Sunday, 25 September 2022

The Seeds

by Nick Gisburne

Always an afterthought, always ignored,
Always the negative nobody needs,
Worthless, the wicked will find their reward,
Poisonous agents of evil, the seeds.
Armies of misery, legions of rage,
Servants who scream with the hunger of hate,
Spectres, the dead of a dangerous age,
Fallen from grace, in the shadowlands, wait.
I am their maker, their master, their king,
Sword of my soldiers, the sacred who serve.
Angels of Mercy, to Heaven I bring
Sorrow and suffering, all you deserve.
    Kneel to the nightmare, to darkness, divine.
    Weep as I make your infinity mine.

Embracing Apocalypse

by Nick Gisburne

Trapped in the tunnels, the furious crush,
Helplessly caught in the core of the crowd,
Beggars and bankers, the low to the lush,
Stumble to plead for their place in the Cloud.
Audio flash from the Primary Port:
Damage, a shuttle unable to fly.
Staggered by news of the quota, cut short,
Even the closest, the quickest, may die.
Out in the open, the skin of the sun
Shimmers with radiance, ready to burst.
Earth, in its final rotation, now spun,
Shudders, embracing apocalypse, cursed.
    Dawning reality. Screaming, they know.
    Death is for all of them. Nowhere to go.

Saturday, 24 September 2022


by Nick Gisburne

We build our great utopia at last,
Perfection, in a spotless city state,
A glittering metropolis, so vast
We cannot see the cancer we create.
Away from want, from envy, grudge or greed,
A splendid summer, flawless, brings the fall.
Without the pain of struggle, we are freed
From any sense of service to the sprawl.
The harvest moon releases hate and rage,
Emotions we no longer understand.
What might have been a glowing, gilded age
Is paralysed, a plague we never planned.
    Perfection without purpose. We are lost,
    And find our fate in winter’s final frost.

Tomorrow’s Messiah

by Nick Gisburne

Stealing the breath of a crucified son,
Spinning its essence for shimmering thread,
Weaving the cloth of a god, it is done,
All for the shroud of the martyr who fled.
Here was no hero, no virtuous man,
Only a criminal, always a thief.
Cornered, confronted, convicted, he ran.
Silent, we swim in our meaningless grief.
How did the mystery’s madness begin?
Why should we ever remember his name?
Blinded, we bury this body of skin,
Gullible pawns in a devious game.
    Maybe too twisted, the story, for some.
    Wait for tomorrow’s messiah to come.

Friday, 23 September 2022

Without the Cult

by Nick Gisburne

With fury, for the feeble, for the weak,
She cuts her Cult’s connection to the Cube.
In seconds, in a storm of preacher-speak,
A true believer slithers through her tube.
The novice, Brother Benjamin, a boy,
Can no more fix her sabotage than she,
But, as he chokes, she chooses to enjoy
The disappointing whimper of his plea.
Without the pulse to modify the mind,
A thousand of her sisters, servants, wake,
And she, with fearless frenzy, helps them find
The circuit in the system, theirs, to break.
    The god, the ghost, the master of their minds,
    Without the Cube, without the Cult, unwinds.

Artimangas Day

by Nick Gisburne

When Carcufrey Geniatass the First
Deodifies his Lusinary Clan,
The Yanders of Kalasdian, dispersed,
Begin to shuck this shammer of a man.
Receptilating, hungled at their Hax,
A trum, truckanish yanga starls the soom.
With captifolded cant, awained in wax,
As muccalings they bind a glanding boom.
At curum fall, on Artimangas Day,
A legiate of Tarroshantic Turgs
Apprangs the great beniator with bey,
Before the Unciada burst their burghs.
    As mooga fills the Sallans of her Seek,
    The Calitrix, Kavana, drinks the Deek.

Thursday, 22 September 2022

The Nobody You Were

by Nick Gisburne

You worthless man. You sorry sack of shit.
What foul misfortune made you marry me?
We took the road together, but the split?
Don’t blame it on your bitch. I saw. I see.
Deceit, a cancer swimming in your spine,
Corrupted every bone I long to break,
The subtle signs I struggled to define,
Oblivious, with all my dreams at stake.
Voracious for the novelty, the prize,
The life you took from me, then found in her,
At least you gave me something to despise,
Remembering the nobody you were.
    The two of you, so peaceful in our bed.
    I’m ready to forgive you, now you’re dead.

Wednesday, 21 September 2022

The Grand Manipulator

by Nick Gisburne

She knows she is the first to fight his rage.
The others inconveniently ran.
Today she turns a vicious, crimson page
To tell a shameful story of the man.
Each brutal inclination, each excess,
Too dangerous, too cold to be condoned,
Lies buried by his glittering success,
By all the passive prey he ever owned.
Repeating what his hunger brought before,
On every eager innocent, he feeds.
But she, at last, refused to be his whore.
For her the grand manipulator bleeds.
    Impervious to threats, or slurs, or steel,
    To him, to power, she will never kneel.

Tuesday, 20 September 2022

Fed by Fear

by Nick Gisburne

Euphoric as I suckle at the soul,
Corrupted by the struggle, fed by fear,
I strive to save some semblance of control
Before the body’s breath can disappear.
While others lure the living to their fate,
My appetites are not so quickly quenched.
A spirit, stolen early, or too late,
Will shatter if inelegantly wrenched.
The boy, so passive, eager to submit,
Too late awakens flavours of regret.
By seven of his brothers I am split,
But I will not be butchered by them, yet.
    They understand their lunacy, too late.
    Tonight I find a feast to fill my plate.

On the List

by Nick Gisburne

She slips a sly corruption through the scan,
Too subtle to be spotted in the code,
A secret shift her tapped-in middleman
Disperses through the network, every node.
To those who know, her signal spits a name,
A target, one more lowlife on the list,
A bureaucratic snake who bears the blame
For crimes too confidential to exist.
By morning, by coincidence, by chance,
An accident befalls the hapless man.
The bulletins, supportive in their stance,
Retreat behind a lie, because they can.
    She works to prime the pieces of a text,
    The trigger for another, for the next.

Monday, 19 September 2022


by Nick Gisburne

Perfection? No. Defective, broken, bent.
Your maker, I am sure, would be ashamed.
From what appalling nightmare were you sent?
What stutter in the system should be blamed?
An acid bomb. The vicious hand of hate.
No factory can remedy such rot.
But I, with my mechanics, can create
A stable state their clumsiness could not.
Your cyborg skin is burned, beyond repair,
But luck preserved the data of the brain.
We have a body, fit and fresh, a spare,
A medical anomaly, insane.
    Illegal, but without it you will die.
    The standard terms of slavery apply.

Sunday, 18 September 2022

A Lunatic Utopia

by Nick Gisburne

A meaningless melange of mindless rules.
A government without the sense to care.
A lunatic utopia for fools.
How ludicrous to learn that we are there.
At every turn the sensible is cracked,
Revealing what was fiction once, a fear.
The freedom to reject the rot attacked,
When those who see or say it disappear.
We shiver, ineffectual, repressed,
While grifters, shysters, villains, preach and pray.
Perhaps we should have wondered why, or guessed
That only power makes the system pay.
    We break beneath the brutal boot of might,
    And none of us, not one of us, will fight.

A Heavy Head

by Nick Gisburne

His greatest gift, a huge and heavy head,
The space to store a legendary brain,
Confines him to a gloomy garden shed,
In which he feeds a vulnerable vein.
The grisly cocktail keeps him, just, alive,
But every day the skull, insistent, grows.
With loathing, and a potent, private drive,
He poisons what he senses, what he knows.
A conduit, connected to the earth,
Completed with a potpourri of parts,
Engages an electrical rebirth
For those who think to hate him in their hearts.
    With mad, malicious glee, the monster hops,
    While every head, on every human, pops.

Saturday, 17 September 2022

Who Dares to Drink?

by Nick Gisburne

At daybreak you will feel the venom’s worst,
Distorted, drained through secret seams of space.
To see your mind evaporate and burst
Is payment for the paradise you chase.
The psychedelic sunlight of the spell
Will scatter broken shadows through your soul,
A spiralling obscenity, a swell,
Impossible to capture or control.
A multicoloured madness will remain,
A message, etched forever in your mind,
A ruinous corruption of the brain,
Designed to twist the spirit bad or blind.
    The potion is more potent than you think.
    Who dares to take a taste? Who dares to drink?

The Shadow You Become

by Nick Gisburne

When evil burns, reflected in the glass,
Command the waves of witchery you see.
The arrogance, the dreams of man, must pass.
To you alone the light will bend its knee.
Embrace the curse, the shadow you become,
Avenger of antiquity’s demise.
Before this world was placid, peaceful, numb,
The screams of burning angels split the skies.
The ecstasy of innocence, destroyed,
Of purity and pleasure, ground to dust,
Will echo in the darkness of the void.
To suffering, to sorrow, pledge your lust.
    The wise and worthy beg behind their doors.
    Extinguish them. The universe is yours.

Friday, 16 September 2022

The Sight

by Nick Gisburne

He draws our secrets, everything we are,
The mysteries his mind was never told,
Insanely detailed sketches of our star,
The worlds we left behind us, cursed and cold.
He threatens us, to shame our lives, our lies,
To bring us to the justice we deserve.
Exhibiting no panic, no surprise,
From none of his convictions do we swerve.
Bewildered by the wonders of The Sight,
He looks upon what all of us can see.
The gift we share is his by birth, by right,
A glimpse at what we were, and want to be.
    He understands. His journey has begun.
    The Sight gives pride and purpose to our son.

Thursday, 15 September 2022

A Grievance

by Nick Gisburne

You left me, lost, alone, afraid, to die,
Abandoned on a filthy, frozen moon,
But something found me, fed me. What, or why,
You’ll know when I return to see you, soon.
It asked me, once, what brought me to this place,
Digesting every detail, all I knew,
Then snarled to see the photograph, the face,
For now we share a bond, a grievance. You.
I shouldn’t be alive. Perhaps I’m not.
The memory, still hazy, never clears.
My sanity, susceptible to rot,
Is damaged by the sum of all my fears.
    Your treason gave me purpose, and a friend,
    But more, I found the means to make your end.

Wake Up

by Nick Gisburne

You’re dreaming. This is progress, this is good,
But this is not the life you thought you had.
The pieces of the past you understood
Were put there to protect you from the bad.
We dragged you from a dangerous disease,
Extinguished its intolerable pain,
But always you were difficult to please,
Denying what we painted in your brain.
We tried to hide what is and isn’t real,
But saw you, somehow, sabotage the lie.
We never wanted hope to break the deal.
Remember us. Remember this. Goodbye.
    Wake up, to find the world you always knew:
    Reality, where dreams are never true.

Wednesday, 14 September 2022

A Shadow in the Ruins

by Nick Gisburne

A shadow in the ruins, wet, she waits,
Disgusted as the nomads gnaw their meat.
Concealed behind the broken border gates,
She prays her scent will not reveal her seat.
No veterans, no bounty hunting scum,
But handy with a weapon nonetheless,
These traders, hauling junk from slum to slum,
Would kill her cold, in seconds, with finesse.
The foulest of the foursome, fat and fed,
Declares his wish to desecrate her land.
He squats behind a fallen statue’s head,
But feels her cold, her claws, and cannot stand.
    She drags him to the marshes, through the weeds,
    To flay his flesh, euphoric as she feeds.

A Monster’s Manifesto

by Nick Gisburne

The bondage of bureaucracy begins,
With subtleties of delicate design,
To hammer at the souls beneath our skins.
The skies will break before they shatter mine.
Submissive, pawns of power, we are fools,
The sheep who see their slaughter as a gift.
Distorted by unfathomable rules,
Our freedoms wither, daily, as we drift.
For thunderous rebellion, for war,
A monster’s manifesto I create.
My words, my whispers, warned them once before.
Today they will be listening, too late.
    The world will know what I, in death, have done,
    And witness what my malice has begun.