A collection of 3D Poetry's favourite images that they have created. Some of the wallpapers are pre HD, and others created for mobile phones.
My Lady Queen Aethel 1st
Snow Assassin (Aethel)
Gotch Ya Again
On Top of it All
RavenCrow Desktop WIP
MockingJay Fire and Ice
Where is the Magic
Fire and Ice
Cast a Spell
The following poems are randomly selected from part A of the Garden series.
If you are patient, the whole story may appear. There is a doorway on this site, that will open to the poetry collection, both in context and complexity.
In the Hierarchy of the Garden,
We the Seeb are one of the top.
Having the dual role of midwives,
Plus keeping guard on the new crop.
We work on a seasonal basis,
Whether the Traveller is here or not.
We actually assist in the fertilising,
In a carefree seasonal trot.
We are truly rewarded well,
For the special skills we use,
Either preparing the fertility ritual,
Or just giving the enemy the blues.
When the season is out,
We return home with our treasure.
The Traveller often pays a visit,
Joining in the Feast of Pleasure.
They came from crook and cranny,
Within and around the monstrous Two Towers.
Natas was speaking words of evil wisdom,
Upon the crowd that had gathered in the last few hours.
All forms and shapes of Assistants came to Mephisot,
Forming a large army at the base of it's walls.
They continued to flock for numerous hours,
Shouting answers in unison to Natas's war calls.
Sicta and Verda were made Bosses of the Flyers.
Gnal and Mian were made Bosses of the ground forces.
Natas started dividing both sets into two parts,
Giving each Boss their own strategic course.
Very soon the Bosses were to go on the move,
Taking their followers on a definite course of action.
Natas had all the time in the millennium,
To sit down and laugh at Kindaals reaction.
A Modest Tender
I was born to be gentle, yet powerful;
If only the Ancients knew, what I know.
For I am wiser than the Elder Ancients;
Considering I was conceived a million millenniums ago.
I am the youngest of my relations,
However, I have far more important duties.
They range from assisting the blind with light,
To giving enough warmth to the little cuties.
My closest friends, the Nooms, are also Tenders,
In the sense, that they carry out what I do.
Well Not as much, they can be quite lazy,
But I consider them as my nocturnal shoe.
Only one, is greater than myself, Emalf,
Being the Only One, who created me, you as well.
The Great One has many names and faces.
The God of gods, persuader of the infidel.
The Wanderer's Wish
If I died in your arms,
Where would you lay me?
If I needed to be helped,
Would you come and save me?
All these questions that could be asked,
The answers, I need never know.
For they are locked away,
Only you know how high the roses will grow.
The colour of our roses,
Bloom in burgundy and blue,
Thorns of hatred are blunt;
Isn't this the way we grew?
A fragrance beyond all encounters,
Deep colours like blood flow,
Into our hearts, deepening this love;
Only you know, how high the roses will grow.
We are the guardians of the air,
Brothers of the underground Esor.
We show ourselves, only to the believers,
Who see us work without flaw.
Infiltraters, like the Dihpa, are our prey,
Disappearing like songs unsung.
We are the lords of all sight,
Fierce and tireless are our young.
We, the Dribydal, use illusion,
As a means to confuse others,
Making them believe we're harmless,
The Garden's lonely, tranquil lovers.
What a wicked web we weave,
Enticing the Dihpa, completely unaware.
Our dragon kin young, just attack,
Leaving the Dihpa without a prayer.
Lying still, in a centre of silk,
Silk which has been spun with great care.
A millennium old tradition of craftsmanship,
Captures the Two Eyes, of the Fair.
A silk that can be woven,
A Fair woman's fine flowing dress,
Or used in high emotional states;
Where as it would be used to relieve stress.
The Dincara weave this silk,
Into incredible skyscapes of cumulus clouds,
Capturing the invaders insatiable curiosity;
Imprisoning their thoughts and souls, so proud.
The masters of Sight, are the Dincara,
The professors of sculpture and creation.
They are different in sizes and shapes,
Surpassed only by their shades of creations.