Fantasy Women? – Lin Cava

Fantasy Women?

Fantasy women don’t do dishes –
You won’t find one in a rut,
Who’ll clean up after any man
Has lost the contents of his gut.

In her fantastic world,
The marble’s always shiny
The carpet is always fresh
Her hair always falls divinely
About more than perfect breasts.

That erotic vixen
You wish that you could touch
Won’t make you tuna casserole
She doesn’t like it much.

She won’t pick out your ties
Or show up to PTA
Or wipe the snot off junior’s nose
Before he goes to play.

Fantasy girls don’t do that
It doesn’t work that way.

They don’t scrub behind the toilet
They don’t vacuum every day.
And when the new Ferrari
Needs bird droppings washed away
They’re posing in the driveway
Half naked, with the spray.

Some other wet hard-body
Can deal with seagull stuff
All those sexual gyrations
Are really quite enough.

So, keep vanquishing the dragon
To save that maiden fair
Who turns into a lusty virgin
For you to take her then and there.

Face it, you know how it goes –
When you’re both spent and out of breath –
Sooner or later you’ll have to stop
To keep from starving to death.

And while it’s true their only mood swings
Go from vavoom to bumpity
There’s something to be said for the gal
Who knows when to leave you be.

When relatives come to visit
And it’s time to say goodnight,
Do you really want your fantasy
Slip the tongue to Uncle Dwight?

Perhaps extended family
Will be amused; at least a bit
When she comes to the supper table
In that too-cute see-through outfit.

No, we mere mortal women
Have no need to worry away
When it comes to his fantasy lover;
They merely visit with her,
but they’re here with us, to stay.
Lin Cava
©

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To Touch You – Lin Cava

To Touch You

Sweet dreams, set a-field
blown softly away to you
wafting aloft, carried on breezes
over time and distance
playful sisters to the clouds
until they come to find you.

Peacefulness softy holds you
alight in its candle glow.
You are motionless, and yet
following your trail of thoughts,
reaching for the gossamer wings
of poetic perfection.

A tiny breeze tickles –
fingertips trailing gently
up your arm, across your chest
to find the place your heart resides
arousing little shivers
to call back your heart and mind.

Aware now, you feel
a heartbeat, quickened,
and the scent of presence
at the tender touch
as light as silk,
wraps its warmth around you.

Her quiet whisper rustles
brushing through your hair
stirring prickles at your ear.
“Thank you, my sweet friend.”
And turning then to find her face
You look, but she’s not there.

Long from now and far away
A dear friend’s written pleas
once launched upon a whisper
delivered with a breeze
will come drifting back to you
this moment meant to please.

A touch to bring a smile;
did you feel it speak?
Was it sense of wonder
developed to a pique –
that warmed you with a hug
and blushed against your cheek?

Lin Cava

Safe Harbor – Lin Cava

Safe Harbor

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
4/12/07

Relax – Lin Cava

Relax…

Today is a day to relax in.
To pull up one’s legs and share a couch –
Feet touching feet of someone you love.

Forget what wants to be done for a while –
Let life’s problems sleep through the day.
If feet wander, his feet or mine should explore –

Get lost in the moment
Until toes find soft skin, and one jumps up
A face of surprise, a glint in the eyes…

Today is a day to relax in.
To lay side by side; rolled onto the floor –
Drive the day slowly, touching some more.

And so, playtime begins
For today is a day to relax in
To share kisses, and touch, skin to skin…

Lin Cava
9 – December – 2007 ©

Providence

Providence

In reflection of lifes random rewards,
it seems that the luck of the draw prevails.
Some, it can be noted,
must search hard for the silver lining;
while others trip and fall,
only to find a gold coin upon rising.

Upon closer examination,
rewards are often not random.
Our history of acts, of kindess
or of malice, returns, as to carry forward
so justice shall prevail.

But, karma is not fulfilled –
for rewards and punishment are subjective,
random and unsatisfying.

There is no salve that will assuage
the pain of unjust loss.
It builds upon our character
in one way or another
toughens our approach to all
our dealings with all people.

There is no balm to erase the sting
of unjust betrayal, of malicious words,
hurtful acts, lies and deceit.

But every once in a long while
there is satisfaction in life’s rewards
when justice may prevail,
or patience may succeed…

I still remember some sage words –
“Good things come to those who wait.”
though I never believed it.

When sweet Providence looks up
and shines her smile upon me,
so rarely as she does,
I smile back, and a release,
a tear can be found upon my face
before it dries
taking with it the sting of hurt
the opression of pain,
and sets me free to examine
and be wary of what came before –
free to release the caul
than once obscured my vision
and cloistered me from happiness.

My heart has lightness where once
my shoulders bore weight and darkness.

Providence has touched me,
Justice has prevailed –
even blindfolded she has seen
and knows the truth.

In her way, she has turned the scales.

©Lin Cava 12-June-2012

Jamesport

Jamesport

They say
you can still find Clovis points
in Jamesport.

When the winery came
and the fields were laid bare
treasures in the dirt;
Clovis points, slept long
and silent in the rich dark loam
deep beneath the detritus
of damp and darkened leaves
fallen from the shadows
of the trees of my youth.

The scent of the green;
of the decay; composting
into wealth for the wine fields
wafts through my memory.

I remember, not so long ago
sounds of man’s machines
tearing down the trees,
clearing out the fields
making way for vineyards.

They brought the Osprey back.
The sea hawk; bird of prey
endangered, adapted to the fields
making meals of voles
amongst the vines.

Jamesport, indeed the Island,
is dotted now with stalks
topped with platforms made of wood –
each holding high a twiggy nest
for a raptor and a vineyard’s friend.
Always near the shore
within the scent and sound
of the water – of the ocean –
like me.

Clovis points would not be noted by these,
whose dominion has evolved
and gone to land from sea.
But there are few forests,
small now, locals call them “woods”.

There are still Clovis points
in Jamesport,
lying still and chill
beneath the surface,
amongst the leaves
out of sight
mostly out of mind
they sleep in a place
changed forever
though the beauty remains,
still vibrant with life.
I remember…
and for some strange reason
the thought always brings a sigh
often a tear; for what was once
shall never be again.

There are Clovis points
in Jamesport,
So they say.

© 7-June-2012
Lin Cava