Too much…

Too much…

It always seemed so rare – to me –
the Shakespearean slings and arrows
we all are said, to suffer –
could take such daunting blows.

But they can, and they do.

We all deal differently
some with armor,
some with dark sadness,
blood red anger,
deep consuming depression,

and often, Denial.

Ah. Denial. A close personal friend.
He breathes to ones lips
a kiss of relief; obscuring truth;
a sly tongue slipped in, irreverently
with the lie.

Denial. A seed of peace upon the heart;
and yet, black death awaits the bloom
its blossom sweet –
dismissing of the Truth.

Denial will never save one.

He will obscure reality,
diffuse the pain
and lead one down the path
where discovery awaits – too late.

Denial and Truth – Mortal enemies

I learned too late;
Did not heed Truth’s solemn gaze
His words, unspoken, but there;
“Be aware. Don’t dismiss. Danger lurks.”

Truth – the quiet one –
whose thunder sounds in one’s soul
when comes discovery…

Truth works within.

We do not listen to that tiny
whisper – as soft as a spring breeze.
I wish I had listened,
suspicious of Denial’s kiss.

Alas, too late.
Too little time –
and much – too much,
to prepare for.

Lin Cava
2016.4.09
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What Has Gone And What Remains – Lin

What Has Gone And What Remains

In the silence

of fresh fallen snow,

In the dark night;

stars shine after the storm.

 

Clouds veil the sky

and obscure some star-glow –

There, above this Northern land,

to reveal a Southern Cross.

 

I look to the sky,

not by will of mind,

but by the pull

of a heartstring.

 

My breath catches

amazed at what I find.

I shake it off –

Free myself from superstition.

 

Once more, through strength of will

I push down yearning

strangle desire, and know

it is my will who is my heart’s jailor.

 

In dreams, I know I am free.

While unrestrained,

my love searches for his touch –

lost to me until I sleep.

 

In my waking hours

I know my sanity is forfeit,

should I dare to believe.

Yet my heart searches for him always.

 

Iron bars of rational thought

contain a love beyond capture.

A flame of desire, else unrestrained;

its heat calls to me; cries out for him.

 

Though I try to push it aside

In my denial, I admit I have fallen.

I had let irrational love capture me

and rivet my mind behind iron walls.

 

But Jailor Mind broke through those walls

a burning effort, aglow so hot

as to leave not even an ash behind.

It could not destroy a persistent remnant…

 

After the forest has burned

and the Mind has broken, insane.

After all that was is in ruin

Love, remains.

 

Lin Cava

10 – February – 2014

Always…

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

The Kestrel and the Dove

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

“Real” men; “Real” women…

Real” men; “Real” women…

Remember those books…”Real Men…”

Does anyone read anymore, or has unqualified opinion all but replaced books with not, progress, but with the cheapest in trade of the written word?

Too often we hear that we are all entitled to our opinions.  Are we; really?  Opinion is a cheap excuse, in these “thrill of the moment” times, for posting blunt, unworthy, Neanderthal essay blogs which are not only unqualified, but disdainful of our fellows upon this earth, and daunting to the progression of any good, whatsoever.  At their best, blogs can stir in one the will to accomplish positive change.  At their worst, they become the slings and arrows – not of outrageous fortune, but rather, of our times.  The internet media is the new mud-pit, and slinging mud has become a by-product of the nature of those who take delight in doing it.  What a pity that such an eloquent stage has been festooned with muck and mud to no purposeful end save for some kind of sickness that thrives on the discomfort of others. 

This place, ah, but this place can serve us so well, and with benefit offered in abundance, more so than with any other venue.  Instead, it has become cheapened by those who would, in a rather self-appreciative, self-fulfilling way – compose written posts that are posted only to hurt; and then to strut over the pain of the writer’s victims.  Education can teach one how to write, but cannot teach that which should be common sensibility. 

I marvel, daily, at the massive following those who would throw the first stone carry with them on social media.  Their bravado in posts on the internet provides them with a picture-window to their childish deeds, like the boys who call the undertaker to come to an elderly neighbor’s house.  It also provides them with a smoke-screen, a modicum of protection, the ability to hit-and-run, and lastly, and more so, fairly the lowest attribute of such writers, the ability to be confrontational without facing their victim.  These, my friends, are folks who cannot look one in the eye and say the same things that they feel free to write, to their intended targets.  These are the very same people who, before internet social networks, spread rumors, talked dirt and falsely about their friends and relatives – but could not look them in the eyes to voice their opinions. 

It is easy to voice an opinion online.  Volumes of folks will “like” it.  It fires-up the malign in them, and gives them easier venue of their own, rather than becoming educated and involved.  If we could see beyond the persona, beyond the false-faces and clever turn of a phrase, I believe what we would find are those weasels, never quite fulfilled in their own chosen lives, never quite successful at anything, but oh, so opinionated.  An old-school journalist will tell you – there is no way to post anything but blind, uninformed opinion in the kind of volume we see on “social” sites.  It takes effort and work to take the time to QUALIFY one’s opinion. 

Real men and women?  Yes, we all have opinions.  Some have the benefit of deeper insight than others, and I so value that in a person – whether a post or a face-to-face conversation.  It teaches me, it opens my own eyes, and more so, it creates an interchange between the participants that carries with it a dynamic that goes beyond the conversation.  Real men have opinions, and they are not shy about stating them.  Real men and women admit when they are wrong.   Those who don’t, well, they’re just pretenders, caught in a world of their own creation.  They live the life of those who speak in make-believe tongues, and live through alternate universes – usually created by others; others with true talent. 

Why do I opine?  I have seen those I care for hurt.  Hurt by those who are all grins and giggles at their own self-fulfilling posts, happy to see them paid for in pain, and prospering by the kudos of their followers. 

Real women and men invite your comments – may disagree – but are always open to a legitimate point of view we may have missed, or misconstrued.

Real men – real women, the invitation is extended.  You all see the same things as I do – so what are your thoughts?

 

Remember when love was new?

We all have relationships.  Some are short lived, some sweet, some simple, some harsh.  Yet others are long-term.  I’m still not so sure which is better, save to say, “To each, his own.”

Perhaps, most of us were not meant to have long term relationships.  And yet, we pursue them like the newly converted zealots, only to suffer, often after years and years, of having danced in the same concentric, and ever reducing circles, until our lives and our remaining time has diminished beyond where we ever intended. 

I already know I am capable of long-term commitment.  I wonder, though, if it was all based upon short sighted vison; upon a world that really never existed, a fairy-tale, a television show from the era before color TV’s.  Commitment.  I’ve given a lot of thought about that word, and its many connotations.  It may be the ever elastic thread that binds a loving relationship over the miles or the years, or it may be, with thirteen turns, the rope than hangs us.  Unfortunately, the coin of the realm is not measured in precious metals, but rather, in the most precious commodoty we humans have…Time.  We’re only given so much, and no-one really knows exactly how much that will be.  Time.  Make the best of it.  Forget the wastefulness and disregard we have for such a commodity, rather than the value and respect it deserves.

For each of us must come to know themselves.  Those of us lucky enough to have the vision before our time is gone might well determine, clear of thought, what is best for ourselves.  What am I, today?  Happy with the short and sweet in life, or committed to its bitter end?  These reflections are what gave birth to this poem:

Remember When Love Was New…

 

…and bodies and minds had sex 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

 

I’d really like to know your thoughts; are we meant to be together with another, exclusively, until death parts us?  Do we WANT to, despite what that might entail?  When we take a vow of marriage, is it to GOD, or to our loved one we vow?  I have my own perspectives, and yet, life often encompases within one place, a paradox.

 

Age and Perspective, A Prelude

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