Who the Hell is maadjurguer?

My photo
I like to ski, mountain bike, drink beer, cook and listen to any jam band I can get my hands on; all while making a complete ass of myself. Hopefully this catharsis is as interesting to others as it is to me.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Tequila Tree 2.0

Her presence long past
guarded over a stash.
The bottle we once left,
sat hidden amongst the best.
But yesterday I retrieved,
the last of her gift;
a contribution of gold
which passed between her lips.
I left in place, a necklace paired;
beads, brass and feathers,
floating free in the air.

The feathers belonged, to a bird of prey,
which I found lying still as I pedaled along my way.
Staring at beauty, even in pause;
I reached down to feel its golden sharp claws.
Or talons I recall, stained bright yellow, like it's beak or maw; 
her locks of gold, took my innocent breath.
I plucked from it's body its flight modus in death.

They're now tied to a necklace, with beads adorned;
like a noose on my neck, my hopes were bored.
Bored of waiting for an opening in the trees,
for her to pass through and leave insanity.
The moment never came, the present became the past;
when custodians of infinity, left a piece of brass.
A token for her to hold, in her journey through fires, 
which took her human form which had too soon expired.
For many a month, this talisman meant to me;
a symbol of hope, in the spaces in between.
Wings no longer fit to soar,
form a reminder of what is in store,
for all of us will fall to the earth, like the bird of prey,
and the golden woman, who made my every day.

Until that day....not yet I say,
I will ride to the toast, and toast to the ride;
With every pedal stroke, my heart swells inside;
the future now, the horizon confides;
your path is anywhere, you place your mind.
This cairn of granite still contains some glass;
holding tequila and memories past;
Formed of picture and words, protected from rain;
she's now at peace, no longer in pain.
For the memory of her gift, will stand in guard
over this cairn of gold, this expression at large.

But what of the original bottle, is to become of itself,
which I removed from its rocky shelf?
You ask for sure, wanting to know more;
I say to you that more is in store.
For a second tree, born of her spirit;
is in the works today, of which you'll soon hear it.
Rising from the ashes of what is left,
A phoenix always rises among the best.
The McDowells will hold, the bottle removed;
In a rocky cleft, the gold imbues,
your climbing efforts and soaring views.


Post a Comment