by Nick Gisburne
Of all the people, somehow it was me,
The first to meet a man from outer space.
I offered him a sausage, poured the tea,
And smiled at where there should have been a face.
His name was something simple: Charlie Two,
Which wasn’t very alien at all.
I wondered, so I asked him, if he knew
A simple way to wrap a rubber ball.
He didn’t, so if that could stump his brain
I knew the world was absolutely safe.
Two further questions: why is weather vain,
And will a new bikini always chafe?
He left in quite a hurry. To this day
I’ll always wonder why he went away.
Friday, 15 May 2026
Take My Hand
by Nick Gisburne
You don’t know why I cut myself again,
So don’t pretend you’ll ever understand.
I’m not the same inside as other men,
But go ahead and do it. Take my hand.
You’re stronger than expected, I admit.
Is that way you try to take control?
No sympathy, no questions, is this it?
I thought you were supposed to save my soul.
I like the silence. Thank you, just for that.
From me, the grim ungrateful, it’s a lot.
I think that this, the moment, where I’m at,
It could have been enormous, but it’s not.
It’s small, and that’s important too, you know?
I think it’s what I needed. Don’t let go.
You don’t know why I cut myself again,
So don’t pretend you’ll ever understand.
I’m not the same inside as other men,
But go ahead and do it. Take my hand.
You’re stronger than expected, I admit.
Is that way you try to take control?
No sympathy, no questions, is this it?
I thought you were supposed to save my soul.
I like the silence. Thank you, just for that.
From me, the grim ungrateful, it’s a lot.
I think that this, the moment, where I’m at,
It could have been enormous, but it’s not.
It’s small, and that’s important too, you know?
I think it’s what I needed. Don’t let go.
Cuckoo
by Nick Gisburne
Our pity for the orphan and her plight
Was kindled when we found her at the door.
We took her in to save her from the night,
And fed her, though she soon demanded more.
The children shared their bed to let her sleep,
Until she kicked them out and claimed it all.
Their toys were taken, tangled in a heap,
Then sabotaged and smashed against the wall.
When disciplined she whistled through her teeth,
And grew to be aggressive, tall and strong.
We saw frustration seething underneath,
But never knew exactly what was wrong.
Unable to expel our vicious guest,
The spiteful cuckoo threw us from the nest.
Our pity for the orphan and her plight
Was kindled when we found her at the door.
We took her in to save her from the night,
And fed her, though she soon demanded more.
The children shared their bed to let her sleep,
Until she kicked them out and claimed it all.
Their toys were taken, tangled in a heap,
Then sabotaged and smashed against the wall.
When disciplined she whistled through her teeth,
And grew to be aggressive, tall and strong.
We saw frustration seething underneath,
But never knew exactly what was wrong.
Unable to expel our vicious guest,
The spiteful cuckoo threw us from the nest.
Abusive Beats
by Nick Gisburne
The music pounds a hammer on her soul,
Abusive beats, repeating through the wall.
Besieged, bewildered, under its control,
She cracks, unable now to cry, or crawl.
The silence was the only friend she had,
A comforting envelopment of calm.
Despite her isolation, she was glad
The quiet let her live without alarm.
No longer. As the frequencies distort,
They penetrate her finger-tangled hair,
Awakening a dark, dismembered thought,
A long-forgotten feeling of despair.
Her peace will come again. She lifts the knife,
And leaves the room to take another life.
The music pounds a hammer on her soul,
Abusive beats, repeating through the wall.
Besieged, bewildered, under its control,
She cracks, unable now to cry, or crawl.
The silence was the only friend she had,
A comforting envelopment of calm.
Despite her isolation, she was glad
The quiet let her live without alarm.
No longer. As the frequencies distort,
They penetrate her finger-tangled hair,
Awakening a dark, dismembered thought,
A long-forgotten feeling of despair.
Her peace will come again. She lifts the knife,
And leaves the room to take another life.
Intravenous Vice
by Nick Gisburne
Dismissive of the danger and the pain,
He yearns to take the chance, to feel the sting.
At first the tubes and tendrils only drain,
But soon they pump contagions from the king.
The deviance of intravenous vice
Is more than broken whispers can convey.
He cannot comprehend the fever’s price,
But arrogance and wonder seize the day.
He soaks the flow of tortured regal dreams,
The horror and the hate his king expels.
Believing he can suffer such extremes,
He shudders as his mortal body swells.
The king awakes beside him, cleansed, renewed,
And pulls apart the man’s remains, his food.
Dismissive of the danger and the pain,
He yearns to take the chance, to feel the sting.
At first the tubes and tendrils only drain,
But soon they pump contagions from the king.
The deviance of intravenous vice
Is more than broken whispers can convey.
He cannot comprehend the fever’s price,
But arrogance and wonder seize the day.
He soaks the flow of tortured regal dreams,
The horror and the hate his king expels.
Believing he can suffer such extremes,
He shudders as his mortal body swells.
The king awakes beside him, cleansed, renewed,
And pulls apart the man’s remains, his food.
Thursday, 14 May 2026
Out of Darkness
by Nick Gisburne
Advances at the margins of my field
Uncovered strange, anomalous results,
But further calculations soon revealed
A notion every colleague still insults.
Dismayed by academia’s malaise,
In self-inflicted exile, moving on,
I toiled for long, exhilarating days,
Until, at last, the final doubts were gone.
My work will give the world what it deserves,
To bring us out of darkness into light,
But money talks, and tyranny preserves
An oligarchy blind to what is right.
They’ll never let me do it, this I see,
But someone else will smash their power. Me.
Advances at the margins of my field
Uncovered strange, anomalous results,
But further calculations soon revealed
A notion every colleague still insults.
Dismayed by academia’s malaise,
In self-inflicted exile, moving on,
I toiled for long, exhilarating days,
Until, at last, the final doubts were gone.
My work will give the world what it deserves,
To bring us out of darkness into light,
But money talks, and tyranny preserves
An oligarchy blind to what is right.
They’ll never let me do it, this I see,
But someone else will smash their power. Me.
Technician 27
by Nick Gisburne
Commercial exploitation of a star
Demands a lengthy, hibernating sleep.
Without sedation, few survive so far.
Despair, awake in hyperspace, runs deep.
The Fabian, with fifty human souls,
Departed for the Aldebaran Belt.
Its frozen crew, in cold suspension holes,
Would never know the hand that they were dealt.
Technician 27, Dexter May,
Awoke too early, long before the rest.
No matter how it happened, on that day
He understood the nature of his test.
By Aldebaran forty-nine were dead,
The only way to keep a madman fed.
Commercial exploitation of a star
Demands a lengthy, hibernating sleep.
Without sedation, few survive so far.
Despair, awake in hyperspace, runs deep.
The Fabian, with fifty human souls,
Departed for the Aldebaran Belt.
Its frozen crew, in cold suspension holes,
Would never know the hand that they were dealt.
Technician 27, Dexter May,
Awoke too early, long before the rest.
No matter how it happened, on that day
He understood the nature of his test.
By Aldebaran forty-nine were dead,
The only way to keep a madman fed.
Government Guidelines: Unit Four
by Nick Gisburne
Although your stated grievances are clear,
Your daughter was detained by Unit Six.
Since this is Unit Four, it would appear
A simple redirection is the fix.
However, by demanding her return,
Your actions break a minor point of law.
Correction here, we hope, will help you learn
To offer more respect to Unit Four.
The weight of such a serious offence
Exceeds the point at which you would be fined.
Imprisoned for a year, at your expense,
A medicated cell has been assigned.
Be thankful we are keeping you alive.
All criminals are shot by Unit Five.
Although your stated grievances are clear,
Your daughter was detained by Unit Six.
Since this is Unit Four, it would appear
A simple redirection is the fix.
However, by demanding her return,
Your actions break a minor point of law.
Correction here, we hope, will help you learn
To offer more respect to Unit Four.
The weight of such a serious offence
Exceeds the point at which you would be fined.
Imprisoned for a year, at your expense,
A medicated cell has been assigned.
Be thankful we are keeping you alive.
All criminals are shot by Unit Five.
Wednesday, 13 May 2026
FROGS
by Nick Gisburne
We like to be upgraded, now and then;
Mechanicals need maintenance to work.
Examining the list, we check again,
And find a small but questionable quirk.
We all expected servos, coils and springs,
Hydraulics, pistons, cylinders and cogs,
But, just below these fundamental things,
We find a strange, exotic item: FROGS.
A full replacement, maybe? Of... of what?
A system, that’s the ‘S’, but leaves the ‘G’.
Our gears are shown in sequence. This is not.
We speculate, but none of us agree.
The visiting mechanic soon explains.
“A typo. ‘B’. I’m here to wipe your brains.”
We like to be upgraded, now and then;
Mechanicals need maintenance to work.
Examining the list, we check again,
And find a small but questionable quirk.
We all expected servos, coils and springs,
Hydraulics, pistons, cylinders and cogs,
But, just below these fundamental things,
We find a strange, exotic item: FROGS.
A full replacement, maybe? Of... of what?
A system, that’s the ‘S’, but leaves the ‘G’.
Our gears are shown in sequence. This is not.
We speculate, but none of us agree.
The visiting mechanic soon explains.
“A typo. ‘B’. I’m here to wipe your brains.”
Summoning Extinction
by Nick Gisburne
The seven secret leaders of the world,
A syndicate dispensing with disguise,
Bedecked in robes of gold, bejewelled, pearled,
Let nothing but revulsion fill their eyes.
By summoning extinction, here, today,
They set aside the travesty of state.
Malevolence is now the only way
To cleanse and conquer everything they hate.
Their sigils break apart on seven screens.
As one, they lock together and unite.
With seven keys inserted, bleak machines
Are quick to count, with cold, hypnotic light.
At zero, as the genocide begins,
The Seven shine, inside their metal skins.
The seven secret leaders of the world,
A syndicate dispensing with disguise,
Bedecked in robes of gold, bejewelled, pearled,
Let nothing but revulsion fill their eyes.
By summoning extinction, here, today,
They set aside the travesty of state.
Malevolence is now the only way
To cleanse and conquer everything they hate.
Their sigils break apart on seven screens.
As one, they lock together and unite.
With seven keys inserted, bleak machines
Are quick to count, with cold, hypnotic light.
At zero, as the genocide begins,
The Seven shine, inside their metal skins.
You Saw
by Nick Gisburne
You don’t know much about me, just enough
To talk about the accident. You saw.
Perhaps I said I’d do it, but a bluff
Is not the same as meaning it. That’s more.
I get a little tension, over time,
Like something hot is filling me with steam.
It prickles as my pulse begins to climb,
And then I’m underwater, in a dream.
I feel as though my mind was never there.
I want you to believe, to understand.
You saw. I couldn’t stop myself, I swear.
It happened, but it wasn’t what I planned.
I’m sorry, but I really need to go,
Before they find your body in the snow.
You don’t know much about me, just enough
To talk about the accident. You saw.
Perhaps I said I’d do it, but a bluff
Is not the same as meaning it. That’s more.
I get a little tension, over time,
Like something hot is filling me with steam.
It prickles as my pulse begins to climb,
And then I’m underwater, in a dream.
I feel as though my mind was never there.
I want you to believe, to understand.
You saw. I couldn’t stop myself, I swear.
It happened, but it wasn’t what I planned.
I’m sorry, but I really need to go,
Before they find your body in the snow.
A Shilling
by Nick Gisburne
Whatever brute or beast you hope to see,
Whatever strange delusions twist your dreams,
Behind this curtain I am simply me.
Monstrosity is rarely what it seems.
For those who look, but never let me speak,
Revulsion and contempt are nothing new.
My skin will turn the stomachs of the weak,
But do I sound so primitive to you?
Mere words, alas, will not prepare your mind
For what the gods themselves have cast aside,
But why are you so adamant to find
A man compelled to hate himself and hide?
A shilling is a wretched price to pay,
So spare us both, I beg you. Walk away.
Whatever brute or beast you hope to see,
Whatever strange delusions twist your dreams,
Behind this curtain I am simply me.
Monstrosity is rarely what it seems.
For those who look, but never let me speak,
Revulsion and contempt are nothing new.
My skin will turn the stomachs of the weak,
But do I sound so primitive to you?
Mere words, alas, will not prepare your mind
For what the gods themselves have cast aside,
But why are you so adamant to find
A man compelled to hate himself and hide?
A shilling is a wretched price to pay,
So spare us both, I beg you. Walk away.
Tuesday, 12 May 2026
The Map
by Nick Gisburne
The curse is not a mark, it is a map.
Thought faint at first, it darkens as it grows.
A sprawling sweep of lines begin to wrap
And circle every blemish they expose.
Invaded, stained, the shiver of its touch
Drives deeper than her fear can comprehend.
She weeps, but as the cold becomes too much
Her body feels the violation’s end.
Two mirrors, one behind her, one before,
Reveal the bleak cartography of fate:
A labyrinth, without an outer door,
And at its heart a name, above a date.
The name is hers. The date foreshadows doom.
The map depicts the pathways to her tomb.
The curse is not a mark, it is a map.
Thought faint at first, it darkens as it grows.
A sprawling sweep of lines begin to wrap
And circle every blemish they expose.
Invaded, stained, the shiver of its touch
Drives deeper than her fear can comprehend.
She weeps, but as the cold becomes too much
Her body feels the violation’s end.
Two mirrors, one behind her, one before,
Reveal the bleak cartography of fate:
A labyrinth, without an outer door,
And at its heart a name, above a date.
The name is hers. The date foreshadows doom.
The map depicts the pathways to her tomb.
The Emperor is Dead
by Nick Gisburne
We won’t believe the emperor is dead
Until we watch his bloated body burn.
His poison, all the filth that we were fed,
Must never be permitted to return.
We waited as we watched the cancer grow,
But even in his sickness he was strong.
The first of those who dared to tell him no
Were traitors, cowards. Crooks, he called them. Wrong.
His arrogance dismantled what we built,
A reputation stained, dishonoured, lost.
He died without a single grain of guilt.
Without him we, the people, count the cost.
His legacy contaminates the past.
At least the world is rid of him, at last.
We won’t believe the emperor is dead
Until we watch his bloated body burn.
His poison, all the filth that we were fed,
Must never be permitted to return.
We waited as we watched the cancer grow,
But even in his sickness he was strong.
The first of those who dared to tell him no
Were traitors, cowards. Crooks, he called them. Wrong.
His arrogance dismantled what we built,
A reputation stained, dishonoured, lost.
He died without a single grain of guilt.
Without him we, the people, count the cost.
His legacy contaminates the past.
At least the world is rid of him, at last.
Monday, 11 May 2026
The Primus
by Nick Gisburne
The Primus is identified with chance,
By silver beads and sapphires as they fall.
Commanding serendipity to dance,
The prize empowers he who takes it all.
A hundred infants enter; one remains;
A sacrifice their surrogates embrace.
The ninety-nine unfavourable brains
Are scattered by the Magistrates of Grace.
In four and twenty seconds he will speak,
Infused indoctrinations now complete.
Although his suckling body may be weak,
His voice conveys unshakeable conceit.
“My people! I am Primus! I am now!
Can someone wipe my arse, or show me how?”
The Primus is identified with chance,
By silver beads and sapphires as they fall.
Commanding serendipity to dance,
The prize empowers he who takes it all.
A hundred infants enter; one remains;
A sacrifice their surrogates embrace.
The ninety-nine unfavourable brains
Are scattered by the Magistrates of Grace.
In four and twenty seconds he will speak,
Infused indoctrinations now complete.
Although his suckling body may be weak,
His voice conveys unshakeable conceit.
“My people! I am Primus! I am now!
Can someone wipe my arse, or show me how?”
My Enemy
by Nick Gisburne
The ocean takes its victims as it will.
To question its intent is vain indeed.
Its majesty has no more mind to kill
Than snow assailed by sunlight has to bleed.
The ocean is my enemy today.
The fragments of my vessel stain the blue.
It comes to take my wind, my world, away.
It comes for life, for love. It comes for you.
The ocean cracked the ship like shattered bone,
But spares us from its clutches with a curse.
Of all the joyous moments we have known,
My heart would put no other in reverse.
The ocean shows me what its waves will keep.
I watch it drag you down, to feed the deep.
The ocean takes its victims as it will.
To question its intent is vain indeed.
Its majesty has no more mind to kill
Than snow assailed by sunlight has to bleed.
The ocean is my enemy today.
The fragments of my vessel stain the blue.
It comes to take my wind, my world, away.
It comes for life, for love. It comes for you.
The ocean cracked the ship like shattered bone,
But spares us from its clutches with a curse.
Of all the joyous moments we have known,
My heart would put no other in reverse.
The ocean shows me what its waves will keep.
I watch it drag you down, to feed the deep.
Cold Perfection
by Nick Gisburne
To kill a man, then try to take his place,
To steal the storied life he never had,
He modifies the features of his face,
Convinced his clever plan is ironclad.
His mannerisms, habits, quirks, and more,
Are studied, copied, mastered to a T.
At last he throws his victim to the floor
And strangles him before the man can flee.
Disposal is efficient, quick, precise.
The murder never happened, so it seems.
But even cold perfection has its price
When others have their own appalling schemes.
Not noticing a copy in the bed,
His mistress kills a duplicate instead.
To kill a man, then try to take his place,
To steal the storied life he never had,
He modifies the features of his face,
Convinced his clever plan is ironclad.
His mannerisms, habits, quirks, and more,
Are studied, copied, mastered to a T.
At last he throws his victim to the floor
And strangles him before the man can flee.
Disposal is efficient, quick, precise.
The murder never happened, so it seems.
But even cold perfection has its price
When others have their own appalling schemes.
Not noticing a copy in the bed,
His mistress kills a duplicate instead.
Sunday, 10 May 2026
The Theory of Cheese
by Nick Gisburne
A mouse was once invited to the Moon
To ponder on the Theory of Cheese,
For if it could be eaten with a spoon
Would moonlight be too slippery to squeeze?
His first contention: positively yes
Was countered by a second: strictly no.
So rather than be seen to simply guess
The mouse, without a squeak, agreed to go.
The jaunt became a farcical affair
When suddenly the navigating bat
Cried out, convinced the Moon was never there,
And no one could persuade him. That was that.
They landed in the bosom of a tree,
Too late for cheese, but just in time for tea.
A mouse was once invited to the Moon
To ponder on the Theory of Cheese,
For if it could be eaten with a spoon
Would moonlight be too slippery to squeeze?
His first contention: positively yes
Was countered by a second: strictly no.
So rather than be seen to simply guess
The mouse, without a squeak, agreed to go.
The jaunt became a farcical affair
When suddenly the navigating bat
Cried out, convinced the Moon was never there,
And no one could persuade him. That was that.
They landed in the bosom of a tree,
Too late for cheese, but just in time for tea.
Fear Her Name
by Nick Gisburne
The conquerors forgot to fear her name,
A memory polluted with their dust.
She tunnelled to the core, while they became
Defilers of the dirt, as humans must.
Her minerals were raped without respite.
Unclean contraptions laid her lands to waste,
And, drilling down, as though they had the right,
They burrowed deeper, blinded by their haste.
She stirred within her solitude at last,
Her patience for their probing put aside,
Unravelling a carapace so vast
She dwarfed them all, so huge they could not hide.
Digested, slowly, sorry that they came,
They learned at last the Mothersucker’s name.
The conquerors forgot to fear her name,
A memory polluted with their dust.
She tunnelled to the core, while they became
Defilers of the dirt, as humans must.
Her minerals were raped without respite.
Unclean contraptions laid her lands to waste,
And, drilling down, as though they had the right,
They burrowed deeper, blinded by their haste.
She stirred within her solitude at last,
Her patience for their probing put aside,
Unravelling a carapace so vast
She dwarfed them all, so huge they could not hide.
Digested, slowly, sorry that they came,
They learned at last the Mothersucker’s name.
The Spirit of the Mountain
by Nick Gisburne
Her frozen tears are jewels for the pure,
Who crack a brittle harvest from her face.
The spirit of the mountain must endure
Their trespass with immeasurable grace.
They worshipped, once, with reverential dread,
Lamenting that the winter’s winds were cursed,
But soon they came with avarice instead,
And sold the silver treasures they dispersed.
She looks upon the town they build below,
A cluttered desecration at her feet.
They do not see her thicken as the snow
Becomes a heavy mantle, now complete.
The spirit of the mountain takes a breath,
Awakening an avalanche of death.
Her frozen tears are jewels for the pure,
Who crack a brittle harvest from her face.
The spirit of the mountain must endure
Their trespass with immeasurable grace.
They worshipped, once, with reverential dread,
Lamenting that the winter’s winds were cursed,
But soon they came with avarice instead,
And sold the silver treasures they dispersed.
She looks upon the town they build below,
A cluttered desecration at her feet.
They do not see her thicken as the snow
Becomes a heavy mantle, now complete.
The spirit of the mountain takes a breath,
Awakening an avalanche of death.