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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.

A Proud Tender

In ancient times, they had there oddities,
Just as we have them with us now.
Their descendants changed in shapes and sizes,
The farmer forced to put away his plough.

I, am a proud descendant of the Emu,
A proud bird, who roamed the Ancient Lands.
The traits, of no flight remained though,
Imagine a Dragon, stuck fast on Garden's sands.

We did develop larger wings to compensate,
However, our huge bodies are too heavy.
But, this is only a physical restraint;
As the Great One, gave us the gift of Levee.

We are true dragons in all aspects,
Mystics in soul, in body we are Tenders.
We hardly ever, leave the borders of the Levee,
In the same way as the Ancient Pretenders.

Second Apostle's Letter

I am writing to you once again, hoping that you are taking care of yourself, and my companions. By now, most would have introduced themselves. At the same time, a lot might not have. Take for instance, the Cogil, who resemble the Ancient Fairy. They need to be encouraged by their own kind.

These shy Tenders are hardly ever seen. But I know within myself, that these beautiful Tenders actually exist.

The Great One, very rarely shows himself openly, but, it is very easy to talk to him. By merely talking to Emalf, or one of the Dribydal, or any of the Great One's friends, it will end up, that you were actually talking to him. As Emalf is the closest to the Only One, messages are conveyed quicker.

Each member of the Tender's Company has their own different dialect. Strange as it is, what you think they are saying, is in fact exactly what they are trying to tell you. It's just that you have been too ignorant, to listen to these thoughts before.

That's right!!! I remember now why I was writing to you.

My trip, is going to be longer than planned. I bumped into an old ancestor. Nathaniel Sirrah-Arkey M. Now, that is old. Anyway, all I ask of you, is if you can keep an eye on Garden's well being for me? Thanks.

Until we meet again, the Wanderer.

Foreword (The Garden)

Garden is a small shire, within the boundaries of the sinister Nothing. The people, both animated and mortal, keep their shire clean and beautiful. They also protect their shire from natural foes. Life is usually calm and tranquil in this serene shire, known as Garden.

Nothing's infamous tyrant, Natas, wants most, if not all, of Nothing under his total control. He usually leaves Garden alone. That is until he gets bored with his demonic means of entertainment.

The actual land mass, Nothing, is surrounded by a shallow void; namely "Nothing's Void". To the northern tip of Nothing, across it's Void, lies the Ancient Lands. It was there, were the Ancients would wander (and wonder) about. I say used to; as they were all wiped out by an unpleasant plague. The inhabitants of Nothing, were protected from this horrid plague by the sheer vastness of Nothing's Void.

In the following poems and letters, you will have the opportunity of getting to know most of the Inhabitants; most, not all. You will meet the Wanderer, who with the use of his TRIPPER (Time Rectifier in Parallel Places, Envelope Runner), visits the Ancients.

A fact, which you might find startling, is that Garden, Nothing, and their inhabitants actually exist. There is a piece of the Wanderer, in all of us. What's more, Nothing and Garden aren't that far away. Everything has it's good with it's bad.

Everywhere you look, there is a fragment of Nothing in what you see.

Saracere’s Burning

The tempest’s bright white snakes had bitten Saracere,
In turn, the Assistant’s hidden fortress was ablaze.
Who says good things don’t come from bad,
Or that nights can’t turn into days.

The blaze had destroyed the thick foliage,
That concealed Saracere’s now blackened walls.
If it wasn’t for the tempest’s violent actions,
The Eleven would not have seen the ominous Ghouls.

The Ghouls are Natas’s masters of ambush,
They are said to have come from the Ancient Lands.
Ghouls sneak up from behind their unwitting prey,
Attacking in vile and feverish bands.

Today wasn’t their day, no not at all,
They had lost their element of surprise.
The Eleven conquered Saracere in simplicity,
As the tempest had opened their blind eyes.
Written by Dincara 1985-1986 Currently being illustrated by Ettenyl Laeb

Evil Wisdom

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.

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.