3D Poetry

Poetry

The Garden

The following poems are randomly selected from part B 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.

Communications

All these great forces have united themselves,
Yet they are unorganised, but ready.
The Wanderer is absent, they need a leader,
Whose nerves are rock hard and steady.

Who will lead this deserving cause?
Who will co-ordinate the battles to come?
Who can cope with the pressures?
Who is five steps ahead of everyone?

When is this person going to speak up?
Not even Rexoch can conjure up such a person.
But Rexoch will handle all communications,
He will be the aide for this person.

Wait! I hear a strangers voice calling.
You will accept, Rexoch will be pleased.
Understand communications are going to be difficult,
But at last, vengeance can finally be released.

Humour

Misty rides upon Antis's great shoulders,
Who hovers above his brothers formation.
She keeps him intrigued and amused,
With witty, old, needless information.

Ferral is at the point of the arrow head,
Sussing out anything that looks suspicious.
Sil is on his left, Arak is on his right,
Both imagine that anything that is edible, is delicious.

Surviving on the land that surrounds them,
The Eleven make fast progress towards the ranges.
From the arid ranges onto the Highlands,
Where the vegetation and terrain rapidly changes.

It is here that Tash and Job do what's best;
Weaving silk into long lengths of rope.
Misty and Antis have a good old laugh,
While they watch the others climb and grope.

Fall of Ketpoc

It wasn't long before the skies were alight,
With a spectacular display of many a dog fight.
The sky was full of flying Tender and Assistant;
So full you couldn't possibly fly a kite.

Natas swallowed the bait, hook, line, and sinker;
Unaware that the Dribydal had taken an important passage.
The armed Esors and Mystic Dragons soon followed;
Together they overpowered Ketpoc's main Sage.

This turned out to be a silent take-over,
As Kindaal had hoped it would be so.
The captured were placed in dank dungeons,
To squander time on their new found woe.

Yes Ketpoc fell upon a silent fate,
Natas is still oblivious to what has occurred.
One of his main arteries is destroyed.
Maybe he'll never know where he erred.

Meek of the Squadron

Welcome to the Divisional Aerial Field;
There are so many squadrons to see and greet.
They range from the Sloths to the Sijsads;
We, being the latter are the Assistants meek.

Most of the flying Assistants join forces,
Attacking in the same manner of fashion.
The way we attack is to remove the life force,
This is completed in a frenzied violent passion.

We the Sijsad consist mainly of infiltrates,
Performing in the art of the gracious spy.
We find the weaknesses and or strong points,
Finding out who can or can't fly.

It doesn't always work the way we would like;
The Tenders aren't partial to bribes,
Not through lack of trying to convince;
Tenders pick up all evil nasty vibes.

Bull Horn

The Niknogard charged at double time,
Forming the famous formation, the Bull Horn.
The Wigrae became aware of their pursuit,
Thus they planned a counter attack on the second dawn.

The Bull Horn formation is designed well;
Consisting of two major flanks and a front.
When the front encounters the enemy,
The flanks then fold, creating a massive stunt.

The enemy is surrounded by the Bull Horn,
They are at the mercy of their captors.
There is no escape from this deadly weapon,
The captured therefore have to endure their foes rapture.

So it happened to the Wigrae's main force,
Surrounded, from then on they were all killed.
That is except one, who was released,
To inform his master, who won't be thrilled.

He Calls Me Sloth

The Master, he calls me Sloth,
He, he and everyone thinks that I'm dumb.
That is not at all true, it's a lie,
I'm intelligent, and what's more, I'm handsome.

The Master is very mean to me,
I mean to say, I am quite hairy;
Plus there is the advantage of not being legless.
But what he does to me is scary.

He tells me that I need a rest,
That I should cut down on a few things.
Anyway, I get myself a silk blanket,
An when I wake up, he's gone and given me wings.

My body needs the warmth of light;
The Master plays more tricks than anyone.
While I'm not looking, in the right direction,
He makes the warm light, as hot as the sun.