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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.
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.
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 3
I have travelled beyond the Garden,
Beyond Nothing's shallow void;
Encountering foes beyond reckoning,
Of whom I have battled and destroyed.
The awe of my universe,
Stretches the limit of many a mind.
The splendour of it's magical beauty,
The wars and hatred of it's kind.
Of this Universe no place is better,
Than in the Garden with my friends.
They're unique, in colour and creed,
Personalities created in different blends.
I befriended, care, and protect,
These creatures of the Garden,
I hope, that you too,
Befriend your creatures, of the Garden.
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.
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.
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