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Carlo C Gomez Feb 2020
Light from dark
Resurfacing
Rethreading
What befell the Earth
Involves us all

Dark from light
Resonating
Reverberating
What befell us all
Cannot be undone
Nat Lipstadt Feb 23
Francie Lynch gets it! (The Thin Red Line)

https://hellopoetry.com/francie-lynch/

“A poem is like a tickle,
it gives both joy and pain:
with blissful tears and tearful
giggles, you'll read that poem again.

A poem is exactly like
a damaged heart in
need of surgery:
a cut that heals,
a line that
leaves a
scar along your heart.”
F. L.
<~>

I,
now in possess
of said thin red line,
where they cut me
just so, opened
stem to stern
for a rethreading repair, a repaving
of the highways & byways of
my little blue engine that
almost but couldn’t quite could but thought…
b e l i e v i n g
it could eke by for a little longer

new observable routine,
first item of my daily rising
now includes a pre-diurnal poetic
extraction~*******~ejection,
an intro~introspection
of an
introductory, petite reflexive
contemplative
reflection
of life’s mysteries,
like enjoying that
first bang of eye~opening conscious breath and a
disruptive need to spill
a few verbal beans before the
daily dead~lines of to do’s
strangle me into oblivion

a morning dispatched
by the poet paperboy
on his cardio bicycle

with
tearful eyes,
and many mirthful
gaggles of
giggles

yep,
a tickle
too,
no
extra

charge✅
Leigh Everhart Mar 2020
My sweet little mollusk,
You polish the sea-tangy sand dollars smooth with the soles of your feet
You fill up your sweet siren lungs with a sun-sated breeze and submerge your bare fingers
Until they can sweep the slippery silt of the seabed abyss. I can’t sleep.
Your anemone fingers trace watery ripples through the ebbs of my dreams, trailing streams
Of fluorescent-blue algae sunk deep.  Your barnacle tongue shatters ships
Into ruinous splinters of treasure. I kiss
The cerulean ocean that hides in your lips.

My sweet little scallop,
The galloping waves break the curves of your shallows.
There are flecks of unpressed sea salt brine in your irises, tireless riptides of foaming-bright promises.
Your skin has the silvery sparkle of scales that effervesce endlessly, bending beneath the fierce tides of your palmprints.
I’m dropping. The current caresses your cheeks’ fishbone hollows, rethreading the necklaces strung out of seashells.
You bury your face in the swells of the tempest. I envy
Your azure, I worship your lapis.

My sweet little mussel,
Your tussled cyan-coral hair is unbleached, unleeched and resplendent
I am rendered transcendent by the green iridescence of your silk seaweed whispers. I have drowned in your splendid.
I can still hear your aquamarine through the white roaring waves cracking onto the shore.
I want more. Your crustaceous sand whirlpool has nestled below the soft curl of your chest. You press the world’s oceans in the dip of your palms
And drink deep from the waves swirling under.
I’ve drowned in the water-spilled seas that are cupped in your hands,
I have drowned in the pearls of your wonder.
Dacotah Ashes Mar 2017
mem
disconnecting and rethreading
red thread around this dread
sinking / hardly blinking
memories tiptoeing across my mind
What was I thinking?
Chelsea Rae Oct 2018
It's dangerous,
The way I've sewn parts of you
Through every fibre of my being.

Now that you've messed up
All I can hear at random times
Is a tearing sound,
Like when you rip apart cloth.

Little by little
With every anxious thought
I rip you out.

Little by little
I try to forgive you,
Rethreading to repair.

What kind of tapestry
Will I be in the end?
Betrayed. And it ***** to rebuild trust.
Borker is instructed in Demiurgy, after learning that everyone was gathered at the banquet. He tried to intercommunicate with everyone looking for the reason and intelligence of the soul that he attached to him when they were reunited. His faculty and the authority of the souls of Trouvere led him to the ancient of Helade, in her ritual that was of great heritage and vernacular purity. His freedom of action led him through the forests of Nothofagus to discover his qualities as a Demiurge, fasting alongside the Geodesic quadrangular of Vóreios, Notós, Dyticá, and Aftó. Leiak with the assertive legal chastity of him assisted him for the possibilities that were priorities of the same to distance himself from the magnetism of the souls of Trouvere and the Ghosts of Shiraz, who were unified in the face of geodesy, to excite flat emotions. Borker takes the sword Xifos from Vernarth, makes a circle separate the barriers between the ghosts and the souls that were summoned, so the hoplite grotesques that were relatively close to that dimension, began to grasp the center of eternity. The circle will break the taboo so that the rules of the Duoverso allow the opening antiphon that is pre-figured in the eclectic portal of the nearby cell of Procoro, there was also a bronze vase that would be used to symbolize the reality of unreality, under the level of the condensed water that used to be stored in these Borker rituals. Annelids and pieces of meat from the Falangists were seen entering the circle, scaphoid ossuaries prowled the larnax of Alexander the Great pointing in advance on the losses of the Soul after winning the World. The Souls of Christi were added as a corollary of the common reason to be alive or dead in a verse, which could inflict a sectarian aligned in the Mortis arsenal league, that is, it began to continue moving before the eyes of others declaring a common parable to the magical sighting. The first ritual was circumscribed to the necromancer circle, which in turn towards another round of front on the precognition of another curved space, which mediates the sepulcrity of all to the future in the senses that have never been referenced for a common, that only sees on himself, and sometimes invisible like a Shiraz or a Trouvere. Borker looked carefully into the eyes that were not typical of those who observe, but rather of those who diffuse inter-spirits that flow through his pontificate, clarifying the vision of others to make Vlad Strigoi the one to assist him, since he would gloss it better. The sensations spoke of the true spirit that passed among all and lived to be reborn in the neatness of their actions, in later seconds they would verify their roots with the image of Notós, for the superior moments of spiritual governance, where everything moves and now it will visibly shake it. , unimpeded by the stages that made her invisible, and without the awareness of abandoning a body, which has always been verve among all the perceptions that speak of the Psychic Being, incomplete shimmer of transition towards the Austral, towards the supra-austral! where the Necromancer calls to the Demiurge to quench his physicality, to turn it into a physical and psychic tactility, which invokes a moderate spirituality that converges on the physical, but without limiting in his vitality. Borker released the fetters of the Notós, to travel to the southern-Boreal of Jakidiki, near the sea of Cassandra, very contemplative of the rapture of foreplay to Kallithea, towards an epithet so that the coast of the Cyclades is not demonized, making the circle of Borker a summoning of Cassandra as a living Sibyl, ordering the dawn of an organism allegedly biologically disorganized. The air becomes furious and the wings become gigantic with Borker's orders to sculpt the obsolescence of greater harmonious sounds, over a breath that needs Aion and limbs to move, before the sudden differential of the spirit that only systematizes the connection of liberation of a being not released. Temporality decides to shelter itself from combined conservatories, and from risky guardians who spread their powers risking their own essence as a refugee object and subjective sedentary.

The forces that were born from others, scalding the physical arcane that transmigrated to the psychic arcane zone, systematizing salutary hordes of immunity, which inflicted the natures of the Corpus that were being formed with the demiurgic necromancy, the willing was based on the ordered numerals that made the acrotera rise. , which remained weightless on Zefian's tetra saeta, marking the Eruv of positioning in the greatest preponderances of a fervent transition risk, which was deposited in the hands of Borker as constructive pollution to get close to the ossuary of the Falangists of Arbela, which they were returning to the world of the Living, from the Tremens or trembling delirium that was aggravated in the non-converted supra-gifted bodies in the fangs of history. All the skills of the world roar through the lamps that will discover the work that hangs from a Níma, which is spliced by its rethreading in the Physical Spiritual world of Borker. The will to dig over himself transformed into the revival of the Arbela soldiers so that they would revive, to assist in the construction of the Megaron, then they would stop being unburied spirits purging the broomsticks that throw the dice from the cunning of the throw. , and from the bravery hoplites that instruct the intruders that they are only risky pavites, but without necromancy training. The despotic of the swarming souls are liquefied, with empty bodies but as whole spirits, the ossuaries are quickened and trembled with cold, the bad regretful moment of the bad omen shone in the circular container, and vanishes before everything with the ocher nails of Vlad who assists Borker to open and then close the environment, under an arcane attribute that would resemble everyone's appearance under such *******. The movable objects of the pantry and cellar of Prócoso were sneaking along the path of expropriation, leaving visions behind the ashes of the mantle that temporarily sheltered the full moon of the uncontrolled regression by the shoulder of Getsemani, which alluded to winged tetra appearing in the lattice. that hid the night in its curb, beyond the exact devotionals of San Juan and San Pablo. The lifeless tongues lay to revive in the sacred spaces that touched the earth of the unlived new world, from nothing they only aspired to the prototype of Hillel, for the intelligence that flourishes in the ******* coarseness of those who do not escape from ignorance and who he only thinks and does not act. Shemash and Apochróseis (Sun and Shadows) were lengthening from those that grew through those who still stood on the flat Encina as a console, and were under the predestined Mataki of the pilgrimage of two worldly and momentarily unexplored dimensions. Saint John takes the chalices and illuminates them with the Menorah, where they were encouraged to reside on the sparkling curves of the full moon, which was only preparing to reside in only two cosmos that would unite, under the ******* of one who did not collegiate ... they empowered facilities in the trances.

The Ekev or reason or cause, was in the domain of Saint John when he blocked his eyes and was transported to the year 70 AD in the Judeo-Christian war. Jerusalem was destroyed and its temple too, devastated as well as the Beit Hamikdash that was collapsing, each stone deposited in the free fall of its walls textualized a Christian Gnostic in the stage of analysis of the Apostolic Apocalypse, which led them to the Analogy of the Ditycá , or Equinoctial after the points of expectation that everyone captured when San Juan opened his eyes. The values to prove the truth pontificated before the Ekev, which consolidated the importance of the events of the fall of the wall caused by Tito's troops. This flaunted regression of parapsychology was always guided by Vernarth, Saint John interceding with the matrix of the collapse of the Neshama soul of the Beit Hamikdash, which was inaugurated from there with the free fall of the grafted stones of the voice of the Mashiach, to appear together in the reinforcements of the Zealots to collect the orphan stonework from their free fall, generating the blessed word and testamentary supplication with the fact of bringing all that daring to collapse, for the next oscillation of the Ekev that affected the Testament of Levi, with a large amount of mass tonnages that would follow the parable of ascent, to ***** the word and the action of generating and raising the Megaron, before the Stav or Aramaic winter from where the Mashiach will resemble.

Saint John says through Vernarth: “we were surrounded and lacked legions to stop the advance of the barbarians, the walls were destroyed by the draconian battering rams, but our tefillah turned in the adversity of the siege, seized by our resistance and attracting the forces that rebuilds everything, captivating the volume of voice that determines everything that has already been done, beyond all periods without any architect to redesign it, free fall will be what is catapulted from the uncontrolled fire of catastrophe, which is also rebuilt in reverse. People and their moans became escape routes to sneak into the Tefillah or prayers that skimmed past Caesar's head on his dais, taking with them the souls in the flames that engulfed everything. The demolition was the grace of new construction of the elemental material, and of the consecration of the wasteland of a table under the Mataki, where everyone with total normality dried up seeing the visions of the Prophet of Bethsaida, tying the laces of their sandals, with the towers of Fasael and Miriamme, for a great height of observation of an equinoctial that was now made in the analogy of the Dyticá, which carried the aromatic images of Saint John to perch in the cyclamen forests, towards a divine encounter in Patmos, moving the vocality of the crowd that brought with the force of his voice, in all the building of the stalls that would be contemplated in the twinkling of the eyes of the Saint with his Ekev, for preterism as a prophecy of a Yeshua who was born in the walls turning their voices into the bricks, which built the living gospels in the column that diverged in the Vernarth archivolt, celebrating with him.
Borker Demiurgy

— The End —