Wildcat Springs

Wildcat Springs is a real place from my youth.  It existed across the river of my hometown, a place within the keeping of my adolescent years.  It was a place that mother’s warned their daughters from – fearing their reputations would surely be ruined.  It was a place where the sons of passion’s ecstasy took the daughter’s of desire – a place of young love, youth’s passion; star filled skies and warm summer nights.

Passion’s Ecstasy

Sons of Passion’s Ecstasy

Dance with Daughters of Delight

Under a canopy of stars

On a warm summer night

They speak of dreams and dreamers

Of cabbages and kings

Their language is of poetry

Their landscape is Wildcat Springs

Oh, daughters have been warned

By mothers throughout time

Do not dance at Wildcat Springs

The place of sacred rhyme

This is the place of youthful lust

Where childhood innocence is lost

Passion and desire run free

Never knowing there is a cost

The loss of youthful trust

To the desires of passion and delight

And dancing free and unrestrained

Innocence does take flight

Mothers have warned their daughters

From the desires of Passion's sons

Of hot summer full-mooned nights

When the end of day has come

But daughters will not heed the words

From mothers' ancient time

For mothers have forgotten

Their own youthful prime

Sons of Passion's Ecstasy

And Daughters of Delight

Meet on youth’s fertile fields

On a starry full-mooned night

In time they too will learn

The caution that comes with age

But tonight they dance free

Unaware of this ancient sage

PSG

© 08/12/05

MEMORY

(of my first love)

Sometimes he appears for no reason . . .

Yet, at others I cannot glimpse him.

He flits across the shadows of my mind.

I wake up in the night and have missed him.

He is just around the corner. . .

The sound of his voice is almost within my hearing.

I feel his breath in the wind on my neck.

The sun that bathes my body feels like his warm caress.

He is there, but I am unable to hold onto him.

He slips through my fingers. . .

Glides through my mind like a skater. . .

And he is gone.

PSG

© 2004

written in the spring of 1967

LOVES FIELDS

Words of love whispered on a star filled night

Spoken aloud under the vast prairie sky

Passion of youth spent in dark moon touches

Across a sea of green corn stalks

Here we met as young love

In the heat of youth with desires deep

As the swollen river at flood time

With love rich and fertile

Like the soil of the river valley fields

That brings forth the tall stalks of yellow corn.

Our love a rampage of desire

Too strong to be held

Too fragile to last beyond the summer’s rain

Too young and yet too old

A lover’s paradox

We met on those fertile fields –

Fields of youth, fields of passion

Those dark moon filled nights

Across an ocean of prairie grass

And ripening corn

The summer’s rain has long ago passed

The words spoken aloud across the sea

Of corn stalks and tall grass

Now lie silent against the north wind

Fertile fields no more

I call your name aloud

Across a sea of time

I whisper it to a moonlit night

Young no more

My love can be contained

It will last far beyond the summer’s rain

PSG

© - 1995

These poems are dedicated to the passion and desire of those hot summer nights of youth – that lead to the autumnal warmth of adulthood. They are dedicated to all of the sons of passion’s ecstasy with whom I traveled to and through the wildcat springs of my youthful self.