into the murky depths.

"And tonight, I even look like shit. Drunken shit. Pissed manure. Urine-soaked ordure."
She grabbed at the door of the wall-closet to steady herself against the onslaught of so much honesty.

"Listen to yourself! Do you see why you don't sell one single fucking book? Who wants to read that pretentious pompous pedantic poetic CRAP?" She sobbed a hic. "Only equally pretentious pompous pedantic academic PRICKS." Tears coursed down her delicately patrician features.

"SHIT! I am drunk. I am also a disgusting envious SHIT. Repulsive. I am consumed by jealousy because some stupid talentless bitch wrote a SHITTY novel about fucking and is selling MILLIONS. And hey! I can write shit too! I can write better shit than anyone I know. I am the Queen of Shit!" She paused. "I think i may be overdoing this honesty thing."

May faced herself in the mirror, wiped at the tears spreading a tidal mark of Kohl down her porcelain cheeks, and essayed her elegant trademark-smile. Someone had once told her she looked like a young Grace Kelly. And she did. A Grace Kelly with the faint traces of that unfortunate Irish-peasant ancestry bred out of her DNA. Grace Kelly without a hint of that warm sensuality...

"I cannot write sexy because I am not sexy." A fresh wash of tears welled up from her amber-brown eyes, and an unfortunate drip of liquid glistened on the end of her elegantly sculpted nose. "I am just not sexy. But I can write SHIT."

And so, of course, May decided there and then that she was going to write the all-time Great American Cross-Over Porn Novel of all time. And she was going to do it that very night.

MC

The Ink Blot Guest Spot PROUDLY PRESENTS! "Passion and Propriety" By BEST SELLING AUTHOR Elise de Sallier!

Passion and Propriety
Hearts of Honour- Book One
By 
Elise de Sallier

Release Date: 7th August 2014
Genre: Regency Romance/ Historical 
ISBN e-book: 978-1-61213-261-7
Published by: The Writers Coffee Shop

Available from: Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, and TWCS PH




REVIEW FOR "PASSION AND PROPRIETY"
A Sweetly Sensuous Surprise
Flawless, delicious, sensuous...All these apply to Elise de Sallier's writing.How about absorbing? Captivating, amusing and enormously entertaining."Passion and Propriety" is all this and more...
It made me feel like a voyeur listening at the parlour door, peeking through the bedroom window, an eager eavesdropper. And most improper! I adored the whole experience, the historical veracity, the density of the characters, and not just the protagonists. Look, I kept wanting to follow the supporting actors off stage to see what happened to them. I want to know what happens to Grace? Who is the French maid? Hanna and William hold centre stage, but this is not a one man or woman play. Though let me tell you, the building sexual tension between them is masterfully handled...As is everything else. De Sallier's writing is smooth as silk, and utterly flawless.
This is a delicious, delicately executed period reenactment, a renewal and, dare I say it, an upgrade of the long outdated Regency Romance. I want more of the proper and improper nouns so expertly and passionately handled by Ms. de Sallier.A sweetly sensuous surprise!Brava, Elise!And ENCORE!
Manuela Cardiga


Summary:
A hidden beauty . . . a wounded beast. Can the curse threatening their happiness be broken?
There is absolutely nothing improper about Hannah Foster, the vicar of Hartley’s eldest and least pretty daughter, nursing the badly wounded Viscount Blackthorn back to health—that’s if the returned officer can be saved. At twenty-seven, she is two years the man’s senior, a confirmed spinster, and far too sensible to develop feelings for her patient. The fact he was once her childhood friend, has grown into a fine specimen of a man—his terrible scars notwithstanding—and seems as lost and lonely as she sometimes feels has no bearing on the matter.
Even if the unthinkable were to happen and William was to see past her plain exterior and recognise the caring, intelligent, passionate woman beneath, he is determined to break the curse that has plagued his family for generations by letting his bloodline die out. Her best friend Grace’s warnings are moot; a man of Lord Blackthorn’s wealth and position would never be interested in a woman like Hannah . . . would he?
Author Bio: 
A great believer in living happily ever after, Elise began her lifelong obsession with the romance and paranormal genres when she was far too young to be reading either. After more than thirty years of marriage to her very own romantic hero, she now knows great relationships don't just happen, they take work . . . which doesn't mean writing about them can't be a whole lot of fun! While raising a family, Elise established a career as a counsellor and family therapist. Seeking an escape from the stresses of her work, she discovered the world of fan fiction, and her timid writer's muse made its voice heard. Two point three million hits, twenty thousand reviews, and an e-mail from an acquisitions editor at The Writer's Coffee Shop later, and her life found a new and fascinating direction.
Elise likes to see her characters grow, experience passion and adventure, tackle some difficult issues, and find lasting love . . . eventually.
Connect with Elise de Sallier on: Facebook, Twitter, Blog and Goodreads
Don't miss out on this Amazing Rafflecopter Giveaway! With the chance to win all of Elise de Sallier's TWCS books!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Praise for Passion and Propriety 5 Star Reviews
"This is the third book I've read by this author and I couldn't help falling in love with deSallier's characters once again. I was completely taken into the story not just by Hannah and William, but by the secondary characters at the same time..." -Lindsey Gray Author on Author Book Review
"I really enjoyed this, and Elise de Sallier is fast becoming one of my favourite authors. I love a good bodice-ripper, and this reminded me very much of the series I enjoy by Courtney Milan, Tessa Dare and others. It’s well-written with interesting, fleshed-out characters the reader can feel for..." -Andrea ( Mrs Aubergine) Goodreads Review

Also by Elise de Sallier:
A Forbidden Love: book one and two on SALE!$0.99 Sale ends on the 6th of August and then the price will permanently drop to $2.99

InnocenceA Forbidden Love: Book One
        
Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble and TWCS PH
ProtectionA Forbidden Love: Book Two

Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble and TWCS PH
Praise for Innocence and Protection:
"I flew through BOTH books in The Forbidden Love series because they are that good!!"  Kristen - Shelf Life

"The romance, intrigue, scoundrels, and miscommunications kept me enthralled from the first page to the last.... I applaud Elise de Sallier for once again giving us a novel to fall in love with."  Lindsey Gray, Author on Author
"Ms. de Sallier writes a great plot and gifts us with love scenes that we can swoon over. 
I truly enjoy a plot with steamy scenes that fit the story well. This book is a shining example of that!"  Kathie, First Page to the Last

Join me tomorrow for ELISE DE SALLIER'S "PASSION AND PROPRIETY" BLOG TOUR!

A Sweetly Sensuous SurpriseFlawless, delicious, sensuous....

A Sweetly Sensuous Surprise

Flawless, delicious, sensuous...All these apply to Elise de Sallier's writing.
How about absorbing? Captivating, amusing and enormously entertaining.
"Passion and Propriety" is all this and more...

It made me feel like a voyeur listening at the parlour door, peeking through the bedroom window, an eager eavesdropper. And most improper! I adored the whole experience, the historical veracity, the density of the characters, and not just the protagonists. Look, I kept wanting to follow the supporting actors off stage to see what happened to them. I want to know what happens to Grace? Who is the French maid? Hanna and William hold centre stage, but this is not a one man or woman play. Though let me tell you, the building sexual tension between them is masterfully handled...
As is everything else. De Sallier's writing is smooth as silk, and utterly flawless.

This is a delicious, delicately executed period reenactment, a renewal and, dare I say it, an upgrade of the long outdated Regency Romance. I want more of the proper and improper nouns so expertly and passionately handled by Ms. de Sallier.
A sweetly sensuous surprise!
Brava, Elise!
And ENCORE!

SOUT-PIEL

“Sout-piel, luister jy?”

He cupped his hand,
Short fingers,
Thick palmed
Across the flame.

“This here, boy,
This here’s
The fucking front”
We crouched low
Back on our heels
As that syrupy night
Flowed around us.

“Luister…”
And that was when
The bullet kissed
Him high on a cheek
A lipstick-stain
Red-slicked his skin.

He didn’t cry out
All I heard was
A surprised grunt
Then the mutter
Stutter of the lights
And the sound:
That bewildering
Sound.
The dizzy
Spinning
All around
Of the flutter,
Soft breezes
Tiny and wee
Teasing pleasing
Snickering sounds
Seeking me out,
So I hugged
The ground.

I was afraid ,
I hugged
The ground,And next to me
He shuddered
And cried out;
Reached down
That heavy hand
Fumbled about,
Found me
Touched
My head
So I took it:
I took his hand
And he sighed.

So I sat up
And held him.
He breathed:
In-out,
In and out.
In and out.

After a while
He was
My only sound.

He smelled
Of piss
And shit
And blood.
So I held him
Until he died.

I can’t remember
His name,
But I loved him
All the same.


Manuela Cardiga

AT THE FINAL RACE BEN HUR CUT TO THE CHASE WITH THREE DOLPHINS DOWN AND ONE LAST HOPE TO GOAT THE FINAL RACE BEN HUR CUT TO THE CHASE WITH THREE DOLPHINS DOWN AND ONE LAST HOPE TO GO

I long to trade
The choke of hope
For the certainty
Of despair

To exchange
The constant
Wearing strife
Of keeping
The light
In sight
For the comfort
Of that hedonistic
Depressive stare.

It angers me
That I just can’t
Get there,
And believe me I try
I list the reasons why
I should no longer
Defy fate;
I count the pain
Of disappointment
Yet, oh yet again.
I see that every face
I long to love in grace
Is in most likelihood
Just another
Fancy mask I hang
On an empty space.

I court and flirt
And beg despair
To come into my bed
But stupid hope
Constantly confuses
The issue, and I
Am once again
Misled.

So I pour that cup
Of self-deception,
Drink deep
And scream:
L’Chaim!
What the hell!
What’s one more
Mistake in a life
Like mine?

Manuela Cardiga

Excerpt from Manuela Cardiga's NEW NOVEL: "MANscapes - Journey Into Light"

A flowery script on a swinging plaque proclaimed “The Retreat”. An air of gracious negligence pervaded the house. Rambling bougainvilleas sturdily climbed up the walls to peek into the windows of the upper story, shading the deep verandas with a riot of colour in vivid contrast to the peach sun-bleached walls.

There was a woman in the garden, moving slowly through a forest of roses. Thick-trunks and knotted branches with viper-toothed thorns produced a riot of blowsy roses, the bruised scent pervading the warm, moist air. The woman looked up at the sound of the engine, placing one hand on her hip, inquisitively tilting her hat in the opposite direction.

“Winston?” A warm contralto, “What are you bringing me now?”

The young man slid the door open for Clara, helped her down with a warm, lingering touch to her elbow, and unloaded her luggage.

“A seeker, Mamma: a painter-Lady with pretty eyes!”

Clara gripped her suitcase in one hand, the travelling easel in the other and stepped past the open gateway onto the shimmering crushed-shell path leading to the front door.

She glanced back over her shoulder:

“Thank you. Thank you, you are very kind.”

He grinned, “I like Pretty Ladies. I like Pretty Ladies who come to stay.” He waved and jumped back into his bus, and drove off with his expectant cargo.

The woman approached, head cocked, her face in the shadow beneath the broad-brimmed hat. Her hands were covered by thick canvas gloves, her thin arms scored by red welts, one of which was bleeding copiously.

“And who would you be, child?”

“I’m Clara,” she paused, savoring the words, “Nova. Clara Nova.” She liked that. Her new name for a new life: Clara Nova, a new light.

The woman stripped the glove off her right hand and extended it, broad-knuckled and brown, towards her. The skin was surprising soft, the nails well tended. The face under the hat was amber, lightly creping at the corner of the eyes and along the long throat.

The slackening of the flesh over her cheekbones placed her age in the late sixties; her snapping black eyes defied the softening of the surrounding flesh.

“Sylvine, Sylvine Devereux.” A smile lifted her face into beauty, “You have come to seek a haven? Be sure you have brought no devils with you!” she nodded, “They hitch in on your shoulders, girl.”


ORDER MANSCAPES HERE