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Shift Galactic
The Space **** was big
As large as an abnormal man
Three miles across
By a million wide

It moved here and there
Splatting moons and planets
Like a tennis ball

Universal destroyer of crap
Not caring who died
Its death list was long
On and on till the end
Would it **** all planets?

Thus voiding all life
So only blackness remained
All stars being full of ****

Just like my teenage enemies
Unleash the galactic ****
Space **** is coming to Earth!
Nick Armbrister and other writers
Hex Jul 7
Far, up high,
An idol's cry,
Her shining tears,
Sprinkle the sky,
Infinity's tomb,
Brings cosmos bloom,
Bringing life,
And starlight's doom,—
     —Shining through, Celestia weeps.

Painting warily,
Creating merrily,
Braiding hues,
Working wearily,
While painting shells,
Her eyes still swell,
Her canvas, sprinkled,
As shining tears fell,—
     —Shining through, Celestia weeps.

Gaze shifting upon her opus,
To the Terra, formed with focus,
As she peers, she fails to notice,
Her heart's expire, soft necrosis,
Yet again, a grieving seep,
Striking hard, striking deep,
Off again, her focus turns,
Her mind taking a blinded leap,—
     —Shining through, Celestia weeps.
Chapter One of an intergalatic series.
Svetoslav Feb 11
aqua planet lights
assembly of ghost planets
near crystalline shore
by Svetli
Mouse-perspective; touristy
neck cranked to measure
immensity before me.

So I went higher, to cloudy hills
and gaudy views, where I knew
a great border Above.

Between the clouds I beheld
the enormity of structure, staring
into my eyes? An iris!

Tapestries. Shadow and relief
realized in stone. Baffled
before the incontrovertible

evidence of a benevolent
face? Rushing terrain brings
nostrils, now lips.

Orbiting in the stillness,
stories laid bare as skin
lesions glow.

The cost of working gears
displaces and appears red
as recent scars

where now sprawling sameness
mask the bruises, smooth
as plastic.

My city a single dot
for hands of a blind God
to glide over.
I was looking at the Twisted City promo video that Unreal Engine came out with which presented a big city twisting its entire self around, similar to the effects within the movie Inception.

I thought the slow-reveal of finding out the city you've lived in your entire life (a big one like New York City or Tokyo) is but a single eyeball in a giant tapestry was an interesting idea. I figured using vertical height to handle shadows and relief to add "detail" to the landscape-painting might work in a pure storytelling scenario.

Revolutions and crime from different eras would leaving lasting marks on the land, and I imagine some form of authoritarian government would be necessary to bring such an ambitious project to completion, considering the massive amount of displacement that would occur.

I suppose the imperfections in the grand image brought about by societal instability and humanity just being humanity is representative in such an image. The ideal is massive, but too perfect. A person has scars and imperfections that tell a story.

Having that as a sci-fi reveal in a dystopian (or, perhaps, in a Star Trek-like advanced civilization where the technological ability to easily terraform and create massive cities and infracture at will is available.

Or, we could just do the magic / dream thing, I guess.
Blueberries blossom-trees,
Clouds made of soap-bubbles,
Creamy grass and foamy bushes
Of roses blue, purple and grey,
Grapes of red and Orange,
Wines of crystal clear greens,
Red-irises to tell of feelings
Too hot or too sad
Burning hues in a phtograph back home,
Where I don't want to go;
Chariots dragged by stallions
And spaceahips to take us to explore
Other natures...
No poverty, no suffering...
No twisted games,
Just peace...
Guns not allowed here.
Ash Johnson Jan 23
I'm watching the space girls as they go by,
With their high rise boots and their low-cut shirts.
I'm watching them waltz through the abyss
With not a care in the world.
I'd write thousands of poems for my space girls
If only to watch their lips read a work of mine.
I'd paint a masterpiece for my space girls
If only to hear them speak of something I created.
I'd wear elegant dresses for my space girls
If only to watch their eyes scan me up and down.
I'd compose rhapsodies and melodies for my space girls
If only to watch them bop along to the gentle beats.
If only to know that they listened to my
Music to watch space girls by.
Ryan Seth Cole Oct 2020
I can see the road ahead of me. I try to make adjustments so I can be ready. I breathe slower to get a fast beating heart steady.

The rocks slide sweeping the ground from beneath me; carring me over a tune in the pattering of my fingers.

The water in the poison dollutes the pain from the stingers.
The pace of the tone hits a pause followed by pounding of the keys dangaling from theyre stringers.

I am unequivacly astonished by the clarity of my sight in the breath of the moments leading after. My body tenses up. After all who could be prepared for this fall.  I am getting to the point. Im not trying to pad the time or trying to stall.

I have came so far. So I can again. But this is not some story..My life could seriously end. I go back and forth until I come back to the moment that lead me to where and when.

Head first, I going over the deep end. I am tip towing over the glass shards of where I began.

Flashes of memories and aspiration from yearning within. Zero to sixty taking my second, third and fourth chances over and failing again.
Suspended in the air and this is what I bargain with.

The moment ends and all the noise and stimulation comes to a sudden end. I notice I am still in my car on the shoulder with hazards blinking. Did I black out again?

The road ahead me washes away collapsing to a crack several feet away.
I am still here.
Where do I even begin?

Premonition sci-fi short series
Norman Crane Sep 2020
The A.I. summoned the robot Newman,
The A.I. asked about his condition,
Said Newman: "I want to feel—to be human,"
The A.I. accepted Newman's submission,
The A.I. processed his petition,
The A.I. cogently deliberated
on the logic of Newman's admission,
The A.I. returned its disposition:
"The robot Newman is to be terminated,
He displays a fatal lack of ambition."
Norman Crane Sep 2020
A spiralling ascent
Along the world's edge
Sweatdrops fall
To a below without sunlight
Boot dust
Llamas labour under supply packs
Hoof beat lantern dance
Shadows cast on the cliff face
Distorted we loom
Above the mute fog of humanity
Awash in the final dawn
The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
Ancient tapestral landscape
Exhales into us
Curvously infolding
The old Inca holds out his hands
The knife cuts horizontally
Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
There, he says,
Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
And we see dimly through the mists—
There, he says,
Pizarro could not follow us,
And we see dimly through the mists—
The neon lights of
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