~flagstaff mountain revisited~
~great time @ Avalanche Harley Davidson Friday, April 11th~
~walked in~
~rode out~
~thank-you, Kathy~
~wordwulf~
~I have ridden this ol’ hawg through clouds~
~gods have smiled on me & kicked my ass~
~a thousand drill bit raindrops~
~I hit the throttle~
~howl through to the other side~
~on the edge & one step further~
~over the top~
~flagstaff mountain~
~today, while cleaning the garage, a strange & interesting event occurred~
~a dust devil, mini tornado, danced up the driveway & across the cement floor~
~it wandered a bit in its' to & fro sway then rushed forward & spent itself~
~on the phat black & chrome body of my ol’ hawg~
~being a man of voice whose mouth has learned to close~
~the better to listen to nuances, phantom messages~
~I settled myself in the dust of my new friend~
~contemplated kicking the ol’ Hawg to life, which deed was done before I knew it~
~another specific & one-time event as she woke purring on the first stroke~
~entranced, I backed ‘er out of the garage~
~pointed ‘er toward the street & let ‘er have ‘er head~
~rolling west, down baseline road, memory took a swipe at me~
~dragged me back to the eighties, that same street & new boots~
~bearded brothers before me & roaring up from behind~
~the guitar man, Matthew, life-friend at my side~
~up the mountain we rode to the wedding of Phil Howell~
~to his beautiful Asian, silken-haired lady & their wind faces under the pines~
~preacher smart in his dark clothes~
~the music of creaking leather, cooling metal of iron horses~
~& darting birds, curious in their singsong quick-eyed way~
~past table mesa boulevard traffic & boulder lights fading behind~
~the road smooths out, single lane, an easy climb through the foothills~
~for the seasoned Colorado rider, a certain preparedness takes place~
~hairpin curves, jackknives await~
~cool, tree-shadowed paths & startling, sun-splashed views~
~v-twin & clutch, heartbeat & blood, fuse in a shift, down shift~
~tap the brake & throttle forward fluid movement~
~sunrise amphitheater lies just ahead, around this blind curve or that~
~red stones surrounded & punctuated by sturdy pine & scrabble bush~
~I leave my war-worn hawg, my dragon, on ‘er stand & follow the steep path down~
~memory quick-trips me backward to the seventies & my brothers~
~before the prison in canon city stole their hearts~
~we hauled our band gear up that ol’ mountain~
~carried amplifiers, guitars, drums, & generators down into the sun circle~
~where we established ourselves on that side-o-the-mountain open stage~
~I drank Seagram’s Seven, howled my lyrics & played my harmonica~
~into the mountain air & white cloud sky~
~boulder lay behind me, a sheer backdrop to a young man on the edge~
~of time & totally unaware of the audacity of his behavior~
~no permits, no appointments, just music & the poor-boy sterner brothers~
~doin’ that thing they used to do~
~a group of Jewish people appeared later in the day~
~permit in hand, they advised us they had reserved this wondrous place~
~for what promised to be a very special wedding observance~
~we played a couple of our songs for ‘em while they performed a precise & circular tribal dance~
~they applauded our efforts & fed us, sent us back smiling to our west Denver homes~
~a smile comes to me slowly~
~like Harry Chapin said, “It was a sad smile, just the same”~
~I lit my second cigar of the day, feet planted on each side o’ the ol’ dragon~
~arms resting on her handlebar wings~
~a sparrow landed on my mirror, gave me a wink and flitted away~
~I contemplated its lineage, generations of mountain life past~
~had its forbearers heard the poor boys’ noise, witnessed a blessed binding of troth~
~I swear the stones are the same, each pine needle & chittering chipmunk~
~sons born since have carried my music into a new age~
~it is theirs now & far different in some ways the same~
~I remain unchanged like the face of flagstaff~
~the mountain knows what I might only guess~
~time is on its side~
~cigar butt clenched tightly ‘tween my teeth, I give the ol’ war horse a couple o’ kicks~
~she coughs & sputters to life~
~I tickle her throttle, thrill in her growl & roar~
~a dust devil dervish giggles from the path~
~rises & kisses me on the cheek~
~my oh my, how, the mountain, it speaks~
~today, while cleaning the garage, a strange & interesting event occurred~
~a dust devil, mini tornado, danced up the driveway & across the cement floor~
~it wandered a bit in its' to & fro sway then rushed forward & spent itself~
~on the phat black & chrome body of my ol’ hawg~
~being a man of voice whose mouth has learned to close~
~the better to listen to nuances, phantom messages~
~I settled myself in the dust of my new friend~
~contemplated kicking the ol’ Hawg to life, which deed was done before I knew it~
~another specific & one-time event as she woke purring on the first stroke~
~entranced, I backed ‘er out of the garage~
~pointed ‘er toward the street & let ‘er have ‘er head~
~rolling west, down baseline road, memory took a swipe at me~
~dragged me back to the eighties, that same street & new boots~
~bearded brothers before me & roaring up from behind~
~the guitar man, Matthew, life-friend at my side~
~up the mountain we rode to the wedding of Phil Howell~
~to his beautiful Asian, silken-haired lady & their wind faces under the pines~
~preacher smart in his dark clothes~
~the music of creaking leather, cooling metal of iron horses~
~& darting birds, curious in their singsong quick-eyed way~
~past table mesa boulevard traffic & boulder lights fading behind~
~the road smooths out, single lane, an easy climb through the foothills~
~for the seasoned Colorado rider, a certain preparedness takes place~
~hairpin curves, jackknives await~
~cool, tree-shadowed paths & startling, sun-splashed views~
~v-twin & clutch, heartbeat & blood, fuse in a shift, down shift~
~tap the brake & throttle forward fluid movement~
~sunrise amphitheater lies just ahead, around this blind curve or that~
~red stones surrounded & punctuated by sturdy pine & scrabble bush~
~I leave my war-worn hawg, my dragon, on ‘er stand & follow the steep path down~
~memory quick-trips me backward to the seventies & my brothers~
~before the prison in canon city stole their hearts~
~we hauled our band gear up that ol’ mountain~
~carried amplifiers, guitars, drums, & generators down into the sun circle~
~where we established ourselves on that side-o-the-mountain open stage~
~I drank Seagram’s Seven, howled my lyrics & played my harmonica~
~into the mountain air & white cloud sky~
~boulder lay behind me, a sheer backdrop to a young man on the edge~
~of time & totally unaware of the audacity of his behavior~
~no permits, no appointments, just music & the poor-boy sterner brothers~
~doin’ that thing they used to do~
~a group of Jewish people appeared later in the day~
~permit in hand, they advised us they had reserved this wondrous place~
~for what promised to be a very special wedding observance~
~we played a couple of our songs for ‘em while they performed a precise & circular tribal dance~
~they applauded our efforts & fed us, sent us back smiling to our west Denver homes~
~a smile comes to me slowly~
~like Harry Chapin said, “It was a sad smile, just the same”~
~I lit my second cigar of the day, feet planted on each side o’ the ol’ dragon~
~arms resting on her handlebar wings~
~a sparrow landed on my mirror, gave me a wink and flitted away~
~I contemplated its lineage, generations of mountain life past~
~had its forbearers heard the poor boys’ noise, witnessed a blessed binding of troth~
~I swear the stones are the same, each pine needle & chittering chipmunk~
~sons born since have carried my music into a new age~
~it is theirs now & far different in some ways the same~
~I remain unchanged like the face of flagstaff~
~the mountain knows what I might only guess~
~time is on its side~
~cigar butt clenched tightly ‘tween my teeth, I give the ol’ war horse a couple o’ kicks~
~she coughs & sputters to life~
~I tickle her throttle, thrill in her growl & roar~
~a dust devil dervish giggles from the path~
~rises & kisses me on the cheek~
~my oh my, how, the mountain, it speaks~
~flagstaff mountain was published April 2005 by Colorado Vintage Poetry~
© 2015 artwork, music & words conceived by
& property of tom (WordWulf) sterner 2015 ©
http://wordwulf.com
~inquiries: [email protected]
© 2015 artwork, music & words conceived by
& property of tom (WordWulf) sterner 2015 ©
http://wordwulf.com
~inquiries: [email protected]
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