Saturday, December 19, 2009

Itch A Sketch ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33


Itch A Sketch 
~ by Absolutely*Kate


It was never what she said ~ it was how she said it. The lean into look, the swallow the eyes heart, the come and beckon some more whisper. And he wanted it . . . around his hard edges, softening into new designs. Back to the drawing board . . . it was always back to the drawing board. His mind sketched what his yearnings defined . . . and most of the time visualization went past where mere T-square refined.

To manifest his destiny, he knew he had to step up by stepping in ~ outline the virility of poignancy past bold frames frozen in how-it-had-always-been . . . Jasper's will to win had vibrance in its palette, display fonts in affrontage and CAPS shifting to divine his higher-self. Only from within . . . depths yet unmined . . . could and would Jasper G. enrich eternity's pull of fair Genevieve in kind. Would the way justify his means; no guilt for gilt? Ode and opus to joy unfettered, to the OtherWorld he would draw forth allegiance to his Elysian Fields. What his mind’s eye saw . . . hunkered down Jasper indefatigably did draw ~

Gods and goddesses heard and were stirred by his lead penciled plea. Scratch, scratch, itch, itch ~ speak well it did of yearning he. His sketch was seen, his glimmer gleaned. For before the morning, comes the Moirae . . .
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Daughters of Zeus and Themis, named as “parts” of how Fate weave-wonders whole, the goddesses Moirae took up discussion of Jasper for Genevieve to conjure where brave be bold. Klotho, the Spinner remanded, “There is an inescapable destiny to mere mortal man - - “, cut off succinctly by Lakesis, Apportioner of Lots. Measuring the thread of Life, Lakesis murmered her return, “But all may share in the scheme of things.”, and let loose a longer tangle. Atropos, known as ‘She who cannot be turned’, gauged wisely and cut the looser thread of life. Her scissor points raised high, sharp gleams  of celestial light perforated her vision, “True sisters, true – in human affairs, we cannot abruptly interfere, yet when we deem the sincere we may avail of intermediate causes. Fate is not inflexible. Eternal laws take course, of course, but nay not absolutely, only conditionally comes obstruction. In his freedom, even mortal man himself may draw a certain influence upon them . . . this left up to the truths of his deduction.”
The prophetic deities had their day . . . Klotho carried forth her spindle roll – the book of fate, turning pages to chapter change. Lakhesis pointed her staff to a specific horoscope upon the globe, nodding once, decision told. Atropos glanced at her wax tablet and reconfigured derivations, consulted her sundial to diminish a shadow, and double’found justice in her pair of scales. The cut was made. The cyclic nature of human destiny went round, for there is no trifling with the goddess sisters – they deign design the divine:
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  

The soul of heroics varies you know, from author to artist, from plume to pen. Release percussions a powerful if not timpanic conundrum, by Zeus, as a tenacious ruler guided Jasper past fated men. Lightening strikes where man must have his fate ~ thus Jasper's parchment paper snap-crackled far into the late. Ticonderoga #2 met Eberhard in a rubber match with no taint to overshadow delight. SOULS ENTERTWINED was what sketched J. Gestalt in white space both clean and pure. Amour to be could not demur. Today's tomorrow revealed visions and prophecies in what came writ 'pon one man's script and scripture. To live, to love, to grasp, to grow, to tantalize past where incessant primordial courses flow.

In a studio down the hall, despite the hour, the fair Genevieve feels Jasper's deep devour. Portals work that way when itch be etch, when new realities open form from function’s derivative sketch. Sweet magic frees fire's re-embered desire . . . one to the other, time spiral-threads the higher.

No knocks for a door pushed open.

Doubt dispelled . . . his gaze she held.
BLISS  . . . be immortality's finest friend.

The end?  Nay, but beginning of this beguine . . . should you know what I mean.
(c) Absolutely*Kate, 2009 . . . with more to be in HARBINGER*33

6 comments:

Harry said...

It must be epic Sunday at the Bijou! One of your best A.K. 3 D vision when the rest of the world is wearin' bifocals!

Absolutely*Kate said...

Thank*you Harry! You always did get innuendos and the way they stream of conciousness fly. Guess you know when to use enough dynamite.

~ Sundance

Jodi MacArthur said...

Your language, mythology, love, and longing blew me away in this piece. It is a whirlwind of love and desire.

I loved it when you wrote it and I still do now.

Absolutely*Kate said...

From how you spoke that Ms MacAUTHOR, under your center'stage single spot, (to catch the rhinestones just glistenin' right) in that off the shoulder jetblack dress we splendiferously take turns with . . . this mattered, as you do ~ quite a sensation that you can feel what you see when I say.

It sure has been a long time since you've flung a frog. ~ Absolutely*Kate

Jeanette Cheezum said...

The end? Nay, but beginning of this beguine . . . should you know what I mean.

I feel there is so much more and you're at the helm. Beautiful waves of poetic splendor.

Absolutely*Kate said...

Coming from the current poetess of "Prince of Peace" at vox poetical, right now . . . I'm touched and inspired to keep cresting waves.

Thank*you Jeanette. Your insight always honours us so warmly, Goddess Mother of Brilliant Authors . . . (and yes ... there's more to this Miss and Mr and Myth'tery too).

~ Absolutely*Kate

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