Hundred percent agree! It: Hundred percent agree! It begins with "each thread". From this point of view, it doesn't look like a hopeless mess. You're an inspiration.
I applaud the way you deploy: I applaud the way you deploy a metaphor or simile for all you can get out of it. In my opinion, that makes you a prominent Poet on this site. Plus, it is clear that you have done your prep---which, according to a Poet I admire, J.V. Cunningham---is a fundamental part of the process of becoming a Poet.
Oh, you're fine, no worries.: Oh, you're fine, no worries. It's good to see you at least well enough to provide the contribution of both your presence and your poetry here. Hopefully, likewise, a place to help you navigate this time, as well.
OK, Krupskaya. I missed that: OK, Krupskaya. I missed that altogether. In my defense, I plead being hospitalized and being a little dopey with pain meds right now. But not enough to miss the brilliance of your poem.
You're welcome. Much thanks: You're welcome. Much thanks to you, in return, for the interesting exchange of thoughts, in addition to the inspiration.
As for Nadezhda (I mistakenly spelled it with a 'k' and have to correct that) and Cole. Nadezhda was the given name of Vladimir Lenin's Wife. Cole refers to Thomas Cole, painter of the brilliant tapestry "The Course of Empire: Destruction", which I was lucky enough to get to see at The Met, years back.
Thank you, once more: With a globalized civilization putting the weight of the world in our hands, feelings of being overwhelmed seem to cripple many of us, even when seeking selfless/positive action. That need to "save the world". Indeed, pancakes aren't going to do that. And that's exactly what we need. To achieve small positives, as they are ones we can wrap our heads around, and to carefully examine and work on each thread as we untangle this mess of a ball.
Thanks for the mention. The: Thanks for the mention. The poem, as I said when you gave me an advance look, is excellent. I do have a question that I was in no condition to ask last night. Who are Nadezhka and Cole?
Utopian new starts are too: Utopian new starts are too grand. They would indeed make "Great Resetters" very happy. We'd do well to aim smaller, simpler, than that. Make a table for those pancakes without destroying a forest. Make pancakes without hoarding, or genetically engineering, the ingredients. Smaller yet, do a life task together without fighting. Maybe even some smiles. Real small.
My own dog, a chihuahua, Lady: My own dog, a chihuahua, Lady Zoey in my poems here and just Zoey around the house, as an uncanny abiility to predict when I am ill. She will hop up on my lap and stare into my eyes, as if she is looking right through me. Inveitably, I become ill---which, lately, has been a lot. So, Lady Zoey has been busy a lot. She is too gracious to ask for overtime.
Your words, suggesting a: Your words, suggesting a sequel, have given rise to exactly that . . . https://www.postpoems.org/authors/starward/poem/1106627
You will see some symbolism you helped me to understand . . .
This is definitely one of: This is definitely one of your most beautiful poems.
Are you familiar with Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula, and the words with which Dracula describes the music of "children of the night." There is a kind of riff on this in Robert Aickman's award-winning ghost story, "Pages From A Young Girl's Journal."
Your poem reminds me of how: Your poem reminds me of how my faculty advisor, at my college, dismissed my interest in the Whitechapel serial killings by telling me that the lives of five whores were not worth serious historical inquiry. Twenty-four years later, he had to eat those words at a private reunion lunch arranged by the then Chair of our department. The first two lines of your poem reminded me, yet again, that even they have feelings. After all, some of them were among the first followers of Jesus.
I apologize to all who read: I apologize to all who read the original posting for the typos I let slip by. In explanation, I was very ill---so I found out later---and nearly bled to death internally. A hematoma on my left flank remains to remind me of all the blood I lost. Hence, several poems, posted lately, may have typos in them. I correct them as I can. Please let me know if you see any: I will fix those with priority.