Pre-2015 Wallpaper Gallery

Poetry

The Garden

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.

First Apostle's Letter

Once again, the Traveller sets out on his endeavours. Tripping back in time, to walk amongst his ancestors; the Ancient Ones.
As he has done thousands of times before, the Traveller leaves Garden under the Tenders control. The Tenders are the Travellers companions, when he is in Garden; Garden's armed force and doctorate when he is not.

Although the Traveller only Trips for a short period of time, he is sometimes away for ages. Thus, the infidels, invaders, and plain old foe of nature are tempted to enter Garden's domain.

Inevitably, these unwanted beings infiltrate Garden's boundaries. Havoc breaks free. War finally erupts. Battles, both great and small, are fought with ferocious fury.

But never fear, all will be restored. The dead will live through their young. The conceived will be born. The invaders will be banished.

Yes, the balance of life will be returned.

How do I, know of all of this, you ask?

Is it not obvious that I am he? The God of gods Apostle. The Wanderer. Yes, I am he. The Traveller

Behind a Closed Door

The Wanderer prepared for his trip,
Not looking forward to his absence,
As on his travels throughout the barren void,
He can only think of Garden's fragrance.

The Garden, is never left unattended,
Although the Wanderer is behind a closed door.
He has never seen us at work,
Nor does he know, that we are called the Esor.

He knows of our quiet presence,
Freshening the basis of all growth.
The Wanderer and the Esor's alliance,
Is a powerful, solemn, unspoken oath.

We are one of the many Tenders,
Who care for the Garden's well being;
Keeping it fresh and vibrant,
Appeasing the great All Seeing.

Tranquil Lovers

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.

Patience Master

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.

Nothing's Inhabitants pt 1

Here I stand in a garden,
Looking over a vastness of Nothing.
My friends stand close by,
Searching it's horizons for something.

We enjoy our own company,
As we know each other well.
Our domain is rarely challenged,
Excepting for the occasional cell.

Seasons change in favour for the foes,
Who march on Nothing's void.
Increasingly closer these villains approach,
Taking our sustenance into the void.

My friends shout, a shout of defiance,
Informing me of our Wandering Friend,
He visits on a weekly basis,
Delivering a blow to our foe's evil trend.

Seeb

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.