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.

Oversight

I walk a very tender and fragile edge,
I have to keep a look out all the time.
If my vigil fails, for a slender moment,
I fall into the balance of a rhyme.

If the two lines have a common rhyme,
Then I am to be given the second chance.
But woe, if those lines fall by the wayside,
I'll be thrown in front of the predator's glance.

It's hard, having so many natural enemies,
Being considered as a succulent sweet.
It is cumbersome being one of the Dihpa,
Not even protected by Summer's harsh heat.

The only protection the Master granted,
Is being so small, and our weird shape.
We are grateful, for this gift of oversight,
But we have no means of an escape.

Hasten's Return

It is nice of the Tender and the Eleven,
To give me food, and water for the coming trip.
It won't be long before it starts happening,
When illusion and insanity tend to get a grip.

You need a strong mind when you go Between,
It also helps if you can control your imagination.
The mirages there, are so much larger than life;
They can kill and resurrect, without hesitation.

We rarely have to cross the Between,
But when it is at hand, we are vital;
Messengers to the leaders, conveyors of orders.
It's relieving, that Between is calmest at nightfall.

But for now I need much needed, valuable rest,
I have to be completely aware, crossing Between.
My body has to be physically strong;
My mind, has to be clean and keen.

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.

Prediction

Kindaal had guessed Natas was going to be mad,
So mad that he would release the Squadron.
Kindaal couldn't have predicted it any better,
Natas even had Raspitur slaving over his cauldron.

The idea behind Kindaal's master plan,
Was that Natas would forget about his ground force;
Relying mainly on his so called Aerialists.
Kindaal patiently waited for Natas to endorse.

The Preachers are going to remain with the Seeb,
Where they will protect Garden to the utmost.
A small force of Tender will attack Ketpoc;
Natas's main fortress which lies on the east coast.

With Ketpoc under total Tender control,
Natas's ground forces would have no base.
It wouldn't be long before they're useless to Natas;
Kindaal could then march upon Mephisot at a faster pace.

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.

Xenophobia

Xenophobia rages throughout the Highlands,
Much like a sinister, rabid disease.
News of the Eleven had swept like wildfire,
Scared Assistants running away upon their knees.

They would take one look at Antis,
Thinking of him as nothing but a stray.
But all of a sudden they see that Ferral,
Sil, Arak, and the rest want to play.

The Eleven play a game of odds,
They bet on the outcome of the next fight.
That is to say how many opponents run,
And how many stand up from fright.

All the wayward Assistants make for safety,
Which they think lies in the Lowlands.
They are surprisingly led to their imprisonment,
Escorted by a branch of gentle Tender hands.