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Lin Cava Oct 2010
Armed with toy sword and shield
He goes outside to play
His faithful steed, Abby the dog
Will serve him well, today.

He runs in circles about the yard
And behind the wide oak tree
Searching to the East and West
For wherever the enemy may be.

Something moving gets his attention
A daddy long-legs scurrying by
In his mind, takes enormous proportion
“I slay you, giant spider, die!”

He stabs into the air with his sword,
At the long legged monster he sees there
Running away to avoid the great topple
To surely escape from both spider, and lair.

So he continues to brave great adventure
To conquer all challenges to his domain.
Boldly he stands, sword held high
When sadly, the game is called, due to rain.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copywrite
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Touch softly now, your sweet lips-
gently, as I am in your fingertips.

Within this touch I leave a kiss.
You bring me near by doing this.

Unnumbered times, I think of you,
I wonder if you’ve done this, too.

The door is not bolted nor on the catch.
Should you come by, there is no latch.

There is warmth and comfort here
A welcome meant for you, my dear.

My heart will never turn away,
Though well, I know, you cannot stay.

Your heart still whispers back to me,
betrays a love is there, you see.

When you need what I hold true,
drift on a dream, I’ll come for you.

We’ll feel each other close and warm
to calm the winds, belay the storm.

Then gone again, on your way -
free to return another day.

I am left to wonder, still -
Will you return, have you the will?

If I softly touch my lips
will you be in my fingertips?

Within a soft touch, by doing this,
will you warm me with a distant kiss?

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Jun 2013
Age and Perspective, A Prelude

Another birthday
trod over me
once again

It's been said
the alternative
to them is not attractive.

I suppose.

This, a significant milestone
best not approach me with it
nor any consolation.

I'm getting ornery in my time
Used to be mellow in my cups
Not any more
Though I shall imbibe
...don't care about anyone’s opinion
of THAT.

Another birthday.  How many more
will I see
And will I be lucid?
Will I be of able body?

Perhaps.
Perhaps not.

-Lin Cava
20-June-2013
Lin Cava Sep 2013
Always

I try not to know – hateful of myself
for the delusion
Straight up, bite the spoon, take the pain
and then – the sadness…

I grieve without right.
Each time I deny the connection
call it false; wishful thinking
that thread tied into my heart tugs
and I feel it once again…

How can one who has no soul
no belief of such a thing
ever acknowledge a soul mate?
But I do – I cannot deny it.

And he; something ails him.
I am certain, and he is guarded.

Never can I run to his side,
look into his eyes -
I peer into his heart,
and find him, curiously,
buried within my own.

My touch is there
my hand extended
but he faces away
Is he trying to close a door
where none exists?
A doorway, I will ever keep open
should he have thought
or heart to seek,
I shall be here
waiting for him to find me
once again,
and Always.

Lin Cava
14-September-2013
Lin Cava May 2013

…And When We Leave

Time ticks down the remainder of my life.
Though no reverberation marks that forward existence
I feel its passage, none the less.
Where once my horizons were open
unfettered by human limitation,
I knew, but did not have true sense of it;
that one day, all too soon, my tomorrows
would no longer outweigh my yesterdays.

Even at that midway point,
like the carefree grasshopper’s gay existence
I played on, danced free, set no focus, charted no course.
While about me, time ticked on, my sense of self
distracted from the truth, as though Time itself
were the magician, and I the audience, unaware and
awestruck by a force so surprisingly adept at an ancient skill,
my sense distracted, far beyond the point of rescue.

All I can do for the lost hours,
for inspiring sunrises, and stunning sunsets,
gone beyond my grasp, is reflect…
I am lost in mirrors of reflection
lost in a puff of magician’s smoke
surprised by the season of life I am within
still wondering why the other seasons
went so fast, beyond my ability to hold onto.
Autumn, nearly over, Winter approaches –
festoons of colorful leaves hide the death they herald.
Winter’s colors have faded me to pale,
the once rosy blush of my cheeks has gone;
my heart, once full and light, is now empty
and so heavy with sadness as a final time
will visit, and bring to me unending night.

I have had my turn – sorry, but there is no other –
we get one shot, one chance, and yet every day,
we get another chance to make it count.

I used to ponder,
“What will people think when they remember me?”
But it’s a Vanity to toy with.  
What I should be thinking;
what I reflect upon, now daily,
is if I made a difference.
…if for one, brief, white-light and glorious moment
I did or said something that made a lasting difference,
if even to just one solitary life.  
If, in so doing, they looked forward –
to see the truth long before their Autumn ended,
and lived as though each day were their last.  
I’ll never know, and another wish goes unfulfilled, its song unheard.

Do not, my friends, put off until tomorrow – for by the time
we see that our tomorrows are so very limited – it will be late,
much later than we would have wished for.  
Be glad for the dance,
happy in the movement through life,
when all is said and done -
it is our own, solely our own,
and we take it away with us
when we leave.

Lin Cava
6 – May – 2013

More prose than poetry, I've posted how I feel in the best way I can.  I have run to ruin, lost my words, my ability to express, and worse, need to write.  I have no thought that I contain talent.  I will write, and one day, it will all go away.  Much as I shall, someday, meet my last breath.
Lin Cava Nov 2010
She waits behind the bedstead
as a young boy falls to dreams
Though he cannot see her
she keeps him safe from screams.

Her one and only purpose
to bring him, finally home
that one day, when his time comes
his heart won't stray or roam

And softly in a golden glow
old eyes will see her there
a weathered hand placed inside hers
he leaves without a care.

Behind him on the bed
an old man lies in state
as a young heart travels with her,
his Angel, who did wait.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Nov 2010
I am so angry.
Tired, and so angry
Hurt and missing
the softness in my life
the gentle touch
the kindly spoken word
the look of love
to convey a touch
from across the room
or across the globe

I don’t care
anymore
about anything
or anyone
after being for others
what I wish I had
for me
and nothing
ever
comes back

lies
deceit
words said to provide
what they think
I want to hear
and never
a care
or a thought
never a hand pitched in
only criticism -
do it this way
don’t do it that way
“you’re wrong,
am I right?”

I’m so done.
Embracing that which
trails so far behind me
but has come ever nearer
and nearer
until I smell its unsung
victory
until I know
this broken heart
won’t hurt any more
if I just give in
just give up
just turn
and offer it -
food
for the black dog.

Lin Cava©
18-November-2010
creative commons copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
I walked with my daughter, yesterday.
Hand in hand, as when she was a child.

Her mother, guardian once more, I give her hand
a double squeeze; get a double squeeze back.

Her child’s bubbly giggle
inside her adult laugh
shatters time’s persistent grip.  
She is five, once more.

Living sweet memories from before,
our break from battle; recaptured innocence.

“I do that with my sons, too.” so softly said.
“Like you.  I squeeze twice, and they squeeze back.”

Simple things, lovingly engaged,
become our trademarks.

Unplanned inheritance enriches us,
blossoms in the bouquet of our lives;
the endurance of love, to become
heirloom offerings to the future.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Staccato taps upon my window pane
Reflect the way I feel
The pulsing of my angry heart
Dark, dark the time ticking like the rain.

The shadowed world melts beyond my sight
In tense, taught moments I lie in wait
A moving force, fast, out of control
Contained within, the urge to move in flight.

Lightning flashes reflect dark eyes back
The semblance of a wretched twisted face
True Evil painted, writhing in the glass
A captive frozen picture of hatred done in black.

The rain has turned to pouring in a roar
Loud against the walls, the roof, the mind
Beneath, a sound, the turning of the latch
I wait for you, set to pounce, beyond the door.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Before they fought, they had simple lives.
Remember them, their loves and their wives.
Others they served and many came home.
They parted from service but went on alone.
Heroes; the wounded, the brave or the scared
Each one fighting hard, standing tough, as he dared.
Returned to their homes, they remember alarms;
Soldiers they served with, their Brothers In Arms.

Into their minds, memories battle their war.
Now home in safety, miss them once more.

All go into battle, braced for the fight
Remember their Brothers In Arms in the night.
Memorial Day calls them, witness to bear -
Such Brothers In Arms, they will always be there.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Oct 2010
I hear her call me now; Calliope.
She dances in rooms made all of windows,
In delicate tones her calls reach sweetly
Stands naked amongst cast off silken bows.

So lightly she leaps among the sunbeams
Her gift bestowed, poetic cache replete
A tiny figure, seen only in dreams
On her face, her happiness shines complete.

I hear her laughter, tinkling playful sounds -
In her mischief, she will often refuse
To part with her gift, of which, she abounds
I’m glad you found me again, little muse.

© Lin Cava
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Tonight
The moon has me.
Cloud laden sky
bright with the pooled cream
of the heavy harvest moon
A halo twice as deep
as the center.
Other nights
dark and sparkle,
a forgotten beach
of volcanic black sand
dry and sterile.
Not this night of silver shine -
Overtake and possess
the whole of me,
my darkness, secret -
secure in places, warm
in the scent of bread
not yet baked, moist
with the color of cream.
Tonight
It takes me over
as I lay peaceful; calm
open to the touch I feel
wide awake and willing
harvest moon, heavy -
fills me as a lover
with unspoken
possibility.

Lin  Cava ©
Creataive Commons
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Summer night,
black velvet blanket
aglow in silent luminescence
sparkles of the distant stars
a beckoning to other shores
the ebb and flow of ocean’s tides
a scent, so carried far and long,
that on a midnight zephyr rides
an undercurrent to salt sea air
unmistakable, though faint,
intimate aroma of only she
transports her essence
there, to thee.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Jun 2016
For Loss

Why do you grieve?
I feel a sadness,
it pulls so strong
as an angler's hook
buried deep within the heart.

Why do you grieve
my friend?

Where have you been
and is it pain alone
that keeps its company in you?

I need not ask,
for I feel it too.
In grief and heartbreak
the tether remains
as in love - a connection

Write, my dear friend;
for in your words,
your truth, your heart
your sense so clear
your self, cautiously shared.

And I?
I shall feel,
once again
hope to know
to touch the magic
in your words.

Your words
have never been
of singular dimension
and yet
it is ever a pleasing surprise
to find you there
where I often hide
amongst the words
and between the lines.

And suffer no more
for loss...

-Lin
CC-28-December-2013
Lin Cava Mar 2013
To you…

In the dark dreams that have become my life
you are sunshine and starlight.

For the unreasonable, the unfathomable, the disparities
surmounting daily, you are sanity and reason.

For my silence, you are song.
In my lack of expression, you are music.

My words fade, my world diminishes
and focus affords me only darkness.
You are there, ever aware.
When my world ties me tightly into knots
you see how to loosen them, and weave me fabric.

My heart beats to stale metaphor and abused imagery,
though your words softly sigh, touched with fresh breezes.

I have seen sandy shores, and known the scent of fresh loam,
bursting with the seeds of spring; gentle rains, and the flight of seabirds,
through your eyes - there, within your words.

And when my world falls apart and crumbles beneath my feet
I am caught upon your open palm, within your caring touch.

I am relieved, refreshed, and comfortably happy
in the darkest of times, for you, whose care lifts me up.

There will never be a way to thank you, as I would want.
It is there, in my heart, in the blood that courses through me
All that I am, is all I can give, and I will ever give it willingly
to you.

©Lin Cava
15th March, 2013
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Dewdrops on silk web
Shiny black spider spinning
A blackbird watches.

Lin Cava
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Flowers everywhere
Butterflies and bees breeze by.
Filled with sweet nectar.

Colored leaves of Fall -
Winds scurrying them about.
Brightly coat the field.

Snow. Crisp, unbroken.
Pop! The winter hare jumps out -
Piques the hungry fox.

New green. Spring has come.
The hare, still there, turned to brown.
Bunnies everywhere.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Mars flickers above.
Moody Red blinks his response -
To Venus' hot wink.


Lin Cava
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Oh harlot moon who's faded blush so wanes
Now dressed in inky clouds of midnight's silk
Shrill sounds of madness echo its refrains,
Chills down the night as sour as witch's milk.

And yet it draws – the beast within does cry
To pull desire so hard, its teeth to bare
A glowing pearl amidst the velvet sky -
In cold illumination shines no care.

The surge of fiendish blood within my veins
Sent searching to complete my darkest thrill
Emboldened – Only feral need remains
To hold you supplicated to my will…

Imparts a heat that rends flesh into dust –
Or have you now, fulfill this wanton lust.

Lin Cava © 19-February-2008

Sonnet
Shakespearean
Iambic Pentameter
Subject as old as time.
Commons Copywrite - For use as long as my name and copywrite symbol remain.
Lin Cava Oct 2010
I’ve been drifting in a clearing at night. Alone
once more; the music of this place sings sweet memories.
I listen to the spill and tumble of the water nearby.
In quiet reflection, I can still hear laughter.

Pieces of our own music come back to me
as remembered kisses on the sand -
an embrace; the lightest touch amidst the trees
a tease and the chase; the mystical haze - lifted.

Awakening to delicate remnants of its touch
evaporating too soon to recapture.
Was it there? The sense of it; the caress?
By some connection; is it with me, even now?

In the sharp sunlight of morning,
summer sheers flutter at the window –
and I am filled with it once more.
The scent of sun on skin, sand in my toes...

I hold out my hand to the finger of sunlight.
From no-where, a fairy puff lands on my palm.
In my morning shower, a tendril of grass.
In the kitchen sink, a sliver of lime.

Is it that place, or the Spirit, calling me back?
Have you journeyed, too, as freely as I,
to breathe in tender sweetness,
to listen to the laughter once shared?

No. Perhaps not; my shadow of doubt, alive.
But the flame burns again, and as much as I try,
I cannot close the door, nor ignore the call of its
enchanting charms or the heartfelt touch that beckons me

In dreams...

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Jun 2016
Invited


Does a soft breeze touch your face,
whisper in your ear
connect you to another place
Yes, you were invited, dear.

It has been so long,
yet thoughts of you linger still
the feeling so strong
actions and propriety must bend to its will.

And yet, you are a shadow
a darkness in the mist.
Listen for a tune hummed low -
grasping of sand in an impassioned fist.

Come near, once more -
Upon the sand in breezes fair
let your heart explore
my fingers, again, brush through your hair

Sometimes, memory is so strong
but it isn't much
when a heart will long
for only your touch.

I search not to be the only,
Nor promises of love, unrequited -
but to connect - a heart not lonely,
Yes, my dear one - you are invited.

24-October-2015



cc LinCava
Often we are called to connect to others.  Rarely a connection is made that cannot be undone.  Despite distance or circumstance; despite denial, the connection is there - and ignore it as we try to, it never goes away.  It may fade - or lurk in the distant subconscious, but try as one may, it comes to the fore as a fresh breeze on a hot, still day.  This is one of those breezes.
Lin Cava Jun 2016
Legacy

It never seems to happen,
that walk along the beach
I always wanted to take with you.

I have to tell you these things -
because one day I won't be here,
and you won't know.

Now I'm sure that there are ways,
other than a final passing from this earth,
where I may not be here.
Maybe in body, but not in mind.

I worry about that.  
Every person with dementia,
every one with Alzheimer's - they all have heard it,
even though they won't remember
that they should not worry - It's normal,
just normal, it's the way we age
only to have to leave this place
before the body fails, a shadow left behind
not at all representing what once we were.

I don't know what's worse for a person to go through -
failure of the body
or failure of the mind.

We are comprised of everything and everyone we know.
Every raindrop, every laugh, every tear;
the anguish and the joy.
When that goes away, so do we.
An angry, failing shell remains to sap
those we love before it passes and is finally done.

When the body fails, it's hard to reconcile that active mind,
that spark of life that makes us who we are -
is robbed from the rest of us - we who remain.

One minute, there - alive and active,
and the next, the body fails,
and the promise of a future, with it.

Everybody dies.
Bald truth.

Carry something of me forward
that my fleeting moments upon this earth
left something behind in those I love.
Forgive me of my failings,
so I may make peace for them.
Celebrate some little thing I leave to you,
in your own way.

Once, not so very long ago,
I gave your hand a double squeeze.
Your child's hand, so small,
then a woman's hand,
Our own little ritual,
now carried forward
to the sons of my daughter.

I am not my body - it will fail.
I am not my mind - it will pass.
I am only what I leave behind.

And this is all the legacy I hold,
for my daughters and my son;
for the sons of my daughters,
and perhaps the babes
of my grandsons.

-Mah

LMC 5/6/2015 cc
so much to do...so little time
Lin Cava Jun 2016
Loss…

These are the shadow days,
the dimmed-light hours
where voices and visions
abide in the bowers -
their memories revived
as mere faded apparitions -
I weep softly for dear friends
asleep among the flowers.

-Lin Cava

14th December 2014

***
Copyright © 12-2014
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Beating of drums and the midnight fires;
heroes and children shed blood in the sand
waging war for political liars.

Do what the situation requires.
through strikes of panic in a foreign land -
beating of drums and the midnight fires.

Desert beauty, a thing that inspires,
won’t save child martyrs, dead by their own hand,
waging war for political liars.

Sacrifice all, for Allah admires
a strong willed martyr to play as they can;
beating of drums and the midnight fires.

Light up the night for wasted desires.
Mother will love you as part of the plan;
waging war for political liars.

Heroes or children, each of them tires -
forfeit of future; all he acquires;
beating of drums and the midnight fires;
waging war for political liars.

Lin Cava©

A Villanelle has some very specific rules for the form.  The repetition sets up a cadence; a particular rhythm.  This is one of my first of the form.
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Feb 2013
Missing You

The teardrop gently slips down the cheek
leaving its salty trail upon my face.

Born of the chasm of missing you
it slipped out against my will,
so powerless to stop it.

In a ray of sunlight it hovers,
capturing my attention…
I grasp for the wisp as it floats
beyond my reach
and for one moment of crystal clarity
I remember, and hold still…

The wisp lands, softly bouncing,
upon my outstretched palm
dancing in the warmth of air above it,
and barely touches me and I travel back…

I remember youth, remember song
caution to the winds, trampling through life
carefree…

When the wisp settles
like a flash coursing through me
I feel your heart and wonder,
if, like me, you have cushioned it,
wrapped and restrained your heart -
safe from pain and salvaged for another day.

The future is never certain and we seldom know
the length of our timeline.
Regret is a lonely emotion,
apology often too little
and always too late.

Another teardrop falls…
I cry – for I have lost a gift
one so unique, so dear
that it can never be replaced.

We are foolish, we men
and women of this earth.
Knowing, fully, that life is short
that some things are more precious
than any others
we tread upon them in careless abandon
as if we were children
senseless to our surroundings
imparting damage
to those whom we most love

And cry the lonely tears
of missing what we hold so dear.

4th February, 2013
©Lin Cava
Lin Cava Oct 2010
I have built this wall,
brick by brick.
I’ve mortared it all,
sturdy and thick.

I remember the time
I was washed in forgiveness
my face wet with tears -
my sense of self released
as I lost that heavy load.

I turn, and start another
line of bricks,
heavy with the mortar
until it sticks.

Each year the wall gets thicker
and the light is sometimes thin.
Each week the wall gets higher
so that nothing will get in.

Still, I can remember when
I was stripped of all my woes,
the weight of sin washed clean,
burdens lifted from me
to feel that touch within.

I turn, and start another
line of bricks.
Heavy with the mortar
Until it sticks.

It has been many years
since I began this wall.
I've spilled too many tears
as the bricks built up so tall.

And though the memories
allow the light’s way in,
I know - deep inside of me,
I’ll not break down again.

I have built this wall,
brick by brick.
I’ve mortared it all,
sturdy and thick.

I know that when it’s done,
I've placed the last brick of this room,
that when, at last, I’m through,
it will become my tomb.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Up and down and all through the house,
Went the scampering of a little grey mouse.

Running ‘round the corner the furry thing belched.
“Oouu” he squeaked, “I should keep those things squelched.”

For the cat can hear the drop of a pin,
But against a cat, I don’t think I could win.

And as a mouse, I much prefer cheese,
Than fuzzy cat hide and chewy cat knees.

There are stories told, (I heard from the rats),
That one can go bald if nibbling on cats.

Yet I wonder about the gas they’d create,
Could it be as bad as the dog I just ate?

Now, don’t be upset, it’s not what you think,
It was only a small Chihuahua named Tink.

I was on my way to a meeting, you see,
With a cutie girl mouse who’d been flirting with me.

When out from behind a bush Tink did pop,
I got such a fright that I let my jaw drop.

Tink stepped on my tail; I had no way to run.
Then he gave me a yank, and I thought I was done.

I’ve heard you gain ten times your strength when in fear,
So I turned ‘round and ate him, and shed not a tear!

But, like most spicy food, he gave me such gas,
I could not dare visit that cute little lass.

And that’s when you found me as I turned the bend.
Good thing I’m not hungry; this would be The End.

-Lin Cava-
copywrite
Commons copywrite.
Personal use.  Can be shared if work includes my name and copywrite.
Lin Cava Nov 2010
Such a lovely ring, she said.
It even looks good on my ugly hands.
As if those hands were lacking.
As if those hands –
hard working hands –
Bore no beauty of their own.

My mother’s hands,
That held the soap
To scrub my baby toes;
Whose hands were there
To show me how
To blot my runny nose.

Those hands that later
held my hands
And patiently did teach me
How to tie my shoes -
Then held them once again
To coax and guide my own
To write my cursive name
Until the time when I alone
Could do the very same.

My mother’s hands,
That fed me,
And tucked me in at night;
Who touched my fevered brow
And soothed away my fright.

My mother’s hands,
That all my life
Gave comfort, care and hope.
And when my children came to be,
I watched my mother’s hands -
a new grandmother’s hands -
Touch my children, tenderly.

My mother’s hands,
Yes, weathered by their toil,
The fingers wide,
And aged with years –
and just like her,
Still sure and strong
Yet gentle as they ever were.

My mother’s hands –
She looks, and says they’re ugly
But I don’t know what to say.
For when I see
My mother’s hands
It’s the beauty of
The love they gave,
Assuring strength
And constant grace
All held within
My mother’s hands.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
We all have our own monsters
whose daytime face is calm.
Who’s so serene,
as if a dream,
reality’s glare; stark.

We learn to live beside them.
Raise no undue alarm.
Work as a team,
within the scheme
of boundaries left unmarked.

In the compromise, our loss
unnoticed in the park.
But know the thing
that waits for you
Sits grinning in the dark.

Its yellow eyes gleam madness.
Its teeth are long and sharp.
It is a slice –
your own device –
come calling you to hark.

And when the long day’s over
You stumble through your door
It wants you as
***** donor
to silence its deep roar.

So keep on compromising.
Pat it upon its head.
Be safe by day –
beware at night
Until it goes away

Don’t hold your breath, awaiting
release of terror’s spark.
Just know the thing
that waits for you
Sits grinning in the dark.

Lin Cava©
Inspiration:  Harlan Ellison
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
There was a time
Not long ago
when movies weren’t rated.

When younger folks
of tender age
could watch ‘til they were sated.

A snack and pop
when dimmed the lights -
the best tastes e’er created.

We’d cheer and call,
and laugh at all,
to leave the place, elated.

The cost in coin
was not so high
the fun, anticipated.

The problem was
that skippin’ school
yields under-educated!

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Quiet night, the darkness illuminated by a silver moon
Punctuates my solitude, exposing thoughts restrained by day.
Tip a toast to all I have loved and lost, much too soon
Closing in upon the time, I too, will slip away.

Silver moon, carry me on a winsome dream,
That a night zephyr might take my heart
take this love I hold inside, delivered as a moonbeam
through distances beyond the plotted chart.

Bring my Love safe passage, held within your song
that he may feel my presence, hearken to my call -
an embrace to touch him, hold him fast and long –
to have his heart think of me, in all he can recall.

Silver moon, these gifts must travel true
they must bear up to last throughout the years
to fulfill a need and share as time comes due
memories to comfort a once lost love’s soft tears.

© Lin Cava
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Jun 2016
Theodore Roosevelt –

Teddy ceased to walk this earth, benefactor to his beloved Nation, valiant in his service to his country, his family and the family of Americans, on January 6, 1919.

During his remarkable life he never wavered in his support of America – these United States, and Americans.  Were it not for Teddy, there would be no National Preserves or parks.

He had much to say.  So sage was his insight that it retains universal relevance to this day.

Sadly, we have no modern day Teddy to set things right; there is so much to address, and so little time to meet the challenges.  I fear we have adopted a timidness of heart that would be a foul countenance for this President to see.

What follows are some of his words.  See if you do not agree that they remain relevant words of wisdom, to this day.  Teddy is gone for 96 years.  How I would love to see another like him at the helm.



“Any man who tries to excite class hatred, sectional hate, hate of creeds, any kind of hatred in our community, though he may affect to do it in the interest of the class he is addressing, is in the long run with absolute certainly that class's own worst enemy.”



“Behind the ostensible government sits enthroned an invisible government owing no allegiance and acknowledging no responsibility to the people. To destroy this invisible government, to befoul the unholy alliance between corrupt business and corrupt politics is the first task of the statesmanship of today.”

“Our government, National and State, must be freed from the sinister influence or control of special interests. Exactly as the special interests of cotton and slavery threatened our political integrity before the Civil War, so now the great special business interests too often control and corrupt the men and methods of government for their own profit. We must drive the special interests out of politics.”

We should insist that if the immigrant who comes here does in good faith become an American and assimilates himself to us he shall be treated on an exact equality with every one else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed or birth-place or origin.  But this is predicated upon the man's becoming in very fact an American and nothing but an American. If he tries to keep segregated with men of his own origin and separated from the rest of America, then he isn't doing his part as an American. There can be no divided allegiance here. . . We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans, of American nationality, and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding-house; and we have room for but one soul loyalty, and that is loyalty to the American people.

-Theodore Roosevelt - January 3, 1919 - Publicly read on January 5, 1919

Roosevelt passed the next day, January 6, 1919



“Every immigrant who comes here should be required within five years to learn English or leave the country.”



And, wouldn’t this apply to the keystone pipeline? –

“Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children's children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.”

“Leave it as it is. The ages have been at work on it and man can only mar it.”

*

“In foreign affairs we must make up our minds that, whether we wish it or not, we are a great people and must play a great part in the world. It is not open to us to choose whether we will play that great part or not. We have to play it. All we can decide is whether we shall play it well or ill.”

“In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American... There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn't an American. We have room for but one flag, and that is the American flag… We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language... and we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people.”

“In this country we have no place for hyphenated Americans.”

Presidential thoughts and on leadership…

"Patriotism means to stand by the country. It does not mean to stand by the president or any other public official, save exactly to the degree in which he himself stands by the country. It is patriotic to support him insofar as he efficiently serves the country. It is unpatriotic not to oppose him to the exact extent that by inefficiency or otherwise he fails in his duty to stand by the country. In either event, it is unpatriotic not to tell the truth, whether about the president or anyone else.”

“People ask the difference between a leader and a boss ... The leader works in the open, and the boss in covert. The leader leads, and the boss drives.”

“The best executive is the one who has sense enough to pick good men to do what he wants done, and self-restraint to keep from meddling with them while they do it.”

“The things that will destroy America are prosperity at any price, peace at any price, safety first instead of duty first and love of soft living and the get-rich-quick theory of life.”

Yes, he had a lot to say.  Not everyone can agree on everything.  But, I am sure that Teddy would have rather a person support their position, firm in the knowledge of the situation, when not in agreement, than go along meekly, unwilling to effect change.
Our Politicians, by and large, have become what our founders intended that they NEVER become - De-facto Royalty.  They are our nations royals, holding themselves above those they are purported to represent.
The are so much so above us that they exempt themselves from laws of the land that we must abide.  They refuse to represent the people in seeking solutions for the good of the country and obscure that with making ovations to "be inclusive" of special interests.  What is good for one, is good for all - no longer matters, as our representatives have taken the power we gave them and twisted it.
Far to few to make the difference, those who would not conduct themselves as if a class above the People are unable to overcome.
I grew up on Long Island, not far from Teddy's house.  My son and grandsons call it just that - Teddy's house.  They have visited, played and learned there.  Though I was born long after he left this world, Theodore Roosevelt touched my life - in fact, all of our lives.  Strange that I should so miss someone I never knew.
Lin Cava Jan 2013
…passed this way
-Lin Cava
©2013-January-23

Ah, my dear one…
Will we never learn?
Does time and trial
teach us no lessons?

Or, are we immune,
ever blinded by proximity –
too close to gather the truth
to spin a skein of knowledge
strong as silk
and just as soft?

Time decides for us
when we are late to act.
For nature cannot wait,
and must move on.

And time has come and gone –
for what was once an open door;
was once opportune for the moment,
has softly closed and locked in place.

And the hands of time
have latched all but the memory
of what might have been…
The windows are barred;
frosty with the cold left behind.

Through the silence
of a world hushed
by the snow of indifference,
a heart soundlessly freezes
and breaks.
Lin Cava Aug 2018
Bias and fairness cannot coexist.... There is a presumption that bias is bad and that is a presumption we should accept in nearly every single facet of life. - Trey Gowdy, June 20, 2018

My article may be found here:

https://www.newrightnetwork.com/2018/08/peter-strzok-fired.html

Please copy and paste into your browser to read.  Any review or commentary will be appreciated.  Thank you.
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Reflecting Pool
Revised 12-31-17

The mirror never tells the story,
no matter how we live our lives;
Never shines upon our glory.
When all is said, it's who survives.

I was there when those twin towers
became a shadow in the sky,
Now we go and toss our flowers
and leave; a tear in every eye.

Where have we come today -
from such a yesterday?
What will tomorrow have us say?

When the snow comes down
And covers sacred ground
Listen for their hallowed, whispered sound.

So I turn my eyes toward learning
Future times already flying by.
Ignore the pain that's borne of yearning
To bring back simple days run dry.

Where have we come today –
from such a yesterday?
What will tomorrow have to say?

The mirror never tells the story,
no matter how we live our lives;
Never shines upon our glory.
When all is said, it's who survives.

When the snow comes down
And covers sacred ground
Hear their hallowed whispered sound.

Lin Cava ©


In 2001, in a multitude of coordinated acts, the United States of America was attacked on home ground.  We must never forget the fallen.
WE MUST NEVER FORGET THIS ACT OF WAR.
There must be a time when we collect a debt for a Nation, the survivors of those lost and the thousands of lost souls.

During the September 11 attacks of 2001, 2,996 people were killed (including 19 terrorists) and more than 6,000 others wounded.[1][2] These immediate deaths included 265 on the four planes (including the terrorists), 2,606 in the World Trade Center and in the surrounding area, and 125 at the Pentagon.[3][4] The attacks were the deadliest terrorist act in world history, and the most devastating foreign attack on American soil since the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.[5]


Lin Cava ©
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Mar 2013
-Remembered-
*
He is gone
has been gone
long before his life-light
blinked out.

In the wake of who he was
is emptiness
a chasm only he could fill -
now barren of his uniqueness

In his lingering
I saw the proof
that life is neither
fair, nor just

We have but one life
and many choices
When it’s through
there is no more

We bear our burdens
of poor choices
bearing witness to our
mistakes, or lack of purpose

And we ponder
near the end
feeling the hard pain
of having wasted time

Never wasteful, he was a man
who did not need to ponder
he took up the cause
of his fellows in life

Life’s circumstances; beyond the control
of the accident of our birth
become our burdens,
and change; our redemption

He filled the many lives he touched
with happiness, support and reason
He helped, when help was needed
and he Served; hard but well

For such a man is a hero
in many ways
and should not pass
through a lingering chasm

But life is not fair, nor just
and mankind has tinged
our natural outcome
by un-natural measures

He is missed, and the emptiness
more pronounced for the living
because of who he was
how he filled their lives and hearts

In memory, we must celebrate
for we all were touched
by a quietly remarkable man
Our lives ever improved for it.

I shall return to his gravesite
And place a stone upon it
For as long as a stone, is a stone -
He will be missed.

©Lin Cava
14th March - 2013
Lin Cava Jul 2013
Remember When Love Was New...

...and bodies and minds had *** and love
all jumbled up together,
as if one were symbiotic to the other?

Remember when love was new,
and we went to bed naked,
woke up naked,
touched?

Remember?

Sometimes it might have been
one of either
a blessing or a curse.

In the name of children,
we hid our nakedness
akin to those before us
in the garden
who suffered the awakening.

Should have stayed stupid.
Should have shunned that tree of knowledge.
But then, we'd be no more than animals.

Ta dump dump.

Remember when the feel of clean sheets
against naked skin was enough to
have us start the dance.

And dance some more in the naked
mornings that followed.

We are naked.  No matter how we
dress our lives, we arrive, and leave
with nothing.  Naked.

Some of us struggle just to stay warm.
Others of us are always in heat.
Sometimes, we are frigid in our nakedness,
fruitless despite the dance.

Remember when love was new?
Do you still go to bed naked,
only to sleep?

Ah, but dream.
Dream in your nakedness
and I shall know you.
I shall search for you.
And beware, my love,
for I shall find you.
And though I may be chilled
in this age of mine
I will arrive naked, and warm you.*

Lin Cava
16 - July - 2013
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Etta James, singing “At Last” behind me now,
lights turned low, ******* of Drambuie on ice
the air carries the aroma of desert roses,
green fern and damp mossy bark; the gift of a posy.

The scent reminds me of the quick light rains
tapping in the afternoon, making love to thirsty
new greens, coaxing them up to reach for more.
My body reacts to the thought, arching up.

Sips of warming golden liquid, the cold ice
a give-and-take of restrained contrast,
until the liquid has all been consumed –
and the ice remains, bearing the spirit upon it.

Contributions to reflections in sensuality,
The ice, captured up quickly from the glass
held in deft fingers, neatly, to paint their
cold upon my lips, sipped within a warm mouth.

The cold, diminished cube, dances on the tongue.
I rise; the glass left behind, and come to you –
Face to face, eye to eye.  The kiss shares the cool
as the ice passes between us, to melt in loves flame.

Eyes close, now drinking in another kiss,
I feel myself surrender to the flame that rises up.
Once more I am arching within your arms,
strong, gentle hands contain me, stoking the fire.

I am released, free to feel all that is within –
to bring it to the surface; without question - to share…
The heady scent of longing fills me, fueling passion
The ice, a forgotten prelude to love’s rendezvous.

Lin Cava ©
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Jun 2013
Renewal

Mother walked into the Sea this morning.
Harkened to the song of Neptune;
the wail of the sirens.
She was called to beauty.

Mother walked into the Sea this morning,
but she did not walk out.
Embraced by the precious,
the irreplaceable, the untouched
she is surrounded now in a balance of beauty.

She travelled long and far
leaving land behind
as a lost memory
a forgotten effort

Relieved forever of the weight
of the fight, of the blight
She has left us to our own devices.
I cannot even cry, "Why?"
For I am aware.

Mother walked into the Sea this morning.
She moved past vast deserts in the Oceans,
fled beyond sea lanes and gulf streams
shedding tears to match the salt of the sea
she cried for the lost coral reefs

She cried for the loss of life
She cried until there were no more tears
...and still she swam to where now she rests.
There is no more she will do.
There is no more she can fix.

She floats past green fronds,
free floating in the brine
feels the mermaids purses hiding there
so few, and less will survive.

Along the way, through dead seas
she sees the remains
of man's most vile waste
drums upon drums, rusted through
once filled with half-life,
spent fission elements
left to decay, left to destroy
left to be forgotten
but Mother, cannot forgive
the damage is done.

She lingers in a place of beauty
beyond words, no language can portray
as she hides among the coral, watches
the colorful fish, tropical life
and cries once more for the death
the destruction, mankind's blight
wreaked upon these special places...

Her heart is breaking
for if the Seas die
the Earth dies.
Better to let the Blight of Man
be left to destroy himself.

She shall gather the gifts of the Earth
Secret them far away from harm
to become the seeds of a new beginning.

It has happened before
Millions of years ago
But an instant to Mother
And after, the Earth came back
full in its beauty
perfect in its balance

Let her sister, Nature, take Her toll upon
the blight of man,
the pestilence of saturation.
There are too many, much too many
for Mother to support.  

She must rest now.  Save what little can be saved.
For the time when she must rise again.
A time when the wind will carry her breath
to  breathe life into what remains.
And she shall rise again.

Renewal.  Mother will rise once more.
And for a while, there will be no callousness
no blight of forgotten crimes
against the lifeblood that sustains her;
Mother Earth.  Only she shall remember
that once, there was greatness in Mankind...

Mother walked into the Sea this morning.
Harkened to the song of Neptune;
the wail of the sirens.
She was called to beauty.

Mother walked into the Sea this morning,
but she did not walk out.

Lin Cava
20-June-2013

As of June 19, 2013 the world's human population is estimated to be 7.093 billion by the United States Census Bureau, and over 7 billion by the United Nations.  Most contemporary estimates for the carrying capacity of the Earth under existing conditions (which is the ability of earth to sustain the population of man) are between 4 billion and 16 billion. World Population Organization has stated that the growth of human populations now exceeds the ability of the earth to sustain them.

*****************­*
Depending on which estimate is used, human overpopulation may or may not have already occurred.  Nevertheless, the rapid recent increase in human population is causing some concern. The population is expected to reach between 8 and 10.5 billion between the year 2040 and 2050. In May 2011, the United Nations increased the medium variant projections to 9.3 billion for 2050 and 10.1 billion for 2100.

Something has to give.  There will be disease, and increased loss of life by natural occurrences because of sheer volume of population alone.  There will be genocide, and hidden agenda's carried out by the powerful and wealthy which will remain secret.  We are so capable of saving many, but just as capable of biological destruction.  Culling of the herds.  It will not be fiction, just as "1984" is no longer fiction...
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Kiss me only with sweet poetry
Dance with me only with your words
I live in a room there
Hidden between the lines

Carry the touch of your heart on wings
Given flight in lyrical symmetry
So your music can play me safely
Where my heart answers back

A taboo – never to be
Examined like lost stones -
Mettle never to be tried
By time or hardship.

The gift, a safe harbor
To immure stubborn affections
For what can never be.

Lin Cava ©
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Oct 2010
It is that time of year again
when dark of night
like black and white -
and winter’s frosty breath lays claim
to landscapes washed in moonlight’s pall
both high and low
as dark and glow -
stark scene, upon the eyes and mind.

Soon to come, the snowbound hours
captured and held
tie and then geld
to suit his need, his want, his will
when the season’s only color
splash, hot and red
cries, left unsaid
swift, nay, merciful end of one.

Awake, awake my chosen mate
to fly with me
behold in glee
new mysteries unseen this life
does hold for one in interest new
and greet the dew
to be with you…
He has returned to stake his claim.

Lin Cava
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Autumn’s snap is in the air
Like the crisp crunch of a ripe apple.
I want to gather them up from
The trees, take them home in bushels
Make apple compote,
Apple strudel,
Apple pie!

I want to stuff them into roast duck
With black walnuts and chestnuts.
I want to poach them with some pears
And sour cherries.
I want to make apple tarts with cranberries.

And feed them all to you.

Flour dust still in my hair,
Powdered sugar on my face
To make love to your appetite
With bits of apple goodies
In the crisp Autumn air - somewhere
On beds of leaves bursting bright
All in the colors of Autumn.

You’ll never think of apples
(or tarts) the same way again.
And Autumn, a little more exotic
A little bit ******, something
To look forward to
When Autumn’s snap is in the air!

© Lin Cava
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Eyes closed, head back, with so much to think about.
These things **** through my mind in quick succession.
None brings a smile.  The worry line, my thinking pout,
appears each time I lose control to lend my mind concession.

Time spent, drained, wasted waiting for the muse,
pushing for one more stanza with too much on my mind,
these things I am not sure about, taunt and then confuse –
Logical progression does not want to be so kind.

From nowhere, your voice jumps from the page,
a calming, steady, thoughtful sound that pulls me back.
Softly, words of meaning, of focus, true and sage,
a sweet caress of caring, and the tension goes slack.

I put myself in your hands, though only for a moment -
The thought that someone else cares, carries me along.
Pulled away by sanity, and loving thoughts, eases torment.
Relief is felt; a simple love brings music for the heart’s song.

Lin Cava©
About writer's block and a gentle, near magical touch - and the door opens...
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Enamored of the light that shines from you
She's captured; as a moth drawn to a flame
Surrender bids sweet innocence adieu
Existence nevermore to be the same.

The rapture she had not been taught to seek
Delirious for him; her eyes implore
Consumed in heat not witnessed by the meek
She arches back, ******* rising, wanting more.

Wonderment of physical expression
Immaculate, her heart belongs to him
Unconditional; without repression
For his touch, would surrender life and limb.

She whispers this to you, and then no more
"It's only you, my love, who I adore."

© Lin Cava
Creative Commons
yes, avec chaux:  with limes
Lin Cava Oct 2010
Night.  A dark, starless night,
settles in with the chill
down close to the ground
swirling around the ankles
as if a snake, slithering by.

The leaves have fled the trees,
once their grounded home,
now free, in death, to fly
upon late Fall breezes;
a last hurrah
before the winter ****.

The air is clear, cold, crisp.
Nearly soundless,
save the whisper of the wind;
rustle of the leaves
left on the ground.
Barren trees murmur
as their branches sway.

As surely as the breeze,
the chill, the night sounds;
As real as the earthy smell in the air,
the scent of snow yet to fall,
as true as the flight of winter geese
you are here, everywhere
in everything, around me, within me.

Even within a dark, starless night,
all is safe, settled, calm.  
In the fullness of your touch
the warmth within me burns,
and chill slides away, harmless.

Lin Cava ©
Creative Commons
Lin Cava Oct 2010
The city falls away, gray, as I rise,
my ladies cozy in the glass lift – to seven.

Ten to four. Spot on. No need to worry.
You’d think it were High Tea – be late; no break.

Between five and six, the blasted thing stops!
Me, stuck in a fog, with the Barrister’s waiting.

Before they moved in, taking up all of seven,
I stayed in the mezz., tipping my ladies to the cups.

The lift jolts, jostling the ladies, rattling their tops.
I move out; cups, cakes and savories in rows, like ducks.

“English Breakfast, Darjeeling, Earle Gray”, I say,
wishing the solicitors away, in court today.

A pinched-face woman, aghast at her clocks, rushes in.

I made inquiries today; for the lease of a storefront next door.

Lin Cava ©
Creative Commons Copywrite
Lin Cava Oct 2010
When tenderness turns away,
Hope breathes a final sigh.
Life reverts to shades of grey –
Love, once fluid, turns brittle and dry.

Zephyrs that often piqued an interest
And brought exotic dreams to fore –
Die as doldrums, unimpressed;
To leave one haunted, wanting more.

If Passion is Love's celebration,
The verve and spirit of its vigor -
Then Tenderness is its reflection –
In absentia; brings callousness and rancor.

In the quiet times, when passion sleeps -
Touch me softly in tenderness-
Delicate wonders that Love's company keeps
To remind me again with sweet gentleness.

Alas, when tenderness turns away,
Lost to deaf ears, that final sigh –
Love is loathe to wait or to stay,
Hearts cease to beat and Love does die.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Oct 2010
To think we might go terraforming;
When we cannot save our own green earth.
Bulldoze, clear, hydrate, land conforming -
Leave behind the trash with carefree mirth

Lost to eyes that have never perceived
Intrinsic beauty within a leaf
The song of nature, gifts we’ve received
Perfumed zephyrs, their aroma brief

A symphony of insects and birds
Trills and whistles, loud winds and soft sighs
Music here that needs no spoken words
Had they noticed how it softly dies?

We’ve pushed beyond a safe redemption
Killed off species never discovered
So much more of which we can mention
Some, much too late to be recovered

And yet, we plan on terraforming
Move on to a new place, start out fresh
Some might see it as bullish storming
With ways unchanged, new worlds we enmesh.


Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Lin Cava Aug 2013
The Kestrel and the Dove

Friday night
Saturday afternoon
Sunday in the morning
you are quiet
a ghostly wisp;
a gossamer veil:
a scent on the breeze

I recall the doves
cuddled together in their tree
coo-cooing gentle love songs
even as they sleep
and I wonder
Are you coo-cooing once more?
…and is she of the same feather?
…does she sing to you a different song
in the same coo-cooing voice she crooned
before
in your not so long ago past?

Your need is strong
to be turtle-doving,
softly loving
and though your tune
is soft and haunting
in those refrains from long ago
you are different,
forever changed.

You are a kestrel,
set free, at last.

The Kestrel and the Dove
though together for this brief hour
can never again
be bound by love.

Lin Cava
31-August-2013
Lin Cava Oct 2010
The Poet

Words of beauty grace the page
and images spring to bloom
Tenderness, heartbreak, rage –
sunshine bright or shadows darkly loom.

Such is the world of the Wordsmith;
of the poet’s heart, within.
The scent of apple blossoms with
the brisk zephyr for it’s kin.

The poet reaches to impart
the fitting metaphor
to open up the heart
as one might open up a door.

His bag of tricks, near magical,
his words ring clear and fine
to sing the world a madrigal
with the taste of summer wine.

Later in the evening
even the poet takes his pause
and an aging hand picks up the pen
to further shape his cause.

The body wearies with the years
but the mind stays young, and bold.
For all his laughter and his tears
the poet’s heart does not grow old.

Night has come upon him
as he closes tired eyes
sleep takes him to the rim
of sweet dreams and brighter skies.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
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