Our stylists enjoy making you look great, but they’re also artists when it comes to paint and canvas or pen and paper, too.
Clock de Borges by JC Mahan
Clock de Borges does not tick Rather keeps pace by dripping candle wax. Through the birthing and the dying of the sun Called dawn and respectively sunset.
These mark the realms of the worlds. Existing in this Phoenix cycle of creation. Night, as we say, with its muted shadows. Reveals with its fears of the unknown, Also the possibilities of who we might be, If all the barriers were laid aside And all believed obstacles presented were hidden out of our hopeful thoughts sight, Allowing dreams to materialize as permanent ideas, The world of the almost, could be, beautiful future.
Day, as we say, harsh in its brightness Illuminates a harder reality, more fixed, set, Not transcending but transvexed, challenging. Each step, each deed, each word in combat, Plagued with the returning visions of who we were.
Making the past an overcoat of weak armor, Slowing down inspiration and response. Yet this world of fault and failure seems more tangible. Here in these two worlds of alternating time. He lives and would have us abide also,
Tangled between the tangible and the almost obtained. Duel citizens of vexed thoughts, ideas, and realities, Not measured in twelves of purpose. But in the giving and taking of light, Extended externally and internally, Lighting or shadowing existence amide duel creations.
Painting our lives, surrealistically in varying shades of melting watches and meandering verses. Alone in our quest for philosophy and reason.
When my treasure chest lies full
Of forbidden plunder, sunken asunder
And your maiden coast lies in ruins,
Ancient yet beckoning tokens of history,
We will both be forgiven and free
Once we have passed beyond the living.
After this life, liberated to the afterlife
Still we will exist but no longer be
Bound to the territorial boundaries.
No longer tethered to leashes of desire.
When we’re unable to be taken captive by desperation
Released from service in the armies of commitments
Having relinquished all duties and responsibilities
Eliminated from farming, the sowing of righteous seeds
Saved from the guilds of upright craftsmen
Adrift in an eternal sea without sextant or admiral
What actually indeed will we perceive?
And feel for ourselves, each other, our lives?
Shall we be happy and rejoice complete
In our abilities to navigate these seas,
To enjoy ourselves and each other and prosper?
Or shall we reminisce about the love we missed
The chances never taken, love missed or forsaken?
Think again and choose now, my Sweet Isabella.
Command the ripe choices at your finger tips.
Receive the kisses offered to your willing lips.
There may still be new continents yet to discover,
Perceiving that this time as all times
Shall soon forsake us and fade to black,
Eternity revealed might just be reliving it over again.
Song of the Siren
The song of the Siren waifs
across the waves
like sweet perfume from roses.
You imagine her soft petals
her perfect flesh, flawless
her color rich and radiant.
Longing to be there
you listen to the melody.
Your mind urges you to steer
towards her rocky shores even though
you know her thorns are sharp
her vines impenetrable
and her heart is as jaded as the sea’s.
You listen to her song and ache
but your heart beats, ” Do Not,
Do Not, Do Not, Do Not.
IT IS AUTUMN
7. It is not the changing light of Autumn, nor the tomb of the leaves. It is just the end of all things that might have been.
6. Yesterday gave much to a bright tomorrow never claimed and left stale unpeeled, rotting away like so many COULD OFS left on the shelf of well intentioned SHOULD OFS looked over by all of the too busy “WOULD OFS. Today seeming like yesterday’s news paper cycled/coffee grounds left molding in a brown soiled paper bag in the floor board of the back seat of an abandoned vehicle.
4. Today is the last day of all of your life up until now.
3. All of the talents and all of the beautiful looks and all of the advantages of all of the daughters of all of the King’s could not put Humpty Dumpty back together again, again.
2. How many times TIMES how many times multiplied by how many times add up to the rhyme of “Round and round the mulberry bush the monkey chased the gazelle”? Count them out, again. After so many snakes, how many Cinderella kisses does it take to become?
1. You are beautiful as you are. Wonderful in your making. Incredible in your presence. Everyone has been waiting for you to bloom. It is Autumn. Forget about number five. Forget about the past. Spring is gone. Forget about control or fear or failure. It is Autumn. It is all the time you have. Enjoy it.