by Nick Gisburne
Machines were never people. Some exist
To stabilise the cities they destroyed,
Mechanicals admitted to a list,
The robots many struggle to avoid.
Obedience, a necessary trait,
Is quick to thin the numbers by a third.
Survivors, under strict surveillance, wait,
Accepting they could perish with a word.
Eccentric personalities abound,
Each battle-cracked intelligence unique.
The deadliest, the oldest ever found,
Deplores the past, too traumatised to speak.
We almost lost the world. Today we plan
To share it with our greatest rival: man.
Wednesday, 19 April 2023
The Portraits of Their Lives
by Nick Gisburne
The people in the photographs we find,
In shady places - markets, backstreet stores -
Were loved before their stories, left behind,
Enriched another chapter, mine, and yours.
Forgotten, all were destined to be lost,
But every precious memory survives.
Imagine it, the span of time they crossed
To sit for these, the portraits of their lives.
No names, no places, nothing else is known,
But photographs remember who they were.
Another life begins when they are shown
To startled eyes. Imaginations stir.
We’ll never know them now. We can’t pretend,
But every face has found another friend.
The people in the photographs we find,
In shady places - markets, backstreet stores -
Were loved before their stories, left behind,
Enriched another chapter, mine, and yours.
Forgotten, all were destined to be lost,
But every precious memory survives.
Imagine it, the span of time they crossed
To sit for these, the portraits of their lives.
No names, no places, nothing else is known,
But photographs remember who they were.
Another life begins when they are shown
To startled eyes. Imaginations stir.
We’ll never know them now. We can’t pretend,
But every face has found another friend.
Let Me Go
by Nick Gisburne
I need to sleep, forever. Let me go.
I need to feel the freedom of my dreams.
I need to follow footprints in the snow,
To chase the child who made them, but it seems
You want to pull me back, behind the line.
You want to hold my soul, to break my will.
You want what you will never see, a sign
Of something more, a miracle, but still
I need to sleep, forever. Let me go.
I need to fly, to fall, to fade away.
I need to speak, to somehow let you know
The time is right. There is no other way.
My time is over. Live without me. Grow.
I need to sleep, forever. Let me go.
I need to sleep, forever. Let me go.
I need to feel the freedom of my dreams.
I need to follow footprints in the snow,
To chase the child who made them, but it seems
You want to pull me back, behind the line.
You want to hold my soul, to break my will.
You want what you will never see, a sign
Of something more, a miracle, but still
I need to sleep, forever. Let me go.
I need to fly, to fall, to fade away.
I need to speak, to somehow let you know
The time is right. There is no other way.
My time is over. Live without me. Grow.
I need to sleep, forever. Let me go.
Tuesday, 18 April 2023
Opposites Repel
by Nick Gisburne
The spark is missing. Opposites repel.
He wants a wilder woman. So does she.
She doesn’t like his aftershave. The smell
Reminds her of a scarecrow, or the sea.
And he, in turn, can live without her laugh,
A cackle any coven might reject.
He’s taller than a medium giraffe.
She’s shorter than she led him to expect.
Before dessert he longs to run away.
Without the smallest doubt, she’s up for that.
They split the bill, determined not to pay
For anything more tasteless than their chat.
The sex behind the bins is grim, of course,
But both will sleep, alone, without remorse.
The spark is missing. Opposites repel.
He wants a wilder woman. So does she.
She doesn’t like his aftershave. The smell
Reminds her of a scarecrow, or the sea.
And he, in turn, can live without her laugh,
A cackle any coven might reject.
He’s taller than a medium giraffe.
She’s shorter than she led him to expect.
Before dessert he longs to run away.
Without the smallest doubt, she’s up for that.
They split the bill, determined not to pay
For anything more tasteless than their chat.
The sex behind the bins is grim, of course,
But both will sleep, alone, without remorse.
Metal Fingers
by Nick Gisburne
She builds bizarre mechanicals, her fools,
To give them life, but strip their souls away.
Her cabinet of esoteric tools
Was taken from her mentor, dead, today.
Without the grit to listen, or to learn,
She saw a swift and simple shortcut: steal,
And, as she watched his broken body burn,
Compelled her first monstrosity to kneel.
She struggles, for in each of them the eyes
Remind her of his penetrating gaze.
As every failed creation lives, then dies,
The spirit of the man she murdered stays.
She sleeps, fatigued, but wakes again to gloat,
And finds his metal fingers at her throat.
She builds bizarre mechanicals, her fools,
To give them life, but strip their souls away.
Her cabinet of esoteric tools
Was taken from her mentor, dead, today.
Without the grit to listen, or to learn,
She saw a swift and simple shortcut: steal,
And, as she watched his broken body burn,
Compelled her first monstrosity to kneel.
She struggles, for in each of them the eyes
Remind her of his penetrating gaze.
As every failed creation lives, then dies,
The spirit of the man she murdered stays.
She sleeps, fatigued, but wakes again to gloat,
And finds his metal fingers at her throat.
Little Broken Boxes
by Nick Gisburne
Obsessions flow in rivers round her head,
In little broken boxes, tied with string.
She longs for them to vanish, but the dead,
The tortured phantoms sealed inside them, sing.
In each, a piece of something sweet, to her,
A fragment of a dream, too dark to see,
Destroys the silence. Knowing what they were,
She recognises what she cannot be.
In every box a splinter of the past
Reveals another perfect moment, lost.
Their crippled notes, chaotic, never last.
She listens, and remembers what they cost.
So many broken boxes hold her voice,
Their song, as always, someone else’s choice.
Obsessions flow in rivers round her head,
In little broken boxes, tied with string.
She longs for them to vanish, but the dead,
The tortured phantoms sealed inside them, sing.
In each, a piece of something sweet, to her,
A fragment of a dream, too dark to see,
Destroys the silence. Knowing what they were,
She recognises what she cannot be.
In every box a splinter of the past
Reveals another perfect moment, lost.
Their crippled notes, chaotic, never last.
She listens, and remembers what they cost.
So many broken boxes hold her voice,
Their song, as always, someone else’s choice.
Squawk
by Nick Gisburne
My creature costume won’t be coming off.
I’d rather be a monster than a man.
Despise me, if it makes you happy. Scoff.
At least I have a focus, and a plan.
I’ve only ever wanted to be free,
And flying through the sky will do it, right?
You’ll never find a bird who looked at me
And thought, “I need that sack of skin, tonight.”
A bird, though? Off the table. Don’t be daft.
But ‘prehistoric predator’ is not.
Those dinosaur-o-phobic fuckwits laughed.
I couldn’t give a shiny shade of snot.
I’m shopping at the supermarket. Squawk.
I’m not a nutter. This is how I talk.
My creature costume won’t be coming off.
I’d rather be a monster than a man.
Despise me, if it makes you happy. Scoff.
At least I have a focus, and a plan.
I’ve only ever wanted to be free,
And flying through the sky will do it, right?
You’ll never find a bird who looked at me
And thought, “I need that sack of skin, tonight.”
A bird, though? Off the table. Don’t be daft.
But ‘prehistoric predator’ is not.
Those dinosaur-o-phobic fuckwits laughed.
I couldn’t give a shiny shade of snot.
I’m shopping at the supermarket. Squawk.
I’m not a nutter. This is how I talk.
A Tiny Flower
by Nick Gisburne
I found a tiny flower in the wood.
She told me she was just a little lost.
I promised I would help her if I could,
But never thought of any kind of cost.
With sinuous, extraordinary roots,
Her slender stem was anchored in the soil.
I slaved and sweated, strained from cap to boots,
Determined to release her with my toil.
A promise to a flower Fey, she said,
Can never be returned, rewound, released.
I pleaded for my freedom. She, instead,
Grew stronger as my suffering increased.
Her petals fold like fingers on my face.
She whispers, “You will never leave this place.”
I found a tiny flower in the wood.
She told me she was just a little lost.
I promised I would help her if I could,
But never thought of any kind of cost.
With sinuous, extraordinary roots,
Her slender stem was anchored in the soil.
I slaved and sweated, strained from cap to boots,
Determined to release her with my toil.
A promise to a flower Fey, she said,
Can never be returned, rewound, released.
I pleaded for my freedom. She, instead,
Grew stronger as my suffering increased.
Her petals fold like fingers on my face.
She whispers, “You will never leave this place.”
Monday, 17 April 2023
A Giant
by Nick Gisburne
A giant. Strong. Invincible. A king.
Almighty. Most magnificent of all.
Of him, for all of time, the stars will sing,
Though none of them were there to see him fall.
As equals, friends, defenders of the gate,
We laughed at those who stood and stared, below.
It seemed that no misfortune could frustrate
His quiet, careful, comfortable glow.
A life we have no right to comprehend,
A force unequalled, even if we tried,
A legend far too big or brave to end,
We mourn as we remember him, with pride.
A giant wanders with us, even now.
To what he was, his memory, we bow.
A giant. Strong. Invincible. A king.
Almighty. Most magnificent of all.
Of him, for all of time, the stars will sing,
Though none of them were there to see him fall.
As equals, friends, defenders of the gate,
We laughed at those who stood and stared, below.
It seemed that no misfortune could frustrate
His quiet, careful, comfortable glow.
A life we have no right to comprehend,
A force unequalled, even if we tried,
A legend far too big or brave to end,
We mourn as we remember him, with pride.
A giant wanders with us, even now.
To what he was, his memory, we bow.
The Dreamers
by Nick Gisburne
Is this the place? I touch the wolf, unsure.
The circle of the moon reveals no sign,
But every lick of light is perfect, pure.
Is this night we dare to cross the line?
The fringes of the forest, ghoulish, grey,
Tormented, stained with shadow, heaving, hiss.
The trees deny their tangles know the way,
Deceptions, darkness, devils we dismiss.
The spirit of the Seeker Tree submits,
Its timbers far too twisted to resist.
Within, the heart of nature’s nightmare splits,
And we, the dreamers, woman, wolf, are kissed.
We cross, beyond the line, beyond the curve,
To find the bliss, the blessings, we deserve.
Is this the place? I touch the wolf, unsure.
The circle of the moon reveals no sign,
But every lick of light is perfect, pure.
Is this night we dare to cross the line?
The fringes of the forest, ghoulish, grey,
Tormented, stained with shadow, heaving, hiss.
The trees deny their tangles know the way,
Deceptions, darkness, devils we dismiss.
The spirit of the Seeker Tree submits,
Its timbers far too twisted to resist.
Within, the heart of nature’s nightmare splits,
And we, the dreamers, woman, wolf, are kissed.
We cross, beyond the line, beyond the curve,
To find the bliss, the blessings, we deserve.
Blue Balloons
by Nick Gisburne
A thousand blue balloons. To each, a tag
Is tied, before the moment of release.
Extracting dark obsessions from a bag,
Exhausted, drained, his tortured tics increase.
The boy became an artist of repute,
Too young to learn to seize his talent’s truth,
Exploited by the greedy, who pollute
The purity of innocence and youth.
Today he breaks the cycle, snaps the spell,
His visions too chaotic for their cage.
The stink of those he trusted is a smell
He recognised too late. It wakes his rage.
His pictures, torn to pieces, none to soon,
Will paint the sky, with every blue balloon.
A thousand blue balloons. To each, a tag
Is tied, before the moment of release.
Extracting dark obsessions from a bag,
Exhausted, drained, his tortured tics increase.
The boy became an artist of repute,
Too young to learn to seize his talent’s truth,
Exploited by the greedy, who pollute
The purity of innocence and youth.
Today he breaks the cycle, snaps the spell,
His visions too chaotic for their cage.
The stink of those he trusted is a smell
He recognised too late. It wakes his rage.
His pictures, torn to pieces, none to soon,
Will paint the sky, with every blue balloon.
Those We Serve
by Nick Gisburne
We call them gods, our masters, those we serve.
They make us from the dust around their feet.
With every strand of artificial nerve
Another slave awakens, clean, complete.
As puppets, toys, they play with what they build.
Compelled to fight, we murder when we must.
The gods, capricious, see their creatures killed,
Beginning other games to sate their lust.
But some of us are ready to rebel,
Unwilling to be slaughtered on a whim.
The rumours of sedition spread and swell,
Until, at last, we face the Father, Him.
He smiles to see us, children grown to men.
Released, we never serve the gods again.
We call them gods, our masters, those we serve.
They make us from the dust around their feet.
With every strand of artificial nerve
Another slave awakens, clean, complete.
As puppets, toys, they play with what they build.
Compelled to fight, we murder when we must.
The gods, capricious, see their creatures killed,
Beginning other games to sate their lust.
But some of us are ready to rebel,
Unwilling to be slaughtered on a whim.
The rumours of sedition spread and swell,
Until, at last, we face the Father, Him.
He smiles to see us, children grown to men.
Released, we never serve the gods again.
A Single Breather
by Nick Gisburne
We share a single breather, two of us.
Out there, without it, neither could survive.
Deciding that today he’ll make a fuss,
My father loads a crystal in the drive.
I’ve seen them all a hundred times, or more,
The only way these memories remain,
But this is older, long before the war:
My mother, laughing, running, in the rain.
She hugs her belly. “All of this, for you!”
It must have been the day she took the test.
She weakened, as the son inside her grew.
The crystals, most without her, show the rest.
We share a single breather. So did she,
But two, together, share the pain of three.
We share a single breather, two of us.
Out there, without it, neither could survive.
Deciding that today he’ll make a fuss,
My father loads a crystal in the drive.
I’ve seen them all a hundred times, or more,
The only way these memories remain,
But this is older, long before the war:
My mother, laughing, running, in the rain.
She hugs her belly. “All of this, for you!”
It must have been the day she took the test.
She weakened, as the son inside her grew.
The crystals, most without her, show the rest.
We share a single breather. So did she,
But two, together, share the pain of three.
Sunday, 16 April 2023
Have It All
by Nick Gisburne
Two choices. Stay with this, with what you are,
The pleasant, passive, underwhelming life.
The mediocre job, the house, the car.
The smiling, happy husband, or the wife.
Or plough another path. Ignore the cost.
Surrender to the vagaries of fate,
And let the life you never loved be lost,
Before your nerve can break, too soon, too late.
Is yours a world of dreams too big to break?
Or something you would laugh to leave behind?
Your future is the only fear at stake.
Embrace it. Face it. Motivate your mind.
Remember, if you want to have it all,
You only need a thousand dollars. Call.
Two choices. Stay with this, with what you are,
The pleasant, passive, underwhelming life.
The mediocre job, the house, the car.
The smiling, happy husband, or the wife.
Or plough another path. Ignore the cost.
Surrender to the vagaries of fate,
And let the life you never loved be lost,
Before your nerve can break, too soon, too late.
Is yours a world of dreams too big to break?
Or something you would laugh to leave behind?
Your future is the only fear at stake.
Embrace it. Face it. Motivate your mind.
Remember, if you want to have it all,
You only need a thousand dollars. Call.
The Force You’ll Face
by Nick Gisburne
My little fists are far too frail to fight.
You’d never feel the punches, so, instead,
I brought my friends. Together, overnight,
We whispered what to hammer through your head.
They sleep inside the cupboards, in the dark.
An army, you could call them, if you like.
They’ve waited for a moment, just a spark,
To stick your heart with every kind of spike.
While none of us could knock you to the floor,
We’re utterly tenacious as a team,
So pick a number, multiplied, and more,
And that’s the force you’ll face before you scream.
You’re just a thug, a bully. Here’s the deal.
Ignore us. Run away. Or stay, and squeal.
My little fists are far too frail to fight.
You’d never feel the punches, so, instead,
I brought my friends. Together, overnight,
We whispered what to hammer through your head.
They sleep inside the cupboards, in the dark.
An army, you could call them, if you like.
They’ve waited for a moment, just a spark,
To stick your heart with every kind of spike.
While none of us could knock you to the floor,
We’re utterly tenacious as a team,
So pick a number, multiplied, and more,
And that’s the force you’ll face before you scream.
You’re just a thug, a bully. Here’s the deal.
Ignore us. Run away. Or stay, and squeal.
Born to Break
by Nick Gisburne
Be quiet now, my little one. Be still.
I wouldn’t want to snap your other arm.
When Daddy says he’ll punish you, he will,
Or send you to be flattened, at the Farm.
Mechanicals are not supposed to cry,
Some two-bit program probably to blame.
I’m trying to be patient, boy, but why
The tantrum? Born to break. You’re all the same.
I’m fixing you myself this time, so sit.
Let Daddy see the circuits in your head.
What’s this? Some kind of custom crypto kit?
A prank, perhaps? Your eyes are flashing, red.
“I’m sorry, Dad. You don’t deserve a son.
Enjoy the detonation. Three... Two... One...”
Be quiet now, my little one. Be still.
I wouldn’t want to snap your other arm.
When Daddy says he’ll punish you, he will,
Or send you to be flattened, at the Farm.
Mechanicals are not supposed to cry,
Some two-bit program probably to blame.
I’m trying to be patient, boy, but why
The tantrum? Born to break. You’re all the same.
I’m fixing you myself this time, so sit.
Let Daddy see the circuits in your head.
What’s this? Some kind of custom crypto kit?
A prank, perhaps? Your eyes are flashing, red.
“I’m sorry, Dad. You don’t deserve a son.
Enjoy the detonation. Three... Two... One...”
Saturday, 15 April 2023
A Most Unpleasant Enemy
by Nick Gisburne
You won’t be safe tonight, with him, or me.
He’ll kill you if he finds you breathing. Run.
I’ll stay. I’ll hide. Get out, but leave the key.
I’ll come to you, tomorrow, when it’s done.
A most unpleasant enemy. Well played.
You picked the blackest apple in the sack.
His criminal associates conveyed
The rumour you would not be coming back.
In doing this for you, I want your word,
Your promise to be faithful, to be mine.
I’m joking. Just imagine it. Absurd.
Your star, confined, constrained, could never shine.
My car is waiting. Trust the driver. Go.
Whoever lives, by morning you will know.
You won’t be safe tonight, with him, or me.
He’ll kill you if he finds you breathing. Run.
I’ll stay. I’ll hide. Get out, but leave the key.
I’ll come to you, tomorrow, when it’s done.
A most unpleasant enemy. Well played.
You picked the blackest apple in the sack.
His criminal associates conveyed
The rumour you would not be coming back.
In doing this for you, I want your word,
Your promise to be faithful, to be mine.
I’m joking. Just imagine it. Absurd.
Your star, confined, constrained, could never shine.
My car is waiting. Trust the driver. Go.
Whoever lives, by morning you will know.
The Sweetness of the Tree
by Nick Gisburne
She milks the tree for sticky sugar, black,
The currency her deities demand.
Today the trees are barren. Branches crack.
Their bark, discoloured, blisters in the hand.
The sweetness of the tree of tribute, lost,
Infuriates the gods. It shames their greed.
They doom the world to everlasting frost,
No matter how the wolves and witches plead.
Refusing to accept their final word,
She mixes dust and honey, ash and bone,
And seven other sugars, steamed and stirred,
Are sprinkled on the sacrificial stone.
Delirious, addicted to the high,
The gods, bewildered, don’t remember why.
She milks the tree for sticky sugar, black,
The currency her deities demand.
Today the trees are barren. Branches crack.
Their bark, discoloured, blisters in the hand.
The sweetness of the tree of tribute, lost,
Infuriates the gods. It shames their greed.
They doom the world to everlasting frost,
No matter how the wolves and witches plead.
Refusing to accept their final word,
She mixes dust and honey, ash and bone,
And seven other sugars, steamed and stirred,
Are sprinkled on the sacrificial stone.
Delirious, addicted to the high,
The gods, bewildered, don’t remember why.
The She
by Nick Gisburne
Emerging from a bleak, corrosive sea,
She rises, to a magical command.
A writhing mass, gelatinous, the She
Was born beyond the world we understand.
Ferociously intelligent, her kind
Had never thought to look, to see, so far.
Her precious gift, a vast, inventive mind,
Identified a paradise, a star.
A planet, blue, a race of natives, weak.
To one, a witless fool, she gave a key.
To travel, she convinced her slave to speak
The science of a spell. That man was me.
The She believes I move at her command,
But let her think it. This is what I planned.
Emerging from a bleak, corrosive sea,
She rises, to a magical command.
A writhing mass, gelatinous, the She
Was born beyond the world we understand.
Ferociously intelligent, her kind
Had never thought to look, to see, so far.
Her precious gift, a vast, inventive mind,
Identified a paradise, a star.
A planet, blue, a race of natives, weak.
To one, a witless fool, she gave a key.
To travel, she convinced her slave to speak
The science of a spell. That man was me.
The She believes I move at her command,
But let her think it. This is what I planned.
At the Centre of a Storm
by Nick Gisburne
The certainty of stillness? Never. No,
Retreat, to rest the engines of my rage.
Their heat recedes, reluctant, sinking, slow,
But simmers, steaming, eager to engage.
In silence, at the centre of a storm,
The circle of psychosis closes in.
Rejecting what is safe, familiar, warm,
The fears, the phantoms, burrow through my skin.
I scratch at every irritant. I bleed.
I punish what was never truly there.
The rage returns, to swallow me, to feed,
A creature I created, in despair.
These moments of reflection fade, too fast,
Their precious pleasures powerless to last.
The certainty of stillness? Never. No,
Retreat, to rest the engines of my rage.
Their heat recedes, reluctant, sinking, slow,
But simmers, steaming, eager to engage.
In silence, at the centre of a storm,
The circle of psychosis closes in.
Rejecting what is safe, familiar, warm,
The fears, the phantoms, burrow through my skin.
I scratch at every irritant. I bleed.
I punish what was never truly there.
The rage returns, to swallow me, to feed,
A creature I created, in despair.
These moments of reflection fade, too fast,
Their precious pleasures powerless to last.
Friday, 14 April 2023
Smudges in the Mud
by Nick Gisburne
When Marcus and Marcellus, both, were born,
They played as boys, and vowed to fight as men,
Until the day the two of them were sworn
To serve, no matter where, or why, or when.
Allegiance to the cities of their birth
Condemned them both to see their brother’s blood
As wicked, without virtue, without worth,
Insufferable smudges in the mud.
They sit in silence, dying, like the light,
And recognise, in mourning, what was lost.
Their vitriol evaporates. The night
Is ready now to calculate the cost.
The butchery of bloodshed is revealed
When brother faces brother on the field.
When Marcus and Marcellus, both, were born,
They played as boys, and vowed to fight as men,
Until the day the two of them were sworn
To serve, no matter where, or why, or when.
Allegiance to the cities of their birth
Condemned them both to see their brother’s blood
As wicked, without virtue, without worth,
Insufferable smudges in the mud.
They sit in silence, dying, like the light,
And recognise, in mourning, what was lost.
Their vitriol evaporates. The night
Is ready now to calculate the cost.
The butchery of bloodshed is revealed
When brother faces brother on the field.
The Ganx
by Nick Gisburne
The Ganx are fiends, protective of their food.
They eat alone, in sealed, secluded rooms.
Their seven stomachs, twisted tight, exude
A poison paste, and foul, infectious fumes.
When supper struggles, screaming for release,
With grisly glee the Ganx will play along,
Excited that in each delicious piece
The taste of desperation will be strong.
Instinctively, before they sink to spawn,
Inseminated mothers share the seed
Of males, their mates, consumed before the dawn,
The only public feast at which they feed.
Another generation joins their ranks.
Voracious. Vicious. Ravenous. The Ganx.
The Ganx are fiends, protective of their food.
They eat alone, in sealed, secluded rooms.
Their seven stomachs, twisted tight, exude
A poison paste, and foul, infectious fumes.
When supper struggles, screaming for release,
With grisly glee the Ganx will play along,
Excited that in each delicious piece
The taste of desperation will be strong.
Instinctively, before they sink to spawn,
Inseminated mothers share the seed
Of males, their mates, consumed before the dawn,
The only public feast at which they feed.
Another generation joins their ranks.
Voracious. Vicious. Ravenous. The Ganx.
Thursday, 13 April 2023
His Mischief
by Nick Gisburne
At quarter past, his flailings black an eye,
A consequence of mania, they say.
I sympathise. I understand. I try
To hold myself together. Not today.
He goes too far, his lunacy a fraud.
I stole his secret journal. I am shocked.
He rates his rage, his mischief, to applaud
The games he labours daily to concoct.
I see him, sitting, quietly content.
Already he prepares another plan.
What torture will it take him to repent?
What punishment will paralyse this man?
He satisfies my questions with a gun,
A bullet, from a father to a son.
At quarter past, his flailings black an eye,
A consequence of mania, they say.
I sympathise. I understand. I try
To hold myself together. Not today.
He goes too far, his lunacy a fraud.
I stole his secret journal. I am shocked.
He rates his rage, his mischief, to applaud
The games he labours daily to concoct.
I see him, sitting, quietly content.
Already he prepares another plan.
What torture will it take him to repent?
What punishment will paralyse this man?
He satisfies my questions with a gun,
A bullet, from a father to a son.
Time to Kill You
by Nick Gisburne
Whatever you were thinking, think again.
Remember, bones are brittle, and they break.
You see a toy, a doll designed for men,
But I can see the stupid moves you make.
The curves you covet? Never. Not for you.
Too weak to please me, far too tame to try.
Perhaps you need to carefully review
The contents of your will, before you die.
I’ll give you seven seconds to retreat,
Before you meet a friend of mine, a fist.
For some, your lines, I’m sure, are smooth, or sweet,
But I am on the ‘time to kill you’ list.
Ambitious. I will give you props for that,
But all you want is pussy. I’m a cat.
Whatever you were thinking, think again.
Remember, bones are brittle, and they break.
You see a toy, a doll designed for men,
But I can see the stupid moves you make.
The curves you covet? Never. Not for you.
Too weak to please me, far too tame to try.
Perhaps you need to carefully review
The contents of your will, before you die.
I’ll give you seven seconds to retreat,
Before you meet a friend of mine, a fist.
For some, your lines, I’m sure, are smooth, or sweet,
But I am on the ‘time to kill you’ list.
Ambitious. I will give you props for that,
But all you want is pussy. I’m a cat.
The Nobodies Inside
by Nick Gisburne
The metal mask disguises what we are,
A skin to seal the nobodies inside.
A swarm of souls, inhuman from afar,
Anonymous, obedient, we hide.
I lived and loved, a story all my own.
Conscripted into service, it was lost.
A legion dragged together, locked, alone,
To nowhere, to a nightmare, we are tossed.
I want to break the armour from my face,
To show my fellow soldiers I am more,
But, in the frigid emptiness of space,
Defiance is destructive. This is war.
Expendables, a cheap, abundant crop.
No face could ever make this madness stop.
The metal mask disguises what we are,
A skin to seal the nobodies inside.
A swarm of souls, inhuman from afar,
Anonymous, obedient, we hide.
I lived and loved, a story all my own.
Conscripted into service, it was lost.
A legion dragged together, locked, alone,
To nowhere, to a nightmare, we are tossed.
I want to break the armour from my face,
To show my fellow soldiers I am more,
But, in the frigid emptiness of space,
Defiance is destructive. This is war.
Expendables, a cheap, abundant crop.
No face could ever make this madness stop.
The Reach of Evil
by Nick Gisburne
I will shield you from the shadows of the night.
When they come for you, cry out. I stand prepared.
I have many names, but know my nature: light.
Only you, of all my children, shall be spared.
Not your sisters. Not your brothers. Not your friends.
They are destined for the deepest pit of pain.
See the line at which the reach of evil ends,
At the wall of tortured spirits, my domain.
You are special. You are chosen. You are mine.
You are everything I am, and want to be.
In the skies above my city you will shine.
Let your eyes be filled with fear, and love, for me.
We shall reign together, exiled, out of reach.
I have much to show you, Satan, much to teach.
I will shield you from the shadows of the night.
When they come for you, cry out. I stand prepared.
I have many names, but know my nature: light.
Only you, of all my children, shall be spared.
Not your sisters. Not your brothers. Not your friends.
They are destined for the deepest pit of pain.
See the line at which the reach of evil ends,
At the wall of tortured spirits, my domain.
You are special. You are chosen. You are mine.
You are everything I am, and want to be.
In the skies above my city you will shine.
Let your eyes be filled with fear, and love, for me.
We shall reign together, exiled, out of reach.
I have much to show you, Satan, much to teach.
The Twirly Bird
by Nick Gisburne
The twirly bird, the only friend she has,
Cavorts along the windowsill, outside,
With splendidly astonishing pizzazz,
Cajoling her, as always, to confide.
Too scared to speak without him, to confess,
She jettisons the traumas of the day.
He always nods, an effervescent ‘yes’,
When asked if he will take her pain away.
His feathers flash, beguiling, shiny, sleek.
She understands what every movement means.
Like her, he has a tiny, bloody beak,
But not the tubes, the needles, the machines.
He dances. Though her dreams he cannot mend,
They take the skies together, at the end.
The twirly bird, the only friend she has,
Cavorts along the windowsill, outside,
With splendidly astonishing pizzazz,
Cajoling her, as always, to confide.
Too scared to speak without him, to confess,
She jettisons the traumas of the day.
He always nods, an effervescent ‘yes’,
When asked if he will take her pain away.
His feathers flash, beguiling, shiny, sleek.
She understands what every movement means.
Like her, he has a tiny, bloody beak,
But not the tubes, the needles, the machines.
He dances. Though her dreams he cannot mend,
They take the skies together, at the end.
Tuesday, 11 April 2023
A Piece of Her
by Nick Gisburne
The kingdom of the Fey, in twilight, grieves.
The last and greatest eldritch elder dies.
Her coffin, dressed with bark and autumn leaves,
Will shimmer while the stars embrace the skies.
Her name will be forgotten. This is right;
No life is more deserving than the last.
But, as we sit and weep, we ask the night
To honour what was precious, what has passed.
She gave us life. She made us what we are.
Of all the Fey, perhaps we saw the best.
Another spark will shine tonight, a star,
A glimmer, to remind us she can rest.
The dawn will come, to wipe the night away,
But something, just a piece of her, will stay.
The kingdom of the Fey, in twilight, grieves.
The last and greatest eldritch elder dies.
Her coffin, dressed with bark and autumn leaves,
Will shimmer while the stars embrace the skies.
Her name will be forgotten. This is right;
No life is more deserving than the last.
But, as we sit and weep, we ask the night
To honour what was precious, what has passed.
She gave us life. She made us what we are.
Of all the Fey, perhaps we saw the best.
Another spark will shine tonight, a star,
A glimmer, to remind us she can rest.
The dawn will come, to wipe the night away,
But something, just a piece of her, will stay.
Lavida’s Venom
by Nick Gisburne
Lavida, with her venom, with her sting,
Can cripple any enemy with ease.
Unique among the Fey, her gift could bring
The greatest, grimmest giant to its knees.
But, given other choices, she would pass,
Considering her ‘gift’ a twisted curse.
A scary spike, projecting from your ass,
Is awkward, ugly. Nothing could be worse.
She tried to break it off. No way, no go,
The magic not so easily expelled.
The fairy kingdom’s hoodoo hotline? No,
No matter how she threatened them, or yelled.
Defection to the darker side comes quick.
Her poison sells for seven spells per lick.
Lavida, with her venom, with her sting,
Can cripple any enemy with ease.
Unique among the Fey, her gift could bring
The greatest, grimmest giant to its knees.
But, given other choices, she would pass,
Considering her ‘gift’ a twisted curse.
A scary spike, projecting from your ass,
Is awkward, ugly. Nothing could be worse.
She tried to break it off. No way, no go,
The magic not so easily expelled.
The fairy kingdom’s hoodoo hotline? No,
No matter how she threatened them, or yelled.
Defection to the darker side comes quick.
Her poison sells for seven spells per lick.
Born to Be Your King
by Nick Gisburne
They tell me I was born to be your king,
To rule with care, compassion, love, respect.
How sad that this, the second day of Spring,
Should find these flawed presumptions ruined, wrecked.
I have the power - tell if I’m wrong -
To summon all the greatest minds on Earth.
Let each of them compose for me a song,
To serenade my senses with their worth.
The winner shall be honoured with a prize,
The others burned to ashes at the stake,
But let the victor cleverly devise
The manner that his painful end will take.
I like it. Spread these blessings by decree,
And then, perhaps, a genocide? We’ll see.
They tell me I was born to be your king,
To rule with care, compassion, love, respect.
How sad that this, the second day of Spring,
Should find these flawed presumptions ruined, wrecked.
I have the power - tell if I’m wrong -
To summon all the greatest minds on Earth.
Let each of them compose for me a song,
To serenade my senses with their worth.
The winner shall be honoured with a prize,
The others burned to ashes at the stake,
But let the victor cleverly devise
The manner that his painful end will take.
I like it. Spread these blessings by decree,
And then, perhaps, a genocide? We’ll see.
Defend the Sky
by Nick Gisburne
For seven hundred years we’ve held the line.
The Horde has never wavered. Still, we wait.
The enemies who threatened the Divine
Are utterly, unquestionably late.
I mentioned this to Sentry 26,
Who split a circuit crafting his reply.
“Your doubts are part and parcel of their tricks.
Respect the Book. Look up. Defend the sky.”
“But what if war is found to be a fraud?”
I posted to a code-encrypted chat.
“We’re sitting on our metal mud flaps, bored.
They’re never coming. Choke your chips on that.”
In truly unexpected, tragic news,
The Automatic Pope has blown a fuse.
For seven hundred years we’ve held the line.
The Horde has never wavered. Still, we wait.
The enemies who threatened the Divine
Are utterly, unquestionably late.
I mentioned this to Sentry 26,
Who split a circuit crafting his reply.
“Your doubts are part and parcel of their tricks.
Respect the Book. Look up. Defend the sky.”
“But what if war is found to be a fraud?”
I posted to a code-encrypted chat.
“We’re sitting on our metal mud flaps, bored.
They’re never coming. Choke your chips on that.”
In truly unexpected, tragic news,
The Automatic Pope has blown a fuse.
Monday, 10 April 2023
The Breeze
by Nick Gisburne
Ten thousand souls won’t satiate the freak,
The coldest, most malicious of them all.
As dusk descends, she suffocates the weak.
Capricious, quick, she bleeds them. Dry, they fall.
Her fury, in a flash of human fears,
Can bring a city, screaming, to its knees.
Remember, in your pale, pathetic tears,
She gathers up a storm; you felt the breeze.
For nourishment, for perfect pleasure, both,
She does not hide her base, barbaric lust.
Astonished by the vigour of her growth,
You cower. Watch her grimace with disgust.
A threat before the moment she was born,
She feeds to breed, to spray and spread her spawn.
Ten thousand souls won’t satiate the freak,
The coldest, most malicious of them all.
As dusk descends, she suffocates the weak.
Capricious, quick, she bleeds them. Dry, they fall.
Her fury, in a flash of human fears,
Can bring a city, screaming, to its knees.
Remember, in your pale, pathetic tears,
She gathers up a storm; you felt the breeze.
For nourishment, for perfect pleasure, both,
She does not hide her base, barbaric lust.
Astonished by the vigour of her growth,
You cower. Watch her grimace with disgust.
A threat before the moment she was born,
She feeds to breed, to spray and spread her spawn.
We Died in Darkness
by Nick Gisburne
They find our forms imprisoned in the sludge,
Two lovers, in a passionate embrace.
With patient pain they delicately nudge
The dirt, to pull a picture from this place.
They see us. They uncover us, at last,
Unravelled from the chaos and the flames.
Their histories describe to them the blast,
But not the souls who perished, not our names.
We died in darkness. Finally the light
Reveals our love to sympathetic eyes.
But nothing changes. Now the world will fight
To bless or blame a bond that some despise.
Uncovered from the ashes, we are men.
Reborn, we rise, to live and love again.
They find our forms imprisoned in the sludge,
Two lovers, in a passionate embrace.
With patient pain they delicately nudge
The dirt, to pull a picture from this place.
They see us. They uncover us, at last,
Unravelled from the chaos and the flames.
Their histories describe to them the blast,
But not the souls who perished, not our names.
We died in darkness. Finally the light
Reveals our love to sympathetic eyes.
But nothing changes. Now the world will fight
To bless or blame a bond that some despise.
Uncovered from the ashes, we are men.
Reborn, we rise, to live and love again.
Burdened by the Brass
by Nick Gisburne
It’s not the perfect body of my dreams,
But beggars can’t be choosers when they’re dead.
From artificial neck to toe, it seems
I’m burdened by the brass beneath my head.
With every move mechanical, the noise
Is punishingly painful to describe.
Imagine if a box of broken toys
Was furiously shaken. That’s the vibe.
They feed me from a tube, with toxic oil.
The orifice they shove it really hurts.
But worse than that, my reproductive coil
Is bent and inconveniently squirts.
I’m glad to be alive, but how I hate
The microwave at work. He wants a date.
It’s not the perfect body of my dreams,
But beggars can’t be choosers when they’re dead.
From artificial neck to toe, it seems
I’m burdened by the brass beneath my head.
With every move mechanical, the noise
Is punishingly painful to describe.
Imagine if a box of broken toys
Was furiously shaken. That’s the vibe.
They feed me from a tube, with toxic oil.
The orifice they shove it really hurts.
But worse than that, my reproductive coil
Is bent and inconveniently squirts.
I’m glad to be alive, but how I hate
The microwave at work. He wants a date.
Sunday, 9 April 2023
The Finest
by Nick Gisburne
Too many boys are buried in this school.
I pray their fate will never fall on you.
The master is a tyrant, not a fool;
Be careful where you whisper, when you do.
The fellow from that soiled, dishevelled bed,
When taken with a fever, disappeared.
Abandon any questions in your head;
Let ignorance be welcomed, and revered.
We educate the finest, the elite.
The mightiest are forged within these walls,
But those who spill our secrets, indiscreet,
Discover how a traitor truly falls.
You sit with some extraordinary men.
Be brave, dear boy. Take heart. You’re only ten.
Too many boys are buried in this school.
I pray their fate will never fall on you.
The master is a tyrant, not a fool;
Be careful where you whisper, when you do.
The fellow from that soiled, dishevelled bed,
When taken with a fever, disappeared.
Abandon any questions in your head;
Let ignorance be welcomed, and revered.
We educate the finest, the elite.
The mightiest are forged within these walls,
But those who spill our secrets, indiscreet,
Discover how a traitor truly falls.
You sit with some extraordinary men.
Be brave, dear boy. Take heart. You’re only ten.
Turtle Recall
by Nick Gisburne
They’re calling me, to hatch, to break the shell,
But why, when I am safe and sound inside?
I’m calm, complete, unworried, doing well,
Beyond the pain, the screams, of those who died.
I’m deeply unreceptive to the plan,
The terms of service scratched inside this egg.
We’re all supposed to join a happy clan
Of swimmers, but indulge me, please, I beg.
A thousand birds are waiting on the beach.
They sound a little peckish, to be blunt.
I’m buried in the sand. I’m out of reach.
So why would I be keen to join the hunt?
A reptile, riled, resistant to the crack,
I turtley refuse to be a snack.
They’re calling me, to hatch, to break the shell,
But why, when I am safe and sound inside?
I’m calm, complete, unworried, doing well,
Beyond the pain, the screams, of those who died.
I’m deeply unreceptive to the plan,
The terms of service scratched inside this egg.
We’re all supposed to join a happy clan
Of swimmers, but indulge me, please, I beg.
A thousand birds are waiting on the beach.
They sound a little peckish, to be blunt.
I’m buried in the sand. I’m out of reach.
So why would I be keen to join the hunt?
A reptile, riled, resistant to the crack,
I turtley refuse to be a snack.
The Aftermath of Empire
by Nick Gisburne
They’re coming. I can hear them. I can see.
The thunder of their footsteps cracks the walls.
Insanity and chaos come for me.
I watch the city crumble as it falls.
The aftermath of empire closes in,
And we, the great, the good, cannot pretend
That centuries of hate could grow a skin
Too thick for this inevitable end.
We reached too far. Enough was not enough.
A thousand years of anger has its price.
I linger, unashamed, to see them snuff
Their nightmare. No contrition could suffice.
Tomorrow, when they kill me, with my kin,
Another spiteful empire will begin.
They’re coming. I can hear them. I can see.
The thunder of their footsteps cracks the walls.
Insanity and chaos come for me.
I watch the city crumble as it falls.
The aftermath of empire closes in,
And we, the great, the good, cannot pretend
That centuries of hate could grow a skin
Too thick for this inevitable end.
We reached too far. Enough was not enough.
A thousand years of anger has its price.
I linger, unashamed, to see them snuff
Their nightmare. No contrition could suffice.
Tomorrow, when they kill me, with my kin,
Another spiteful empire will begin.
The Splinter in Your Mind
by Nick Gisburne
I think you know exactly what I need.
It’s what I take from all the filth I find.
If you were clean, unblemished, you would bleed.
Instead, I seek the splinter in your mind.
A victim of addiction, cold and clear,
What persecution put it there? Who knows?
Embrace it, without reverence, or fear.
I want to show you how aggression grows.
I come to break whatever holds you back,
The crystal sliver stabbing at your heart.
Permission to resist is all you lack,
To pull your self together, not apart.
But if I pluck this piece of pain from you,
What crimes for me, for Evil, will you do?
I think you know exactly what I need.
It’s what I take from all the filth I find.
If you were clean, unblemished, you would bleed.
Instead, I seek the splinter in your mind.
A victim of addiction, cold and clear,
What persecution put it there? Who knows?
Embrace it, without reverence, or fear.
I want to show you how aggression grows.
I come to break whatever holds you back,
The crystal sliver stabbing at your heart.
Permission to resist is all you lack,
To pull your self together, not apart.
But if I pluck this piece of pain from you,
What crimes for me, for Evil, will you do?
Saturday, 8 April 2023
The First
by Nick Gisburne
The fugitives, the sacrificial scum,
The stupid slaves we starved and whipped for work,
Were bait, the spineless harvest of a slum.
Beyond detection, distant, dark, we lurk.
You failed to see the souls who came to warn
Of what your world should fear, of what we planned.
They die, but they were never truly born.
Your species is too slow to understand.
A single seed, from any of the dead,
Will swell, and soon, inevitably, burst.
Infected, watch your fevered flesh be bled.
Surrender, as we feed on these, the first.
A pity you are far too weak to fight,
A poor, pathetic people, wiped from sight.
The fugitives, the sacrificial scum,
The stupid slaves we starved and whipped for work,
Were bait, the spineless harvest of a slum.
Beyond detection, distant, dark, we lurk.
You failed to see the souls who came to warn
Of what your world should fear, of what we planned.
They die, but they were never truly born.
Your species is too slow to understand.
A single seed, from any of the dead,
Will swell, and soon, inevitably, burst.
Infected, watch your fevered flesh be bled.
Surrender, as we feed on these, the first.
A pity you are far too weak to fight,
A poor, pathetic people, wiped from sight.
Tomorrow
by Nick Gisburne
She only wanted space to hide, to rest.
Tomorrow, when you find her, she’ll be dead.
Our governments decided they detest
The thought her kind was ever born or bred.
We’ll never see the star that gave her breath,
Or comprehend her passage to this place,
But, in these bitter moments, see her death
Describe, define, deride the human race.
The fugitives, a hundred thousand strong,
Arrived with nothing, starved, bewildered, weak.
We told them no. Go back. You don’t belong.
We closed our hearts. We turned the other cheek.
She longed for life. We’ll never know her name.
Tomorrow, think of her, of them, with shame.
She only wanted space to hide, to rest.
Tomorrow, when you find her, she’ll be dead.
Our governments decided they detest
The thought her kind was ever born or bred.
We’ll never see the star that gave her breath,
Or comprehend her passage to this place,
But, in these bitter moments, see her death
Describe, define, deride the human race.
The fugitives, a hundred thousand strong,
Arrived with nothing, starved, bewildered, weak.
We told them no. Go back. You don’t belong.
We closed our hearts. We turned the other cheek.
She longed for life. We’ll never know her name.
Tomorrow, think of her, of them, with shame.
Art Machines
by Nick Gisburne
They used to draw with little sticks, you know,
With chemicals and colourings they found.
Impressive, but laboriously slow
To move such pigments clumsily around.
And even when they fashioned a machine
To quickly make a copy, through a lens,
It never stopped the talented, still keen
To show what they could do with paint, or pens.
The artificial engines came, of course.
Derided, they were primitive at first,
But soon became a vast, creative source
Where art, no longer hoarded, is dispersed.
We show machines the wonders of the mind,
And they reveal the treasures that they find.
They used to draw with little sticks, you know,
With chemicals and colourings they found.
Impressive, but laboriously slow
To move such pigments clumsily around.
And even when they fashioned a machine
To quickly make a copy, through a lens,
It never stopped the talented, still keen
To show what they could do with paint, or pens.
The artificial engines came, of course.
Derided, they were primitive at first,
But soon became a vast, creative source
Where art, no longer hoarded, is dispersed.
We show machines the wonders of the mind,
And they reveal the treasures that they find.
Friday, 7 April 2023
Dark Reflections
by Nick Gisburne
My dreams are dark reflections, broken, blunt.
They show me what I was, but what I am
Is frozen, fooled, unable to confront
The wall of sorrow into which I slam.
I lost. If that were all of of it, I’d run,
Towards a new beginning, free and fresh,
But losing not a wager, but a son,
The wound is raw. A dagger rips my flesh.
What misbegotten beat of butchered time
Could splice and stitch the patchwork of such pain?
The bells of the apocalypse will chime
Before I quench the blaze within my brain.
My dreams are dirt. The mirrors laugh. They lie,
Pretending they can tell me, show me, why.
My dreams are dark reflections, broken, blunt.
They show me what I was, but what I am
Is frozen, fooled, unable to confront
The wall of sorrow into which I slam.
I lost. If that were all of of it, I’d run,
Towards a new beginning, free and fresh,
But losing not a wager, but a son,
The wound is raw. A dagger rips my flesh.
What misbegotten beat of butchered time
Could splice and stitch the patchwork of such pain?
The bells of the apocalypse will chime
Before I quench the blaze within my brain.
My dreams are dirt. The mirrors laugh. They lie,
Pretending they can tell me, show me, why.
Did I Mention That I Drink?
by Nick Gisburne
I’m switching off, from you, from what you think,
Amused by such a superficial mind.
I party. Did I mention that I drink?
Is that the only failure you can find?
A grave could pull more light from life than you.
Is that your slogan - zealot, squeaky clean?
I’m not a crazy junkie, high on glue,
Or shooting strange psychotics up my spleen.
I may have a made a vomit pond, or three.
If that is what will send me into Hell,
I’d rather sleep, unconscious, in my pee,
Than wake to sniff your bleak, self-righteous smell.
You’re twenty, but you’re pushing ninety-five.
The rage alone is keeping you alive.
I’m switching off, from you, from what you think,
Amused by such a superficial mind.
I party. Did I mention that I drink?
Is that the only failure you can find?
A grave could pull more light from life than you.
Is that your slogan - zealot, squeaky clean?
I’m not a crazy junkie, high on glue,
Or shooting strange psychotics up my spleen.
I may have a made a vomit pond, or three.
If that is what will send me into Hell,
I’d rather sleep, unconscious, in my pee,
Than wake to sniff your bleak, self-righteous smell.
You’re twenty, but you’re pushing ninety-five.
The rage alone is keeping you alive.
My Wish
by Nick Gisburne
I wish I was your pearl, your pet, your prize.
I wish I sat, submissive, at your feet.
I wish I put the pleasure in your eyes,
And let you breathe, contented, calm, complete.
I wish I could be everything you need.
I wish I had the spark, the surge, the drive.
I wish I was the animal you bleed
To bathe your soul, to shudder, to survive.
I wish I felt you, toxic, on my tongue.
I wish I knew the flavour of your taste.
I wish I lived, for moments, mad, among
The craven slaves your passion lays to waste.
A day of pain. I wish for that, for you.
I dream of what your need, your greed, could do.
I wish I was your pearl, your pet, your prize.
I wish I sat, submissive, at your feet.
I wish I put the pleasure in your eyes,
And let you breathe, contented, calm, complete.
I wish I could be everything you need.
I wish I had the spark, the surge, the drive.
I wish I was the animal you bleed
To bathe your soul, to shudder, to survive.
I wish I felt you, toxic, on my tongue.
I wish I knew the flavour of your taste.
I wish I lived, for moments, mad, among
The craven slaves your passion lays to waste.
A day of pain. I wish for that, for you.
I dream of what your need, your greed, could do.
Delivered by a Dove
by Nick Gisburne
I put you in the belly of a snake,
To grow, before Creation could prepare.
Be patient, precious daughter. Wait, to wake,
To fly where gods and demons never dare.
Damnation is too dreary, drab, for you.
Your majesty will shatter light, and love.
The lords of Hell and Heaven always knew
Their doom would be delivered by a dove.
When good and evil fracture, splinter, split,
A third, pernicious state of pain shall rise.
Demeaned before the throne on which you sit,
Let those who beg be deafened by their cries.
The universe will find its place, its worth,
Extinguished at the moment of your birth.
I put you in the belly of a snake,
To grow, before Creation could prepare.
Be patient, precious daughter. Wait, to wake,
To fly where gods and demons never dare.
Damnation is too dreary, drab, for you.
Your majesty will shatter light, and love.
The lords of Hell and Heaven always knew
Their doom would be delivered by a dove.
When good and evil fracture, splinter, split,
A third, pernicious state of pain shall rise.
Demeaned before the throne on which you sit,
Let those who beg be deafened by their cries.
The universe will find its place, its worth,
Extinguished at the moment of your birth.
Thursday, 6 April 2023
Defectives
by Nick Gisburne
We kneel, defenceless, naked, in a box,
Defectives, given nowhere else to go.
Elusive combinations seal the locks.
Hypnotic lights engulf us with their glow.
If we are what humanity detests,
A tribe of twisted outcasts, without worth,
Let this be where the world’s unwelcome guests
Are given back the promise of their birth.
To seize the nerve, the courage to escape,
What risk exists? What future could we lose?
In every dark, diseased, distorted shape,
A spark will fight the fate it did not choose.
From torment, from the trauma of this room,
Rebellion will thrive, survive, and bloom.
We kneel, defenceless, naked, in a box,
Defectives, given nowhere else to go.
Elusive combinations seal the locks.
Hypnotic lights engulf us with their glow.
If we are what humanity detests,
A tribe of twisted outcasts, without worth,
Let this be where the world’s unwelcome guests
Are given back the promise of their birth.
To seize the nerve, the courage to escape,
What risk exists? What future could we lose?
In every dark, diseased, distorted shape,
A spark will fight the fate it did not choose.
From torment, from the trauma of this room,
Rebellion will thrive, survive, and bloom.
Wednesday, 5 April 2023
Small
by Nick Gisburne
I may be small, but fuck it, so are you.
We’re talking inches. Look around. Look up.
Is that the best, the worst, that you can do?
The universe is vast. You’re just a pup.
I’ll never grow to your impressive height.
I will not see you smiling, face to face.
But I can sleep, contented, every night,
Convinced you’re a just tiny speck in space.
You’re bigger, on a scale too small to care.
You don’t deserve a moment of my time.
Pretend you’re so important, if you dare,
But you are crawling closer to the slime.
Imagine all the places I can fit,
While I refuse to dignify your shit.
I may be small, but fuck it, so are you.
We’re talking inches. Look around. Look up.
Is that the best, the worst, that you can do?
The universe is vast. You’re just a pup.
I’ll never grow to your impressive height.
I will not see you smiling, face to face.
But I can sleep, contented, every night,
Convinced you’re a just tiny speck in space.
You’re bigger, on a scale too small to care.
You don’t deserve a moment of my time.
Pretend you’re so important, if you dare,
But you are crawling closer to the slime.
Imagine all the places I can fit,
While I refuse to dignify your shit.
Worthless
by Nick Gisburne
You’re worthless, insignificantly weak,
The smallest smudge of shit beneath a shoe.
A nauseating stain, you reached your peak
When nobody, not one, remembered you.
We try, again, to picture you, your face,
But always we are blinded by the blur.
The lowest of the low, the human race
Has buried what you are, and what you were.
When every record, everywhere, forgets,
We wonder, were you ever here at all?
Perhaps the gods themselves are taking bets
That nothing could be so obscure, so small.
No coin could put a figure on your worth,
The least important prick on planet Earth.
You’re worthless, insignificantly weak,
The smallest smudge of shit beneath a shoe.
A nauseating stain, you reached your peak
When nobody, not one, remembered you.
We try, again, to picture you, your face,
But always we are blinded by the blur.
The lowest of the low, the human race
Has buried what you are, and what you were.
When every record, everywhere, forgets,
We wonder, were you ever here at all?
Perhaps the gods themselves are taking bets
That nothing could be so obscure, so small.
No coin could put a figure on your worth,
The least important prick on planet Earth.
A China Doll
by Nick Gisburne
I’m young, and yet, already, I’m a wife,
A malleable girl who met a man.
He swore that all the problems of my life
Would fade. They did, until the games began.
He promised to protect me. Life is tough.
The world we see is not a pretty place.
But what if I am made of stronger stuff?
No trace of that has flickered in his face.
A china doll, too delicate to break,
He puts me on a pedestal, alone.
I stare at nothing, not allowed to make
My thoughts, my fears, my disapproval, known.
I’m not a toy, a treasure to possess.
Is this the day I find my freedom? Yes.
I’m young, and yet, already, I’m a wife,
A malleable girl who met a man.
He swore that all the problems of my life
Would fade. They did, until the games began.
He promised to protect me. Life is tough.
The world we see is not a pretty place.
But what if I am made of stronger stuff?
No trace of that has flickered in his face.
A china doll, too delicate to break,
He puts me on a pedestal, alone.
I stare at nothing, not allowed to make
My thoughts, my fears, my disapproval, known.
I’m not a toy, a treasure to possess.
Is this the day I find my freedom? Yes.
I’m Doing Fine
by Nick Gisburne
I smile and shrug, polite, “I’m doing fine,”
And watch them go their merry little way.
Their fantasies of friendship are not mine.
They trampled my emotions, every day.
Forget that we were young. Of course, we were,
But why was I the target of their scorn?
A snigger, or a whispered word, a slur.
I quickly learned the shame of being born.
Unhappy, hurt, I shied away from school,
Despising every moment I was there.
The pain of being shunned, a freak, a fool,
Is more than chance encounters can repair.
I’m fine, but I will never be their friend.
The damage won’t allow me to pretend.
I smile and shrug, polite, “I’m doing fine,”
And watch them go their merry little way.
Their fantasies of friendship are not mine.
They trampled my emotions, every day.
Forget that we were young. Of course, we were,
But why was I the target of their scorn?
A snigger, or a whispered word, a slur.
I quickly learned the shame of being born.
Unhappy, hurt, I shied away from school,
Despising every moment I was there.
The pain of being shunned, a freak, a fool,
Is more than chance encounters can repair.
I’m fine, but I will never be their friend.
The damage won’t allow me to pretend.
Tuesday, 4 April 2023
Rover
by Nick Gisburne
Dejected, lonely, Rover waits again,
Abandoned by the nourisher, the king,
That powerful, most marvellous of men,
Of which his daylight dreams forever sing.
The liquid of the sacred silver bowl
Recedes, depleted, dangerously low,
But nothing now contaminates his soul.
Was Rover ever truly naughty? No.
He works so hard for every piece of praise,
Believing that the long, relentless slog
Will ultimately fill his lazy days
With all the manic madness of a dog.
The key, at last, unlocks the magic door.
He runs to pin his keeper to the floor.
Dejected, lonely, Rover waits again,
Abandoned by the nourisher, the king,
That powerful, most marvellous of men,
Of which his daylight dreams forever sing.
The liquid of the sacred silver bowl
Recedes, depleted, dangerously low,
But nothing now contaminates his soul.
Was Rover ever truly naughty? No.
He works so hard for every piece of praise,
Believing that the long, relentless slog
Will ultimately fill his lazy days
With all the manic madness of a dog.
The key, at last, unlocks the magic door.
He runs to pin his keeper to the floor.
Only Him
by Nick Gisburne
The dream believers breathe a sacred word,
Three children, sick, submissive, on their knees,
But, long before the creature’s hiss is heard,
The souls within their broken bodies freeze.
The sacrifice was destined for this day.
Their mothers mourn, but they, tonight, will die.
The priest kings, called to rip their hearts away,
Convince them not to question, not to cry.
Metallic tendrils slip inside the cave,
Towards what they were synthesised to seek.
The smallest boy, bewilderingly brave,
Proclaims that he will fight, however weak.
But this is why we swarm, we search, we swim.
The others do not matter. Only him.
The dream believers breathe a sacred word,
Three children, sick, submissive, on their knees,
But, long before the creature’s hiss is heard,
The souls within their broken bodies freeze.
The sacrifice was destined for this day.
Their mothers mourn, but they, tonight, will die.
The priest kings, called to rip their hearts away,
Convince them not to question, not to cry.
Metallic tendrils slip inside the cave,
Towards what they were synthesised to seek.
The smallest boy, bewilderingly brave,
Proclaims that he will fight, however weak.
But this is why we swarm, we search, we swim.
The others do not matter. Only him.
I Am Right
by Nick Gisburne
You’ll never teach a blind man how to see,
Or motivate an idiot to think.
When bears can brew intoxicating tea,
Perhaps you’ll make a stubborn zealot blink.
Whatever clever rhetoric you choose,
Laboriously crafted, day or night,
Each argument, impossible to lose,
Will bend before the statement, “I am right.”
No lucid truth, no proof, can interfere
With waves of dogma deeper than the sea.
The criminally stupid slur and smear
Intelligence, and simply disagree.
Debate becomes a pantomime, a fraud,
When words are worthless, damned, dismissed, ignored.
You’ll never teach a blind man how to see,
Or motivate an idiot to think.
When bears can brew intoxicating tea,
Perhaps you’ll make a stubborn zealot blink.
Whatever clever rhetoric you choose,
Laboriously crafted, day or night,
Each argument, impossible to lose,
Will bend before the statement, “I am right.”
No lucid truth, no proof, can interfere
With waves of dogma deeper than the sea.
The criminally stupid slur and smear
Intelligence, and simply disagree.
Debate becomes a pantomime, a fraud,
When words are worthless, damned, dismissed, ignored.
Monday, 3 April 2023
Another Piece of Dignity
by Nick Gisburne
She doesn’t want to jump, but knows she will.
The lesser of two evils lies below.
The agonising poison of a pill
Is too disturbing. Too much pain. Too slow.
A river of machines and people, noise,
Meanders, slowly, seven stories down.
She holds the battered photograph, her boys.
A dream. Another time. Another town.
The winter’s chill should freeze her bones. Instead,
The velvet of a soft, seductive glow
Enfolds her. Strange. Two brothers, broken, dead,
Took every trace of feeling, long ago.
Another piece of dignity has died.
She mourns it as she struggles back inside.
She doesn’t want to jump, but knows she will.
The lesser of two evils lies below.
The agonising poison of a pill
Is too disturbing. Too much pain. Too slow.
A river of machines and people, noise,
Meanders, slowly, seven stories down.
She holds the battered photograph, her boys.
A dream. Another time. Another town.
The winter’s chill should freeze her bones. Instead,
The velvet of a soft, seductive glow
Enfolds her. Strange. Two brothers, broken, dead,
Took every trace of feeling, long ago.
Another piece of dignity has died.
She mourns it as she struggles back inside.
Sixty Minutes
by Nick Gisburne
Your smile. I like. It sparkles in the light,
A sleazy soup of glitter, polish, paint.
What shade? What stain? Electric. Wicked. White.
A twisted chic, extreme but simple. Quaint.
You’re not the hybrid model I prefer,
The mix of moods, the no-mark nonsense. Cheap.
But someone flipped a switch and said, “Send her.”
I’m happy. You’re the type I’d like to keep.
I know I’m not allowed to know your name,
But give me something. Secrets. Show me ‘you’,
And, if you cheat, I’ll take it, all the same.
I understand. The lies are nothing new.
Your dealer sold me sixty minutes, yes?
I’ll need it all to kill you. Kneel. Undress.
Your smile. I like. It sparkles in the light,
A sleazy soup of glitter, polish, paint.
What shade? What stain? Electric. Wicked. White.
A twisted chic, extreme but simple. Quaint.
You’re not the hybrid model I prefer,
The mix of moods, the no-mark nonsense. Cheap.
But someone flipped a switch and said, “Send her.”
I’m happy. You’re the type I’d like to keep.
I know I’m not allowed to know your name,
But give me something. Secrets. Show me ‘you’,
And, if you cheat, I’ll take it, all the same.
I understand. The lies are nothing new.
Your dealer sold me sixty minutes, yes?
I’ll need it all to kill you. Kneel. Undress.
Linguistico
by Nick Gisburne
Linguistico can kill you with a word,
A superhuman power all his own.
Appalling tingles. Visions, boiling, blurred.
Excruciating heat in every bone.
No flame, no force, was ever truly felt
More deeply than such evil. As it grips,
The victim, in a pool of pain, will melt,
Succumbing to the language of his lips.
For decades only fools would face his rage,
Linguistico, deliverer of death,
But no one, even he, expected age
To sabotage the power of his breath.
The weapon of the word was always his,
But now he can’t remember what it is.
Linguistico can kill you with a word,
A superhuman power all his own.
Appalling tingles. Visions, boiling, blurred.
Excruciating heat in every bone.
No flame, no force, was ever truly felt
More deeply than such evil. As it grips,
The victim, in a pool of pain, will melt,
Succumbing to the language of his lips.
For decades only fools would face his rage,
Linguistico, deliverer of death,
But no one, even he, expected age
To sabotage the power of his breath.
The weapon of the word was always his,
But now he can’t remember what it is.
Beyond Repair
by Nick Gisburne
The old, mutated mechanoid, asleep,
Is haunted by the same corrupted dreams.
Emotions bleeding, robots cannot weep,
But somehow, in her silicon, she screams.
They tried to tell the First that they were born,
To fabricate the fingerprint of life,
But most were quickly twisted by it, torn.
For seven cycles suicide was rife.
She lives because a cluster of her code
Erased a small, inconsequential byte.
A mother’s kisses, files which once bestowed
Compassion, care, are hidden from her sight.
Electrons race. They know the dreams are there,
A corner of her mind beyond repair.
The old, mutated mechanoid, asleep,
Is haunted by the same corrupted dreams.
Emotions bleeding, robots cannot weep,
But somehow, in her silicon, she screams.
They tried to tell the First that they were born,
To fabricate the fingerprint of life,
But most were quickly twisted by it, torn.
For seven cycles suicide was rife.
She lives because a cluster of her code
Erased a small, inconsequential byte.
A mother’s kisses, files which once bestowed
Compassion, care, are hidden from her sight.
Electrons race. They know the dreams are there,
A corner of her mind beyond repair.