Our World
.for public domain
Our world, comprised of differing blends
of silence and activity
among strangers and friends,
who practice in our domes
to smooth and to mend
rough edges and splintered ends,
offer a twice daily blessing
for who do, and who do not,
cling to the Lord's breast,
(we yoke ourselves to a life that Living Itself deems best)
with a grip that grows stronger every day
A poet exposes scenes to explore new horizons
unfolding under expansive or confining domes
We slow it down, decelerate, discern
unveiling are a fable's morals and concerns
taking pause to commune with fauna and elm
serenely does nature speak throughout her realm
our phrases linger with new colors
hues vibrant encompass as skylines
our dimensions broaden anew
sentences chosen carefully carry more import
with words nuanced, renewed
with a more sentient bite
with emotions more candid
abashedly bare, a despair founded
with paroxysm of catharsis we quill
weeping of our dormant essence shaken to life
confessions deepening, plunging in thought
letting the afflatus of passion flow
I Am Anaya
quill & inkwell love
11/14/25
Operation Dinosaur
Will had helped our Processor
Workforce says this is too old!
And this isn't our fault!
This website is very rigid
Old and new
Transforming, bridge it
But will you be building
New website
With old technology
When the content and the data
Modern human apology
Updatedness of data
The quality of content
Be how, excuse me, gotta
And what is in this sense event
Feel sorry for your attention
Feel dodgy at weird domes
Shall easy be comprehension
And shall be the garden gnomes
—A Lunar Ballad from the Year 2088
The year was 2088—
I stood in Beijing beneath neon skies,
Clutching a visa to the Moon,
Where dynasties now rise beyond the clouds.
China, bold architect of the stars,
Has carved empires on the Dark Side—
No longer myth or mystery,
But fields of fusion and factories of fire.
Helium-3, mined from silver dust,
Feeds reactors like newborn suns,
Its radiant breath beamed to Earth
Through radio waves that hum like prayer.
Moon is no longer a lifeless rock—
It breathes with industry and grace.
Two hundred pioneers now call it home,
Cradled in glass domes kissed by starlight.
From its soil, green hues emerge—
Lunar gardens bloom in synthetic rain,
A soft rebellion against the cold void,
Where silence once reigned unbroken.
The Moon—
A launchpad, a lab,
An empire of dreamers and coded command.
And above us, floating stations gleam—
Space Islands, fuel stops for tomorrow’s odyssey.
China now commands the current of power,
Energy pulses in her hands—
While Earth bows gently to the moonlit tides
Of this celestial dynasty.
mountains white
bathed in the light
of sunset bright
dusk lingers
sun's fingers
are joy bringers
humble homes
with tent-like domes
shine like chromes
nestled here
where nature's near
spreads tranquil cheer
pine trees tall
heeding winter's call
rustle in the squall
a river flows nearby
gurgling waters sigh
lingering dusk catches my eye
and reminds me of...
... God on high
The Sea of Tranquility gives rise to a parasitic plague,
Colonizing mechanical machines grinding,
Robotic arms frantically fabricating an inhospitable habitat.
Plumes of blackened smoke drift off into zero gravity—
A profuse profanity birthing intergalactic implosions.
Forfeited steel domes replace a once-pristine satellite,
Whilst humanity, like vultures, journeys to their new paradise,
Foaming at the mouth to exploit the dark side of the moon.
Looking outside the frosted rocket's windows,
Earth's decaying corpse is nothing but a mere memento mori in the rearview window.
To strengthen the people within
The colds of winter
The melting of spring
We as folk in happiness oh the joy it brings
An area beneath the surface
An area above the artic domes
A peace strengthened by the artic tones
America your ambition
Pur so so ere ed distincted why
A unison of ageless together ess
Asked the writer why
Oh ye in tranquil beauty
A sovereigned distincted why
The peace of peoples existence
answers the the humbled cry
Unison in our endeavors
To charm the world into peace
Us unified together
From south, West, north and east
Santorini, a stand out beauty, a splendor in the sea, a semicircular
Cycladic island in the Southern Aegean Sea with dramatic caldera
landscape so unique, crescent shaped, offering breathtaking views.
The famous whitewashed homes, structures with some featuring
glowing blue domes, cliffs falling into the blue crystal clear waters
of Aegean Sea, spectacular sunsets of dazzling kaleidoscope of colors.
Sadly, located at a fault zone with tectonic activity causing tremors.
The sea never dulls me; it lulls, calms and relaxes me.
It sends me into a trance, like when I dance, in a state of peace.
In stillness, I feel free, serene, glee; yet, aware of things I hear and see.
The Aegean Sea cruise in Turkey rendered spectacular views, while we
were amused and bemused by our guide with a big smile with Greece
in Europe and Turkey in Asia with glory of each nation and story of the sea.
In Thera, stood, gazed at the moon’s glow on the blue hue of the sea,
at the hotel’s own beach, talked how our fun in the sun tour would cease.
Sunshine made blue domes glistened and the sea clear blue, a must see!
Rosemary’s baby incarnated
He lives from day to day
And he is well anticipated
To blow the world away
How come that he is real?
Ask me another question
I know how you must feel
About his reign direction
He’s not a baby anymore
Although to some extent
He still is, with his senseless war
That seems to have no end
A soul more hollow than a stem
Of reed in Dartmoor’s mire
Is driven by the devil’s plan
To set the world on fire
The other day I passed on by
Rosemary’s baby castle walls
And from the Bridge of Last Goodbye
I watched the languid tourist boats
The sun shone of the domes of gold
The devil’s men inside
Were praying to their bloody god
“Why wouldn’t you just die?”
Rosemary’s baby laughs at them
On their death wish he thrives
He’s well aware that he’s damned
This keeps him still alive
So what we have to do with that
I guess the only way
Would be to kill him like a rat
With all his men array.
Hand-made globe
In silver-gold robe
Is it so round?
Perfection profound?
Reflecting on rivers
In winter, shivers.
Like a rough stone
Sometimes, wind blown
Tries to get in homes
Through windows and domes
Though seems flawless
Isn't it, often, callous?
.
the finest uv
Yahweh's
Creations
save the daffodils
for down theirn domes
bow
night and day
unto their
Creator
their like
my sharez
Memory still anoints them,
glowing in the ashes
of childhood. The cypress trees
in the parkland at the end
of the street. Tall, knotted
ladders to the heavens
where a child’s outstretched hand
could almost scratch the underbelly
of passing clouds.
You could swing
on the uppermost branches
as if riding a clippers mast
bending in the wind,
sailing imaginary swells
to places whose golden domes
shone through the darkest
days.
And in the cool shadows,
the old stable, its doorway
an entrance to worlds
not known to other mortals.
The dark interior lipped
on the edge of a cave
to the very interior of earth,
holding hells and lava
lapped islands populated
by exotic beasts.
Such things as trees
and tumbled down stables
were not weighted
with the burdens of this world
but were bridges, magical
doorways to an elsewhere
that existed in between,
a special place
with its contours bending
to shapes made in the mind.
I write
to do the same thing.
wrt a moth...
her nature be
as a flow are
on a wall...
with wings...
that pet all
who sit in
come fort till...
able poses free...
domes of gas
that have scent you
to a po-at-tree write...
stans sand
Sponsored by: Silent One
If this was the last
___________________
| If this was the last_goodbye |
But, what if this was the last time I cried,
Don't want to be hidden behind lying scrys.
The world forgotten on their prying device,
Humanity alone algorithmic thrice.
Heaven on you shoulder beckons you home,
Mirror-sucking marrow through soulless domes.
But, what if this is the last chance to thrive,
Society nullified blue tick uprise.
Locate my strength to become whole again,
Discharge into the torrent of play-pretend.
Am I willing to wonder the outdoors,
Bleak scepticism plaguing putrid drawbacks flaws
Pick up, put down, conscious cyber remorse,
No better a junky and their driving force.
But, what if this is the last time I lie,
Unsubscribe, double-click, shut device; goodbye.
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