by Nick Gisburne
They call me Sleepy Jack, the broken boy,
But cannot comprehend what I can see.
My gift is no beguiling, borrowed toy.
The strangeness I explore belongs to me.
Connected to the long, forever night,
Its doorways always open to my touch.
Another world, another dream’s delight.
New people, friends. We talk, perhaps too much.
They wonder why I sleep but never stay.
Awakened by reality, they fade.
When all I see in daylight is the grey,
I think I could, but then I feel afraid.
Tonight I know I’m braver than before.
I step inside and let them lock the door.
Sunday, 17 May 2026
A Storm Will Break
by Nick Gisburne
She doesn’t need a coat to keep her warm,
Or borrow any boots to shield her feet.
Obsession is her shelter from the storm.
She waits for it, impatient, incomplete.
Of all the broken dreams across its course,
She saw it spread more suffering on hers.
Destruction without reason or remorse
Knows nothing of the fury it confers.
A glimpse, but from a distance. Is it real?
The silence is deceptive, never still.
Behind the tiny window she can feel
The fever at the focus of her will.
The footsteps on the path approach the door.
A storm will break, like none he’s felt before.
She doesn’t need a coat to keep her warm,
Or borrow any boots to shield her feet.
Obsession is her shelter from the storm.
She waits for it, impatient, incomplete.
Of all the broken dreams across its course,
She saw it spread more suffering on hers.
Destruction without reason or remorse
Knows nothing of the fury it confers.
A glimpse, but from a distance. Is it real?
The silence is deceptive, never still.
Behind the tiny window she can feel
The fever at the focus of her will.
The footsteps on the path approach the door.
A storm will break, like none he’s felt before.
The Many-Fingered Man
by Nick Gisburne
The stories of the many-fingered man
Are fables twisted tight around the truth.
Beginning as no other teacher can,
He grins, revealing each metallic tooth.
Extending seven fingers and a thumb,
His whispers hiss, insisting on a choice.
The ritual, already, has become
A test to be endured to hear his voice.
The middle of the seven. Never wrong.
He breathes to let the mystery unfold.
A human finger never seemed so long,
Foreshadowing the story to be told.
He bites, and as he rips it from the hand,
He tells a tale as grim as it is grand.
The stories of the many-fingered man
Are fables twisted tight around the truth.
Beginning as no other teacher can,
He grins, revealing each metallic tooth.
Extending seven fingers and a thumb,
His whispers hiss, insisting on a choice.
The ritual, already, has become
A test to be endured to hear his voice.
The middle of the seven. Never wrong.
He breathes to let the mystery unfold.
A human finger never seemed so long,
Foreshadowing the story to be told.
He bites, and as he rips it from the hand,
He tells a tale as grim as it is grand.
Saturday, 16 May 2026
Give Me Something Good
by Nick Gisburne
You killed another man, but won’t say why.
No reason? Really? Murder, just for kicks?
You’re telling me you don’t deserve to die,
But add some fat or flavour to the mix.
I wouldn’t have to bring a body back.
Alive or not, the bounty’s on your head.
You call it, soldier. Bet on red or black,
But give me something good before you’re dead.
I won’t believe a word of it. Who cares?
You’ll never get a trial you can win.
We’re docking soon for critical repairs,
So take your time, before I take you in.
Consider this. I’ll say it nice and slow.
Who else will ever listen? Let me know.
You killed another man, but won’t say why.
No reason? Really? Murder, just for kicks?
You’re telling me you don’t deserve to die,
But add some fat or flavour to the mix.
I wouldn’t have to bring a body back.
Alive or not, the bounty’s on your head.
You call it, soldier. Bet on red or black,
But give me something good before you’re dead.
I won’t believe a word of it. Who cares?
You’ll never get a trial you can win.
We’re docking soon for critical repairs,
So take your time, before I take you in.
Consider this. I’ll say it nice and slow.
Who else will ever listen? Let me know.
No One Asks for Mutton
by Nick Gisburne
I haven’t been selected for a while,
But maybe soon. Today? Tonight? Who knows?
I have a little rust around my smile,
But never so conspicuous it shows.
I’m really quite a catch for what I am,
The pride of Level One a while ago,
But no one asks for mutton when there’s lamb,
And what they want replaces what they know.
I’m listed now as Level Three. The nerve!
The bargain bin we call it in the trade.
A four-point-five for pleasure, every curve
Refurbished, and my friction will not fade.
They’ll put me in the crusher with the junk,
So pick me, someone, even if you’re drunk.
I haven’t been selected for a while,
But maybe soon. Today? Tonight? Who knows?
I have a little rust around my smile,
But never so conspicuous it shows.
I’m really quite a catch for what I am,
The pride of Level One a while ago,
But no one asks for mutton when there’s lamb,
And what they want replaces what they know.
I’m listed now as Level Three. The nerve!
The bargain bin we call it in the trade.
A four-point-five for pleasure, every curve
Refurbished, and my friction will not fade.
They’ll put me in the crusher with the junk,
So pick me, someone, even if you’re drunk.
The Shimmer-Neth
by Nick Gisburne
They stagger through the black and broken trees,
Too weary to be troubled by the smoke,
And, while a stinking sickness taints the breeze,
No grief can save the fallen, those who choke.
One crime, the most forbidden of the Fey,
Brings misery, disaster, pain, and death.
Submission to their hated human prey
Begets a child of shame, a Shimmer-Neth.
Contaminated magic, twisted lore,
And all the dark atrocities of man,
Create a creature, bleak like none before,
A cancer at the heart of every clan.
The forest burns. Its peoples bend and break.
The Shimmer-Neth, they know, is their mistake.
They stagger through the black and broken trees,
Too weary to be troubled by the smoke,
And, while a stinking sickness taints the breeze,
No grief can save the fallen, those who choke.
One crime, the most forbidden of the Fey,
Brings misery, disaster, pain, and death.
Submission to their hated human prey
Begets a child of shame, a Shimmer-Neth.
Contaminated magic, twisted lore,
And all the dark atrocities of man,
Create a creature, bleak like none before,
A cancer at the heart of every clan.
The forest burns. Its peoples bend and break.
The Shimmer-Neth, they know, is their mistake.
The Quintocrats of Justice
by Nick Gisburne
The Quintocrats of Justice take their seats,
Despite the dismal pleadings of the town.
Already, from the filth-infested streets,
All symbols of dissent are taken down.
They motion that the young defendant’s cage
Be lowered from the ceiling where it swings.
In manacles and chains, his tender age
Means nothing to the darkness judgment brings.
The figure at the centre of the five
Removes the crimson gauntlets from his hands,
And whispers that the boy will not survive
To see another sunrise in these lands.
Too numb to watch him dragged away to die,
The Quintocrat, his father, turns to cry.
The Quintocrats of Justice take their seats,
Despite the dismal pleadings of the town.
Already, from the filth-infested streets,
All symbols of dissent are taken down.
They motion that the young defendant’s cage
Be lowered from the ceiling where it swings.
In manacles and chains, his tender age
Means nothing to the darkness judgment brings.
The figure at the centre of the five
Removes the crimson gauntlets from his hands,
And whispers that the boy will not survive
To see another sunrise in these lands.
Too numb to watch him dragged away to die,
The Quintocrat, his father, turns to cry.
Veronica’s Dolls
by Nick Gisburne
Veronica adored her dolls so much
That silly old pretending wouldn’t do.
She mixed a little miracle. Her touch
Was just enough to waken one or two.
When two became a dozen, then a crowd,
She taught them all the proper way to sit,
Until at last the first to speak aloud
Looked up at her and shouted, “This is shit!”
Veronica, significantly shocked,
Lamented, “But I bought you scarves and shoes!”
Her protestations mercilessly mocked,
They told her what they really wanted. “Booze!”
The playroom soon descended into sin,
But, far too young, they wouldn’t let her in.
Veronica adored her dolls so much
That silly old pretending wouldn’t do.
She mixed a little miracle. Her touch
Was just enough to waken one or two.
When two became a dozen, then a crowd,
She taught them all the proper way to sit,
Until at last the first to speak aloud
Looked up at her and shouted, “This is shit!”
Veronica, significantly shocked,
Lamented, “But I bought you scarves and shoes!”
Her protestations mercilessly mocked,
They told her what they really wanted. “Booze!”
The playroom soon descended into sin,
But, far too young, they wouldn’t let her in.
Friday, 15 May 2026
Charlie Two
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.
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.
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.