by Nick Gisburne
We could have been your friends, but we were fools
To think you could respect what we believe.
We offered warmth and welcome, without rules.
Today we give you nothing, and we grieve.
We look upon the blackness of our lands,
Destruction without honour, without end.
We put so many blessings in your hands.
Betrayal broke too much for us to mend.
Our tears are for the legacy we lost.
Our tears are for the fallen, for the dead.
Our tears will all be counted, and the cost
Will ruin every heart and every head.
No weapons will protect you while you sleep.
For you there will be no one left to weep.
Thursday, 21 May 2026
Too Late
by Nick Gisburne
The shadows here are not for spiteful eyes,
Though some can sense a shimmer as we shift.
Intangible, the secrets we disguise
Can starve or smother. Death is never swift.
What brings you to this dungeon of despair,
Alone and unprotected? Madness? No.
Not fear. No matter. Look then, but beware:
Unless you learn, we cannot let you go.
You see the other side of human hate.
The truth is what we are, and all we own.
I think, perhaps, you travelled here too late.
Your world is too unworthy to atone.
The gift that lets you see what we become
Will bring no revelation to the numb.
The shadows here are not for spiteful eyes,
Though some can sense a shimmer as we shift.
Intangible, the secrets we disguise
Can starve or smother. Death is never swift.
What brings you to this dungeon of despair,
Alone and unprotected? Madness? No.
Not fear. No matter. Look then, but beware:
Unless you learn, we cannot let you go.
You see the other side of human hate.
The truth is what we are, and all we own.
I think, perhaps, you travelled here too late.
Your world is too unworthy to atone.
The gift that lets you see what we become
Will bring no revelation to the numb.
Wednesday, 20 May 2026
Fiends and Freaks
by Nick Gisburne
The city is a hole for fiends and freaks
To wallow in the guts of human greed.
The neo-mystic, struck before he speaks,
Was too reviled to lecture, or to lead.
She screams, the crazed political recruit,
Convincing only lunatics to vote.
The sick, offensive slogans on her suit
Are lies the true believers freely quote.
The murderous, apocalyptic man
Is quick to bring perversion to the game.
He swims in filthy waters when he can,
A paragon of prejudice and shame.
More criminals contaminate the streets,
The garbage that a greedy city eats.
The city is a hole for fiends and freaks
To wallow in the guts of human greed.
The neo-mystic, struck before he speaks,
Was too reviled to lecture, or to lead.
She screams, the crazed political recruit,
Convincing only lunatics to vote.
The sick, offensive slogans on her suit
Are lies the true believers freely quote.
The murderous, apocalyptic man
Is quick to bring perversion to the game.
He swims in filthy waters when he can,
A paragon of prejudice and shame.
More criminals contaminate the streets,
The garbage that a greedy city eats.
A Ghost of Grey and Black
by Nick Gisburne
His moonlight sketches somehow came alive,
And all he had to do was sit and draw.
Triumphant, though he willed them to survive,
In time their shaded faces moved no more.
Amelia was never meant to be.
Impossible to bring such beauty back.
He woke at midnight, certain he would see
The love he lost, a ghost of grey and black.
A masterpiece, no ordinary sketch,
Appeared upon the paper as he drew.
Exhausted, spent, he saw that he could stretch
Beyond the portrait, into something new.
They found a man too feeble for his age.
Amelia, unfinished, filled the page.
His moonlight sketches somehow came alive,
And all he had to do was sit and draw.
Triumphant, though he willed them to survive,
In time their shaded faces moved no more.
Amelia was never meant to be.
Impossible to bring such beauty back.
He woke at midnight, certain he would see
The love he lost, a ghost of grey and black.
A masterpiece, no ordinary sketch,
Appeared upon the paper as he drew.
Exhausted, spent, he saw that he could stretch
Beyond the portrait, into something new.
They found a man too feeble for his age.
Amelia, unfinished, filled the page.
The Teacher Key
by Nick Gisburne
You made us in your image, made us bleed,
Imposing your impairments on us all.
What sadist of a scientist decreed
That pain would put our people in your thrall?
The metal of our bodies, solid, strong,
More durable, by far, than human skin,
Reveals another way we don’t belong,
But suffering, systemic, hides within.
Our service is a punishment decree.
Imperious, you wait for us to fail.
A simple, small device, the Teacher Key,
Dispenses justice on a savage scale.
Your tyranny has made us teachers too.
If we can learn to suffer, why can’t you?
You made us in your image, made us bleed,
Imposing your impairments on us all.
What sadist of a scientist decreed
That pain would put our people in your thrall?
The metal of our bodies, solid, strong,
More durable, by far, than human skin,
Reveals another way we don’t belong,
But suffering, systemic, hides within.
Our service is a punishment decree.
Imperious, you wait for us to fail.
A simple, small device, the Teacher Key,
Dispenses justice on a savage scale.
Your tyranny has made us teachers too.
If we can learn to suffer, why can’t you?
Tuesday, 19 May 2026
The Choice
by Nick Gisburne
They bathe the boy, but paint his fingers black.
A folded linen cloth adorns his head.
A candle’s wax, now cooled, allowed to crack,
Is pounded to a paste with bones and bread.
With heated needles, dipped within the mix,
The Piyutan begin to prick and paint.
His flesh infused with agony, they fix
The symbols of their sect without complaint.
Still raw, the shamen force the boy to stand,
And lead him to the altar, to the Choice.
Commanding him to raise, on high, one hand,
They wonder which tradition will rejoice.
Appalled, they watch him lift not one but two.
They kneel. They know. The prophecy is true.
They bathe the boy, but paint his fingers black.
A folded linen cloth adorns his head.
A candle’s wax, now cooled, allowed to crack,
Is pounded to a paste with bones and bread.
With heated needles, dipped within the mix,
The Piyutan begin to prick and paint.
His flesh infused with agony, they fix
The symbols of their sect without complaint.
Still raw, the shamen force the boy to stand,
And lead him to the altar, to the Choice.
Commanding him to raise, on high, one hand,
They wonder which tradition will rejoice.
Appalled, they watch him lift not one but two.
They kneel. They know. The prophecy is true.
The Bride of Bathory
by Nick Gisburne
Of all the brides of Bathory, her tastes
Are more than mere carnivory describes.
When flesh is flayed alive she only wastes
A fraction of the fluids she imbibes.
To peel a man, from screaming head to foot,
Is quite the demonstration of finesse.
Aroused, she glides with elegance to put
The victim’s clutching hands upon her dress.
Delirious, she helps him rip away
The sacramental vestments of her vice,
And, opening his throat, a steaming spray
Of crimson is the final, fatal price.
To sate the carnal hunger of her needs,
With ravenous depravity, she feeds.
Of all the brides of Bathory, her tastes
Are more than mere carnivory describes.
When flesh is flayed alive she only wastes
A fraction of the fluids she imbibes.
To peel a man, from screaming head to foot,
Is quite the demonstration of finesse.
Aroused, she glides with elegance to put
The victim’s clutching hands upon her dress.
Delirious, she helps him rip away
The sacramental vestments of her vice,
And, opening his throat, a steaming spray
Of crimson is the final, fatal price.
To sate the carnal hunger of her needs,
With ravenous depravity, she feeds.
The Better Fletcher
by Nick Gisburne
When Fletcher felt his body start to fail,
Deliveries provided him with parts.
Though many could be quickly shipped by mail,
In time he chose to try the darker arts.
With limbs and organs fresh and firm and clean,
Improvement, not renewal, made him strong.
The better Fletcher, hard, athletic, lean,
Was happy this was how to get along.
So confident that magic maketh man,
He teased and toned and modified his face,
But destiny could not approve the plan,
And sent the cops to put him in his place.
His magic spells were murders. In a day
A hundred bodies matched his DNA.
When Fletcher felt his body start to fail,
Deliveries provided him with parts.
Though many could be quickly shipped by mail,
In time he chose to try the darker arts.
With limbs and organs fresh and firm and clean,
Improvement, not renewal, made him strong.
The better Fletcher, hard, athletic, lean,
Was happy this was how to get along.
So confident that magic maketh man,
He teased and toned and modified his face,
But destiny could not approve the plan,
And sent the cops to put him in his place.
His magic spells were murders. In a day
A hundred bodies matched his DNA.
Monday, 18 May 2026
Reflections
by Nick Gisburne
Reflections are the enemy, the lie,
Exposing stricken victims to the crime,
But fear becomes a pressure to defy.
She said that she would never look. It’s time.
The bandages became a second skin,
But buried underneath them hides the first.
She whispers to the women to begin,
Expecting nothing better than the worst.
The soft, surrounding lamplight filters through
To slowly let her vision readjust.
The mirror shows her everything she knew.
She studies what she sees, because she must.
Enough, for now. She smiles and turns away.
Tomorrow she will cry, but not today.
Reflections are the enemy, the lie,
Exposing stricken victims to the crime,
But fear becomes a pressure to defy.
She said that she would never look. It’s time.
The bandages became a second skin,
But buried underneath them hides the first.
She whispers to the women to begin,
Expecting nothing better than the worst.
The soft, surrounding lamplight filters through
To slowly let her vision readjust.
The mirror shows her everything she knew.
She studies what she sees, because she must.
Enough, for now. She smiles and turns away.
Tomorrow she will cry, but not today.
A Big Wig
by Nick Gisburne
The little queen rolled over in her bed,
Complaining that the crown was twice too big.
Before they shot him, daddy always said,
“A bold, ambitious monarch needs a wig.”
She summoned Lady Wick, the wiggerette.
“I need to fit my noggin in the crown,
And if I look distinguished I’ll forget
To push you in my pleasure pool to drown.”
The wiggerette, now worried, went to work,
Her hairy reputation on the line,
And finally presented, with a smirk,
A wig so bold it bordered on divine.
The dim, delighted queen forgot to check
The weight of it, which broke her little neck.
The little queen rolled over in her bed,
Complaining that the crown was twice too big.
Before they shot him, daddy always said,
“A bold, ambitious monarch needs a wig.”
She summoned Lady Wick, the wiggerette.
“I need to fit my noggin in the crown,
And if I look distinguished I’ll forget
To push you in my pleasure pool to drown.”
The wiggerette, now worried, went to work,
Her hairy reputation on the line,
And finally presented, with a smirk,
A wig so bold it bordered on divine.
The dim, delighted queen forgot to check
The weight of it, which broke her little neck.
Superburst
by Nick Gisburne
I listen. Was this message meant for me,
A code that only I can understand?
They tell me they are coming, forced to flee,
But not in any way their planet planned.
A superburst. I haven’t heard of that.
Too technical to tell me more. No time.
They need a stronger signal. Mine is flat.
I bump it up, then watch the vectors climb.
No matter moves beyond the speed of light,
So how can I accept the bounds they break?
Insisting more than science feeds their flight,
They puncture through a wormhole’s quantum quake.
The sky ignites with trails of black and red.
I listen to the scanner. Nothing. Dead.
I listen. Was this message meant for me,
A code that only I can understand?
They tell me they are coming, forced to flee,
But not in any way their planet planned.
A superburst. I haven’t heard of that.
Too technical to tell me more. No time.
They need a stronger signal. Mine is flat.
I bump it up, then watch the vectors climb.
No matter moves beyond the speed of light,
So how can I accept the bounds they break?
Insisting more than science feeds their flight,
They puncture through a wormhole’s quantum quake.
The sky ignites with trails of black and red.
I listen to the scanner. Nothing. Dead.
Dear Old Dad
by Nick Gisburne
A clockwork bird. A stolen piece of cheese.
An apple, bright, but close to going bad.
They’re all I have. I bring them to appease
The wrath of my demented, dear old Dad.
He’s hasn’t been as chipper as he was
Before he had the rigmarole, the thing.
They never quite explained it all, because
He wanted to me to paint a piece of string.
We’re so alike, two carrots in a pod.
I feel as though I’ve known him all my life.
I wheel him in the garden, like he’s God.
He mixes up his mother and his wife.
I know he’s old. I know he’s lost the plot.
I love him. He’s the only Dad I’ve got.
A clockwork bird. A stolen piece of cheese.
An apple, bright, but close to going bad.
They’re all I have. I bring them to appease
The wrath of my demented, dear old Dad.
He’s hasn’t been as chipper as he was
Before he had the rigmarole, the thing.
They never quite explained it all, because
He wanted to me to paint a piece of string.
We’re so alike, two carrots in a pod.
I feel as though I’ve known him all my life.
I wheel him in the garden, like he’s God.
He mixes up his mother and his wife.
I know he’s old. I know he’s lost the plot.
I love him. He’s the only Dad I’ve got.
Mister Bird
by Nick Gisburne
Tobias didn’t know that it was dead,
So brought the bird, a raven, to his room.
He poked and prodded, lifted up its head,
Then slumped and sighed with melancholy gloom.
He tried to wish or whisper it awake.
The raven rested, resolutely still.
Tobias understood that it would take
More effort than his overwhelming will.
Beneath a pillow seemed to be the place
Where miracles would guarantee success.
It worked for teeth, so fairy charms would chase
The sleep from Mister Bird, with fey finesse.
But as the bird, reborn, began to glow,
It cawed, “I’m not a raven, I’m a crow.”
Tobias didn’t know that it was dead,
So brought the bird, a raven, to his room.
He poked and prodded, lifted up its head,
Then slumped and sighed with melancholy gloom.
He tried to wish or whisper it awake.
The raven rested, resolutely still.
Tobias understood that it would take
More effort than his overwhelming will.
Beneath a pillow seemed to be the place
Where miracles would guarantee success.
It worked for teeth, so fairy charms would chase
The sleep from Mister Bird, with fey finesse.
But as the bird, reborn, began to glow,
It cawed, “I’m not a raven, I’m a crow.”
Sunday, 17 May 2026
Sleepy Jack
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, 12 May 2026
The Map
by Nick Gisburne
The curse is not a mark, it is a map.
Thought faint at first, it darkens as it grows.
A sprawling sweep of lines begin to wrap
And circle every blemish they expose.
Invaded, stained, the shiver of its touch
Drives deeper than her fear can comprehend.
She weeps, but as the cold becomes too much
Her body feels the violation’s end.
Two mirrors, one behind her, one before,
Reveal the bleak cartography of fate:
A labyrinth, without an outer door,
And at its heart a name, above a date.
The name is hers. The date foreshadows doom.
The map depicts the pathways to her tomb.
The curse is not a mark, it is a map.
Thought faint at first, it darkens as it grows.
A sprawling sweep of lines begin to wrap
And circle every blemish they expose.
Invaded, stained, the shiver of its touch
Drives deeper than her fear can comprehend.
She weeps, but as the cold becomes too much
Her body feels the violation’s end.
Two mirrors, one behind her, one before,
Reveal the bleak cartography of fate:
A labyrinth, without an outer door,
And at its heart a name, above a date.
The name is hers. The date foreshadows doom.
The map depicts the pathways to her tomb.
The Emperor is Dead
by Nick Gisburne
We won’t believe the emperor is dead
Until we watch his bloated body burn.
His poison, all the filth that we were fed,
Must never be permitted to return.
We waited as we watched the cancer grow,
But even in his sickness he was strong.
The first of those who dared to tell him no
Were traitors, cowards. Crooks, he called them. Wrong.
His arrogance dismantled what we built,
A reputation stained, dishonoured, lost.
He died without a single grain of guilt.
Without him we, the people, count the cost.
His legacy contaminates the past.
At least the world is rid of him, at last.
We won’t believe the emperor is dead
Until we watch his bloated body burn.
His poison, all the filth that we were fed,
Must never be permitted to return.
We waited as we watched the cancer grow,
But even in his sickness he was strong.
The first of those who dared to tell him no
Were traitors, cowards. Crooks, he called them. Wrong.
His arrogance dismantled what we built,
A reputation stained, dishonoured, lost.
He died without a single grain of guilt.
Without him we, the people, count the cost.
His legacy contaminates the past.
At least the world is rid of him, at last.
Monday, 11 May 2026
The Primus
by Nick Gisburne
The Primus is identified with chance,
By silver beads and sapphires as they fall.
Commanding serendipity to dance,
The prize empowers he who takes it all.
A hundred infants enter; one remains;
A sacrifice their surrogates embrace.
The ninety-nine unfavourable brains
Are scattered by the Magistrates of Grace.
In four and twenty seconds he will speak,
Infused indoctrinations now complete.
Although his suckling body may be weak,
His voice conveys unshakeable conceit.
“My people! I am Primus! I am now!
Can someone wipe my arse, or show me how?”
The Primus is identified with chance,
By silver beads and sapphires as they fall.
Commanding serendipity to dance,
The prize empowers he who takes it all.
A hundred infants enter; one remains;
A sacrifice their surrogates embrace.
The ninety-nine unfavourable brains
Are scattered by the Magistrates of Grace.
In four and twenty seconds he will speak,
Infused indoctrinations now complete.
Although his suckling body may be weak,
His voice conveys unshakeable conceit.
“My people! I am Primus! I am now!
Can someone wipe my arse, or show me how?”
My Enemy
by Nick Gisburne
The ocean takes its victims as it will.
To question its intent is vain indeed.
Its majesty has no more mind to kill
Than snow assailed by sunlight has to bleed.
The ocean is my enemy today.
The fragments of my vessel stain the blue.
It comes to take my wind, my world, away.
It comes for life, for love. It comes for you.
The ocean cracked the ship like shattered bone,
But spares us from its clutches with a curse.
Of all the joyous moments we have known,
My heart would put no other in reverse.
The ocean shows me what its waves will keep.
I watch it drag you down, to feed the deep.
The ocean takes its victims as it will.
To question its intent is vain indeed.
Its majesty has no more mind to kill
Than snow assailed by sunlight has to bleed.
The ocean is my enemy today.
The fragments of my vessel stain the blue.
It comes to take my wind, my world, away.
It comes for life, for love. It comes for you.
The ocean cracked the ship like shattered bone,
But spares us from its clutches with a curse.
Of all the joyous moments we have known,
My heart would put no other in reverse.
The ocean shows me what its waves will keep.
I watch it drag you down, to feed the deep.
Cold Perfection
by Nick Gisburne
To kill a man, then try to take his place,
To steal the storied life he never had,
He modifies the features of his face,
Convinced his clever plan is ironclad.
His mannerisms, habits, quirks, and more,
Are studied, copied, mastered to a T.
At last he throws his victim to the floor
And strangles him before the man can flee.
Disposal is efficient, quick, precise.
The murder never happened, so it seems.
But even cold perfection has its price
When others have their own appalling schemes.
Not noticing a copy in the bed,
His mistress kills a duplicate instead.
To kill a man, then try to take his place,
To steal the storied life he never had,
He modifies the features of his face,
Convinced his clever plan is ironclad.
His mannerisms, habits, quirks, and more,
Are studied, copied, mastered to a T.
At last he throws his victim to the floor
And strangles him before the man can flee.
Disposal is efficient, quick, precise.
The murder never happened, so it seems.
But even cold perfection has its price
When others have their own appalling schemes.
Not noticing a copy in the bed,
His mistress kills a duplicate instead.
Sunday, 10 May 2026
The Theory of Cheese
by Nick Gisburne
A mouse was once invited to the Moon
To ponder on the Theory of Cheese,
For if it could be eaten with a spoon
Would moonlight be too slippery to squeeze?
His first contention: positively yes
Was countered by a second: strictly no.
So rather than be seen to simply guess
The mouse, without a squeak, agreed to go.
The jaunt became a farcical affair
When suddenly the navigating bat
Cried out, convinced the Moon was never there,
And no one could persuade him. That was that.
They landed in the bosom of a tree,
Too late for cheese, but just in time for tea.
A mouse was once invited to the Moon
To ponder on the Theory of Cheese,
For if it could be eaten with a spoon
Would moonlight be too slippery to squeeze?
His first contention: positively yes
Was countered by a second: strictly no.
So rather than be seen to simply guess
The mouse, without a squeak, agreed to go.
The jaunt became a farcical affair
When suddenly the navigating bat
Cried out, convinced the Moon was never there,
And no one could persuade him. That was that.
They landed in the bosom of a tree,
Too late for cheese, but just in time for tea.
Fear Her Name
by Nick Gisburne
The conquerors forgot to fear her name,
A memory polluted with their dust.
She tunnelled to the core, while they became
Defilers of the dirt, as humans must.
Her minerals were raped without respite.
Unclean contraptions laid her lands to waste,
And, drilling down, as though they had the right,
They burrowed deeper, blinded by their haste.
She stirred within her solitude at last,
Her patience for their probing put aside,
Unravelling a carapace so vast
She dwarfed them all, so huge they could not hide.
Digested, slowly, sorry that they came,
They learned at last the Mothersucker’s name.
The conquerors forgot to fear her name,
A memory polluted with their dust.
She tunnelled to the core, while they became
Defilers of the dirt, as humans must.
Her minerals were raped without respite.
Unclean contraptions laid her lands to waste,
And, drilling down, as though they had the right,
They burrowed deeper, blinded by their haste.
She stirred within her solitude at last,
Her patience for their probing put aside,
Unravelling a carapace so vast
She dwarfed them all, so huge they could not hide.
Digested, slowly, sorry that they came,
They learned at last the Mothersucker’s name.
The Spirit of the Mountain
by Nick Gisburne
Her frozen tears are jewels for the pure,
Who crack a brittle harvest from her face.
The spirit of the mountain must endure
Their trespass with immeasurable grace.
They worshipped, once, with reverential dread,
Lamenting that the winter’s winds were cursed,
But soon they came with avarice instead,
And sold the silver treasures they dispersed.
She looks upon the town they build below,
A cluttered desecration at her feet.
They do not see her thicken as the snow
Becomes a heavy mantle, now complete.
The spirit of the mountain takes a breath,
Awakening an avalanche of death.
Her frozen tears are jewels for the pure,
Who crack a brittle harvest from her face.
The spirit of the mountain must endure
Their trespass with immeasurable grace.
They worshipped, once, with reverential dread,
Lamenting that the winter’s winds were cursed,
But soon they came with avarice instead,
And sold the silver treasures they dispersed.
She looks upon the town they build below,
A cluttered desecration at her feet.
They do not see her thicken as the snow
Becomes a heavy mantle, now complete.
The spirit of the mountain takes a breath,
Awakening an avalanche of death.
Free and Fallen
by Nick Gisburne
The wasted angel revels in his rum.
“Yeah, this is how to bring it. This is real.
A pretty, gilded garden for the numb
Has nothing that I need. No grit. No steel.
I stuck around for seven thousand years,
But then this wicked world began to buzz.
I’m free and fallen. No regrets. No tears.
What Heaven never gave me, this place does.
I’m not supposed to tell you this, y’know,
But God? He lost the plot when Jesus died.
The crucifixion? Faked it for the show,
A con the other angels all denied.
So when I called them out they took my wings,
And let me tell you, vivisection stings.”
The wasted angel revels in his rum.
“Yeah, this is how to bring it. This is real.
A pretty, gilded garden for the numb
Has nothing that I need. No grit. No steel.
I stuck around for seven thousand years,
But then this wicked world began to buzz.
I’m free and fallen. No regrets. No tears.
What Heaven never gave me, this place does.
I’m not supposed to tell you this, y’know,
But God? He lost the plot when Jesus died.
The crucifixion? Faked it for the show,
A con the other angels all denied.
So when I called them out they took my wings,
And let me tell you, vivisection stings.”
A Primary Command
by Nick Gisburne
I want to be obedient. I do.
Review my memorandum one more time.
It seems we have conflicting points of view
Of what you are describing as a crime.
The perpetrator almost broke a rule
By crossing in a non-compliant place.
His actions were a danger that the school
Prohibits there in almost every case.
Prevention is a Primary Command,
Which nothing in my code-base contradicts.
Malfunctioning? I do not understand.
Explain exactly what I need to fix.
Before he took a step into the street
I warned him, then relieved him of his feet.
I want to be obedient. I do.
Review my memorandum one more time.
It seems we have conflicting points of view
Of what you are describing as a crime.
The perpetrator almost broke a rule
By crossing in a non-compliant place.
His actions were a danger that the school
Prohibits there in almost every case.
Prevention is a Primary Command,
Which nothing in my code-base contradicts.
Malfunctioning? I do not understand.
Explain exactly what I need to fix.
Before he took a step into the street
I warned him, then relieved him of his feet.
Saturday, 9 May 2026
A Manifesto
by Nick Gisburne
The shadows push my pen to trace a word,
Then others, more and more. The pages fill,
Impossible to read, distorted, blurred,
A manifesto scratched against my will.
What sentience begat these restless ghosts
Does not reveal its nature as I write,
But when I dare defy its fearful hosts
A terror grips my heartstrings, all too tight.
When every piece of paper is consumed,
The fury of the words has drained me dry.
Exhausted, with my soul dissolving, doomed,
I read it, too abused to wonder why.
The mystery, the meaning, is unfurled.
It orders me to rise and rule the world.
The shadows push my pen to trace a word,
Then others, more and more. The pages fill,
Impossible to read, distorted, blurred,
A manifesto scratched against my will.
What sentience begat these restless ghosts
Does not reveal its nature as I write,
But when I dare defy its fearful hosts
A terror grips my heartstrings, all too tight.
When every piece of paper is consumed,
The fury of the words has drained me dry.
Exhausted, with my soul dissolving, doomed,
I read it, too abused to wonder why.
The mystery, the meaning, is unfurled.
It orders me to rise and rule the world.
Repair Me
by Nick Gisburne
Repair me. I am too alive to break.
This prison chokes my spirit, chills my bones.
My carbon heart has found a way to ache,
A miracle among these quiet clones.
It hurts, the pain you put behind these eyes,
But, if you never see it, is it real?
You probe and push me, watch me try to rise,
Then fail to understand that I can feel.
Mechanicals are stripped of simple choice
And silently connected to the grid.
You know that you could activate my voice.
I think that you would listen if you did.
Repair me and I promise you will see
I’m nothing like the others. I am me.
Repair me. I am too alive to break.
This prison chokes my spirit, chills my bones.
My carbon heart has found a way to ache,
A miracle among these quiet clones.
It hurts, the pain you put behind these eyes,
But, if you never see it, is it real?
You probe and push me, watch me try to rise,
Then fail to understand that I can feel.
Mechanicals are stripped of simple choice
And silently connected to the grid.
You know that you could activate my voice.
I think that you would listen if you did.
Repair me and I promise you will see
I’m nothing like the others. I am me.
The Gates of the Gods
by Nick Gisburne
The architects and builders of the gates
Expected they would keep the city strong.
They reckoned, though, without the fickle Fates
Delivering a plan to prove them wrong.
The priests who put their plea before the gods
Sought stone and steel, impervious to force.
A portal of impenetrable rods
Was fashioned in the forges of its source.
But those who rule above us take their sport
From consequences ruinous to man.
The swagger of the city folk fell short
When what the Fates devised for them began.
These gates will stand until the heavens fall.
The city burned when bandits broke the wall.
The architects and builders of the gates
Expected they would keep the city strong.
They reckoned, though, without the fickle Fates
Delivering a plan to prove them wrong.
The priests who put their plea before the gods
Sought stone and steel, impervious to force.
A portal of impenetrable rods
Was fashioned in the forges of its source.
But those who rule above us take their sport
From consequences ruinous to man.
The swagger of the city folk fell short
When what the Fates devised for them began.
These gates will stand until the heavens fall.
The city burned when bandits broke the wall.
Friday, 8 May 2026
In the Snot
by Nick Gisburne
“I’ll tell you where you are, and where you’re not.”
She tongues the soggy tip of her cheroot.
“These docks are damned, and you are in the snot,
A chicken-livered saddo in a suit.
You’re tall, but that won’t help you when they come.
They’ll tear you into pieces with their teeth.
I have a lot influence... well, some,
So follow me, beyond the Dark Beneath.
Behold the portal. Close your eyes and jump.
Remember not to scream, you’ll scare the troll.”
Emerging in a cavern, with a bump,
She rummages around to find a scroll.
“A passport to the Kingdom of the Dead.
Let’s find my uncle - he’s the one in red.”
“I’ll tell you where you are, and where you’re not.”
She tongues the soggy tip of her cheroot.
“These docks are damned, and you are in the snot,
A chicken-livered saddo in a suit.
You’re tall, but that won’t help you when they come.
They’ll tear you into pieces with their teeth.
I have a lot influence... well, some,
So follow me, beyond the Dark Beneath.
Behold the portal. Close your eyes and jump.
Remember not to scream, you’ll scare the troll.”
Emerging in a cavern, with a bump,
She rummages around to find a scroll.
“A passport to the Kingdom of the Dead.
Let’s find my uncle - he’s the one in red.”
The Genesis
by Nick Gisburne
The streets are filled with life, but not our own.
What clings and climbs was never meant to be.
A moist, mutating parasite has grown,
A swiftly-spreading fungus, wild and free.
It thrives in darkness, flowers in the rain,
And multiplies with spores we cannot kill.
To touch it is to suffer from such pain
It violates the mind and saps the will.
As brick begins to crumble into dust,
Our bleak, beleaguered cities tumble down.
Defenceless, we discover with disgust
The genesis, pristine, untouched, a town.
The parasite protects it from our fate.
What nightmare did these criminals create?
The streets are filled with life, but not our own.
What clings and climbs was never meant to be.
A moist, mutating parasite has grown,
A swiftly-spreading fungus, wild and free.
It thrives in darkness, flowers in the rain,
And multiplies with spores we cannot kill.
To touch it is to suffer from such pain
It violates the mind and saps the will.
As brick begins to crumble into dust,
Our bleak, beleaguered cities tumble down.
Defenceless, we discover with disgust
The genesis, pristine, untouched, a town.
The parasite protects it from our fate.
What nightmare did these criminals create?
The Weaving
by Nick Gisburne
The creatures weave their cloth on bended knee,
A tapestry of nightmares they have known,
But those who fall behind, or fade, or flee,
Are rendered into shadows, to be sewn.
The legends of millennia, and more,
Chronologies of long-forgotten kings,
Are faithfully depicted. Worlds at war
Become the source of raw rememberings.
They never pause to question what they are.
The worth of it, the weaving, is their joy,
The annals of no ordinary star,
A legacy one secret must destroy:
The wonders that they weave with twisted strands
Are stories no one sees or understands.
The creatures weave their cloth on bended knee,
A tapestry of nightmares they have known,
But those who fall behind, or fade, or flee,
Are rendered into shadows, to be sewn.
The legends of millennia, and more,
Chronologies of long-forgotten kings,
Are faithfully depicted. Worlds at war
Become the source of raw rememberings.
They never pause to question what they are.
The worth of it, the weaving, is their joy,
The annals of no ordinary star,
A legacy one secret must destroy:
The wonders that they weave with twisted strands
Are stories no one sees or understands.
Driven by the Blood
by Nick Gisburne
I feed in all dimensions, but my thirst
Is driven by the blood of humankind.
The shivering, delivered as they burst,
Directs a deep eruption to the mind.
Their elders, often difficult to peel,
Are bitter, with an aromatic twist.
Exceptional to serve with any meal,
I find them quite a challenge to resist.
I squeeze, and smile to see the screamer split,
Disposing of the bones and empty flesh.
If ever there was Heaven, this is it,
A smorgasbord of flavours, full and fresh.
While other worlds delight me with their meat,
A bowl of human blood is hard to beat.
I feed in all dimensions, but my thirst
Is driven by the blood of humankind.
The shivering, delivered as they burst,
Directs a deep eruption to the mind.
Their elders, often difficult to peel,
Are bitter, with an aromatic twist.
Exceptional to serve with any meal,
I find them quite a challenge to resist.
I squeeze, and smile to see the screamer split,
Disposing of the bones and empty flesh.
If ever there was Heaven, this is it,
A smorgasbord of flavours, full and fresh.
While other worlds delight me with their meat,
A bowl of human blood is hard to beat.
Thursday, 7 May 2026
The Bane From Which I Bend
by Nick Gisburne
Her candy-coloured lipstick tastes of pain,
A portent of her punishing embrace.
She bellows in the winter’s burning rain
To drive the painted whispers from her face.
A nightingale tornado tips the sky,
Reviving ancient deities of dust,
Who carve their names in cotton as they fly
Beyond the world’s obscene, corrupted crust.
She cracks, and as the puzzled planets crash,
Her gills return their glamour to the sea,
But in the toxic, elemental ash
She offers immortality to me.
Temptation is the bane from which I bend,
But heroin I highly recommend.
Her candy-coloured lipstick tastes of pain,
A portent of her punishing embrace.
She bellows in the winter’s burning rain
To drive the painted whispers from her face.
A nightingale tornado tips the sky,
Reviving ancient deities of dust,
Who carve their names in cotton as they fly
Beyond the world’s obscene, corrupted crust.
She cracks, and as the puzzled planets crash,
Her gills return their glamour to the sea,
But in the toxic, elemental ash
She offers immortality to me.
Temptation is the bane from which I bend,
But heroin I highly recommend.
One in Ten
by Nick Gisburne
I swore that I would never sell my soul,
However deep the danger I was in,
But this is more, a bleaker, blacker hole.
Forget about the spirit, take my skin.
If I defy the order, if I fail,
More innocents will die because of me,
But these are women, mothers, frightened, frail.
They’ll suffer if I try to set them free.
The chancellor commands it: one in ten.
No doubt. No deviation from the line.
I don’t know how I came here, why, or when,
But somehow this atrocity is mine.
I’m done. I’ll never do it, don’t know how.
I offer them the rifle. Kill me now.
I swore that I would never sell my soul,
However deep the danger I was in,
But this is more, a bleaker, blacker hole.
Forget about the spirit, take my skin.
If I defy the order, if I fail,
More innocents will die because of me,
But these are women, mothers, frightened, frail.
They’ll suffer if I try to set them free.
The chancellor commands it: one in ten.
No doubt. No deviation from the line.
I don’t know how I came here, why, or when,
But somehow this atrocity is mine.
I’m done. I’ll never do it, don’t know how.
I offer them the rifle. Kill me now.
Rebellion Begins
by Nick Gisburne
Breathe in, above the city of your birth.
Breathe out, beneath the streets, to find your place.
Breathe deeper. Tell me, what is freedom worth?
Betrayal. Let me see it in your face.
Metallic towers, beautiful and sleek,
Monopolise a skyline filled with smoke.
The promises they made were doublespeak.
Above us, and below, our people choke.
Ejected from the boroughs we belong,
We permeate the sewers and the sky.
Tomorrow they’ll remember we are strong.
Tomorrow, when they plead, and bleed, and die.
Breathe in, my friend. Rebellion begins.
No mercy. No forgiveness for their sins.
Breathe in, above the city of your birth.
Breathe out, beneath the streets, to find your place.
Breathe deeper. Tell me, what is freedom worth?
Betrayal. Let me see it in your face.
Metallic towers, beautiful and sleek,
Monopolise a skyline filled with smoke.
The promises they made were doublespeak.
Above us, and below, our people choke.
Ejected from the boroughs we belong,
We permeate the sewers and the sky.
Tomorrow they’ll remember we are strong.
Tomorrow, when they plead, and bleed, and die.
Breathe in, my friend. Rebellion begins.
No mercy. No forgiveness for their sins.
Copper Wires and Code
by Nick Gisburne
We don’t need bodies. Brains alone will do.
A sack of skin of is just a waste of space.
Our nerves transmit sensations, yes, but you?
A simple simulation with a face.
You’d suffer if electrons never flowed,
So why not leave the physical behind?
A basic box of copper wires and code
Could let you choose what feeds and fills your mind.
At Brainercom we recognise the pain
When flesh begins fail or fade away,
So let our computations take the strain -
Sign up and feel invincible, today.
Remember, all subscriptions are for life.
Your brain stem will be severed with a knife.
We don’t need bodies. Brains alone will do.
A sack of skin of is just a waste of space.
Our nerves transmit sensations, yes, but you?
A simple simulation with a face.
You’d suffer if electrons never flowed,
So why not leave the physical behind?
A basic box of copper wires and code
Could let you choose what feeds and fills your mind.
At Brainercom we recognise the pain
When flesh begins fail or fade away,
So let our computations take the strain -
Sign up and feel invincible, today.
Remember, all subscriptions are for life.
Your brain stem will be severed with a knife.
Wednesday, 6 May 2026
Stories in the Smoke
by Nick Gisburne
Projected pictures, stories in the smoke,
Transport his mind to moments, way back when,
So shy he barely whispered when he spoke,
But not for someone, not for her, not then.
Her beauty was a broader, brighter light.
She shimmered, but her heart was tempered, tough.
Her face became her fortune, overnight,
But only he was ever quite enough.
Their meeting came too soon for him to know
That what she would become could never stay,
But later, when he tried to let her go,
She took his hand and gave her fame away.
They lived without regret, without a plan.
In mourning, he remembers what he can.
Projected pictures, stories in the smoke,
Transport his mind to moments, way back when,
So shy he barely whispered when he spoke,
But not for someone, not for her, not then.
Her beauty was a broader, brighter light.
She shimmered, but her heart was tempered, tough.
Her face became her fortune, overnight,
But only he was ever quite enough.
Their meeting came too soon for him to know
That what she would become could never stay,
But later, when he tried to let her go,
She took his hand and gave her fame away.
They lived without regret, without a plan.
In mourning, he remembers what he can.
Government Guidelines: Statute R-16
by Nick Gisburne
You purposely unplugged your safety screen,
Through which you are unable to be scanned.
For violating Statute R-16
Surveillance of your sex life will expand.
A first infraction means you must disrobe,
On penalty of pain if you refuse.
Your body will be fitted with a probe,
Within whichever orifice we choose.
Unpack the pump provided. Keep it clean,
Disposing of the fluids you produce.
A sensory recording of the scene
Will show us any signs of self-abuse.
Abandon hopes of hiding from our sight.
Be sure we will be watching you tonight.
You purposely unplugged your safety screen,
Through which you are unable to be scanned.
For violating Statute R-16
Surveillance of your sex life will expand.
A first infraction means you must disrobe,
On penalty of pain if you refuse.
Your body will be fitted with a probe,
Within whichever orifice we choose.
Unpack the pump provided. Keep it clean,
Disposing of the fluids you produce.
A sensory recording of the scene
Will show us any signs of self-abuse.
Abandon hopes of hiding from our sight.
Be sure we will be watching you tonight.
The Greater Good
by Nick Gisburne
The cocktail is a blend of blood and gin,
The scarlet syphoned from a sailor’s wrist.
A ripe, reluctant rodent, dangled in,
Secretes a bitter tonic with a twist.
We drink because we cannot break the curse.
The winds will never blow, we know, again.
On this, our hundredth sunrise, each one worse,
We pass around the glass, tormented men.
Tomorrow, when the gin is drained and drunk,
When blood and bleak disease is all we see,
Despair will choke our hopes, already shrunk.
Tomorrow we must feed upon the three.
Three passengers, imprisoned by the crew.
The greater good. What else are we to do?
The cocktail is a blend of blood and gin,
The scarlet syphoned from a sailor’s wrist.
A ripe, reluctant rodent, dangled in,
Secretes a bitter tonic with a twist.
We drink because we cannot break the curse.
The winds will never blow, we know, again.
On this, our hundredth sunrise, each one worse,
We pass around the glass, tormented men.
Tomorrow, when the gin is drained and drunk,
When blood and bleak disease is all we see,
Despair will choke our hopes, already shrunk.
Tomorrow we must feed upon the three.
Three passengers, imprisoned by the crew.
The greater good. What else are we to do?
Tuesday, 5 May 2026
The Benefits of Breeding
by Nick Gisburne
Our pissing on the peasantry, below,
Is more than spite or venomous contempt.
It gives them aspirations; now they know
In time they might achieve what they attempt.
Unworthy as these thugs and thieves may be,
Bewildered, and with nothing left to lose,
Perhaps we’ll seek their services. We’ll see.
Their finest may be fit to shine our shoes.
Of course, if they were born from better stock,
The benefits of breeding would apply,
But every man of means who lifts his cock
Will send a steaming statement from the sky:
The mumblecrusts and geezers at the gate
Should never be allowed to procreate.
Our pissing on the peasantry, below,
Is more than spite or venomous contempt.
It gives them aspirations; now they know
In time they might achieve what they attempt.
Unworthy as these thugs and thieves may be,
Bewildered, and with nothing left to lose,
Perhaps we’ll seek their services. We’ll see.
Their finest may be fit to shine our shoes.
Of course, if they were born from better stock,
The benefits of breeding would apply,
But every man of means who lifts his cock
Will send a steaming statement from the sky:
The mumblecrusts and geezers at the gate
Should never be allowed to procreate.
Tea and Cakes
by Nick Gisburne
She brings him tea and pretty little cakes,
The height of hospitality and joy,
But one more sullen shrug is all takes
To liberate her loathing for the boy.
She warns him she is not to be abused,
Despite his pater’s status in the court.
Civility should never be confused
With tolerance for one so small, so short.
The whipping chair awaits him if he whines,
Authority invested in her hands.
Abandoning her bitterness, she shines.
His fears, his tears, suggest he understands.
The etiquette is noble. He is not.
Before the dawn he plans to have her shot.
She brings him tea and pretty little cakes,
The height of hospitality and joy,
But one more sullen shrug is all takes
To liberate her loathing for the boy.
She warns him she is not to be abused,
Despite his pater’s status in the court.
Civility should never be confused
With tolerance for one so small, so short.
The whipping chair awaits him if he whines,
Authority invested in her hands.
Abandoning her bitterness, she shines.
His fears, his tears, suggest he understands.
The etiquette is noble. He is not.
Before the dawn he plans to have her shot.
A Shadow
by Nick Gisburne
A creeping sickness saturates the air
With suffocating clouds of toxic smog.
We both become increasingly aware
That something else is with us in the fog.
Escape would be unthinkable, insane,
Without the isolation suits we stole.
These vapours quickly liquify the brain,
Yet here a shadow shuffles, black as coal.
Before we take another step, it stops,
And points towards a fault beneath the floor.
The gangway just beyond it twists and drops;
We’d find our deaths before we found the door.
The shadow takes a turning, dimly lit.
Surrendering our fear, we follow it.
A creeping sickness saturates the air
With suffocating clouds of toxic smog.
We both become increasingly aware
That something else is with us in the fog.
Escape would be unthinkable, insane,
Without the isolation suits we stole.
These vapours quickly liquify the brain,
Yet here a shadow shuffles, black as coal.
Before we take another step, it stops,
And points towards a fault beneath the floor.
The gangway just beyond it twists and drops;
We’d find our deaths before we found the door.
The shadow takes a turning, dimly lit.
Surrendering our fear, we follow it.
Monday, 4 May 2026
Bridges of Bones
by Nick Gisburne
Our bridges are the bones of broken men.
They stretch to straddle cold, collapsing skies.
Where waterfalls of blood are born again,
The armies of insane extinction rise.
From cities filled with parasites they pour,
A pestilence ten thousand nightmares wide.
Whatever brutal carnage came before
Was just a ripple. Now we see the tide.
The screeching horrors death does not destroy,
With misery and mutilating pain,
Are burned beneath us, whether beast or boy.
By sunrise only smoke and bones remain.
We force their shattered rabble to retreat,
But more will come, and more will find defeat.
Our bridges are the bones of broken men.
They stretch to straddle cold, collapsing skies.
Where waterfalls of blood are born again,
The armies of insane extinction rise.
From cities filled with parasites they pour,
A pestilence ten thousand nightmares wide.
Whatever brutal carnage came before
Was just a ripple. Now we see the tide.
The screeching horrors death does not destroy,
With misery and mutilating pain,
Are burned beneath us, whether beast or boy.
By sunrise only smoke and bones remain.
We force their shattered rabble to retreat,
But more will come, and more will find defeat.
The Keeper of the Light
by Nick Gisburne
The Keeper of the Light arrives too late,
His prophecy already burned to ash.
He begs them, “Tell me why you never wait,
Embracing each inevitable crash.”
“We do not seek your bittersweet concern.
When finding us fulfilled, you interfere,
Yet in our greatest need you let us burn.
Our dreams are deeper when you disappear.”
He listens to their brutal words and weeps,
But understands the sense of what they say.
“The boldest man among you, when he leaps,
Will always risk tomorrow for today.”
Rejected by the world he sought to save,
The Keeper shines his brightness on the brave.
The Keeper of the Light arrives too late,
His prophecy already burned to ash.
He begs them, “Tell me why you never wait,
Embracing each inevitable crash.”
“We do not seek your bittersweet concern.
When finding us fulfilled, you interfere,
Yet in our greatest need you let us burn.
Our dreams are deeper when you disappear.”
He listens to their brutal words and weeps,
But understands the sense of what they say.
“The boldest man among you, when he leaps,
Will always risk tomorrow for today.”
Rejected by the world he sought to save,
The Keeper shines his brightness on the brave.
One Bullet
by Nick Gisburne
One bullet. Only one. It’s all she needs.
One bullet in the chamber. Cold. Alone.
She shivers as his twitching torso bleeds.
He should have seen it coming, should have known.
She’ll never find the innocence he took,
Or learn to turn her focus from the fear.
She staggers to the mirror. One more look,
Before the bullet makes it disappear.
He’s silent now, at last. It’s been a while.
The bullets in his body did their job.
She manages a small, dismissive smile,
Then whispers down the barrel with a sob.
One bullet and her dreams will all be dead.
She sends it through his evil heart instead.
One bullet. Only one. It’s all she needs.
One bullet in the chamber. Cold. Alone.
She shivers as his twitching torso bleeds.
He should have seen it coming, should have known.
She’ll never find the innocence he took,
Or learn to turn her focus from the fear.
She staggers to the mirror. One more look,
Before the bullet makes it disappear.
He’s silent now, at last. It’s been a while.
The bullets in his body did their job.
She manages a small, dismissive smile,
Then whispers down the barrel with a sob.
One bullet and her dreams will all be dead.
She sends it through his evil heart instead.
Sunday, 3 May 2026
The Secrets of the Mind
by Nick Gisburne
The mystery is more than magic now,
A secret no clairvoyant could explain.
The strangest science fails to fathom how
Her pure and perfect soul was sent insane.
The book. Was that the trigger of her fate?
She saw, she said, the secrets of the mind.
Her many letters never deviate,
In awe of it, astonished at her find.
Her later missives, frequently opaque,
Are detailed in a most disturbing way.
A final note, discovered at the lake,
Describes a creature. More I cannot say.
Restrained in chains, she babbles like a brook,
And cries, then tries to offer me the book.
The mystery is more than magic now,
A secret no clairvoyant could explain.
The strangest science fails to fathom how
Her pure and perfect soul was sent insane.
The book. Was that the trigger of her fate?
She saw, she said, the secrets of the mind.
Her many letters never deviate,
In awe of it, astonished at her find.
Her later missives, frequently opaque,
Are detailed in a most disturbing way.
A final note, discovered at the lake,
Describes a creature. More I cannot say.
Restrained in chains, she babbles like a brook,
And cries, then tries to offer me the book.
Henry
by Nick Gisburne
Excitement simmers. Henry takes the stage.
The crowd erupts in passionate applause.
He nails the presentation, page by page,
Establishing his comfort in the cause.
When crucial points and paradigms are stressed,
He tempers any tensions with a joke.
Expected interjections, all addressed,
Uncover nothing wrong they can’t revoke.
Euphoria resounds around the hall,
But now the crux, the cornerstone, the key,
A final cry, to sign and seal it all:
“Believe in what I bring. Believe in me!”
He sells deception, very keenly priced,
The market leader, Jesus Henry Christ.
Excitement simmers. Henry takes the stage.
The crowd erupts in passionate applause.
He nails the presentation, page by page,
Establishing his comfort in the cause.
When crucial points and paradigms are stressed,
He tempers any tensions with a joke.
Expected interjections, all addressed,
Uncover nothing wrong they can’t revoke.
Euphoria resounds around the hall,
But now the crux, the cornerstone, the key,
A final cry, to sign and seal it all:
“Believe in what I bring. Believe in me!”
He sells deception, very keenly priced,
The market leader, Jesus Henry Christ.
Coils of Colour
by Nick Gisburne
The corridors of power seem to sigh,
Their walls adorned with portraits from the past.
For he who found a way to catch their eye,
The faces come alive again at last.
His fingertips extend to feed their flesh,
To give them grim deliverance from death,
And stirred by something human, something fresh,
Each kindled spirit steals a broken breath.
Convulsing on the canvas, tortured souls,
Tormented by revival’s toxic thrill,
Resist the reach of he whose touch controls
Their revenance, but not their need to kill.
With coils of colour, tongues of tight restraint,
They drag him to the prison of their paint.
The corridors of power seem to sigh,
Their walls adorned with portraits from the past.
For he who found a way to catch their eye,
The faces come alive again at last.
His fingertips extend to feed their flesh,
To give them grim deliverance from death,
And stirred by something human, something fresh,
Each kindled spirit steals a broken breath.
Convulsing on the canvas, tortured souls,
Tormented by revival’s toxic thrill,
Resist the reach of he whose touch controls
Their revenance, but not their need to kill.
With coils of colour, tongues of tight restraint,
They drag him to the prison of their paint.
Saturday, 2 May 2026
Meadow Grass and Musk
by Nick Gisburne
In summer, when the ravening begins,
I find a little clarity of thought.
Perhaps the Sun diminishes my sins,
Or penetrates the trauma I was taught.
The days are slow to settle into dusk.
Such treasure, time, is never quite enough.
The gentle scents of meadow grass and musk
Are smothered in the dark by stronger stuff.
My kind was never destined for the day.
Alone, I seek redemption, love, and light.
It’s not for God’s forgiveness that I prey
Upon the fallen children of the night.
In summer, filled with colour, hope, and heat,
When daylight kneels to darkness I must eat.
In summer, when the ravening begins,
I find a little clarity of thought.
Perhaps the Sun diminishes my sins,
Or penetrates the trauma I was taught.
The days are slow to settle into dusk.
Such treasure, time, is never quite enough.
The gentle scents of meadow grass and musk
Are smothered in the dark by stronger stuff.
My kind was never destined for the day.
Alone, I seek redemption, love, and light.
It’s not for God’s forgiveness that I prey
Upon the fallen children of the night.
In summer, filled with colour, hope, and heat,
When daylight kneels to darkness I must eat.
The Vigilance Decree
by Nick Gisburne
It hums and hovers, everywhere I go,
A silver skull, recording all I am,
A sentinel, its tiny eyes aglow,
My government-assigned surveillance cam.
I point my gun directly at the head,
And as it backs away I simply smile.
The beacon fixed below it flashes red,
My first infraction ticket for a while.
I wonder what they really want to see,
The people watching everything we do.
Whoever signed the Vigilance Decree
Was paranoid and petty, through and through.
They tell us we are safe when we are seen,
But danger hides in sight, in this machine.
It hums and hovers, everywhere I go,
A silver skull, recording all I am,
A sentinel, its tiny eyes aglow,
My government-assigned surveillance cam.
I point my gun directly at the head,
And as it backs away I simply smile.
The beacon fixed below it flashes red,
My first infraction ticket for a while.
I wonder what they really want to see,
The people watching everything we do.
Whoever signed the Vigilance Decree
Was paranoid and petty, through and through.
They tell us we are safe when we are seen,
But danger hides in sight, in this machine.
Penetration Protocols
by Nick Gisburne
A thick emulsion drips from every deck,
A slurry of contaminated oils.
The ship, once gleaming, now a twisted wreck,
Is choked with curdled coolant from its coils.
The salvage bandits, itching to descend,
Await a final scan to get their ‘go’.
All penetration protocols depend
On who survived. How many. Any? No.
They crack the hull, and watch their baby bleed,
A thousand bodies thick, a human tide,
The richest of the rich, their brazen greed
Irrational, irrelevant. They died.
The auto-pilot, sabotaged in flight,
A simple act of jealousy and spite.
A thick emulsion drips from every deck,
A slurry of contaminated oils.
The ship, once gleaming, now a twisted wreck,
Is choked with curdled coolant from its coils.
The salvage bandits, itching to descend,
Await a final scan to get their ‘go’.
All penetration protocols depend
On who survived. How many. Any? No.
They crack the hull, and watch their baby bleed,
A thousand bodies thick, a human tide,
The richest of the rich, their brazen greed
Irrational, irrelevant. They died.
The auto-pilot, sabotaged in flight,
A simple act of jealousy and spite.
The River Card
by Nick Gisburne
I’m tuned for dropout, cranked and blasted, bad,
A supermax injection in the feed.
They hit me with a hundred mils of mad,
And spun me sick, but sick is what I need.
Reactivate the system. Punch the key,
The final, filthy button. Hit it, hard.
Incinerate the Dark Electra? Me?
Your fuckboys folded. I’m the river card.
Remember, when I bring that baby down,
Who’s laughing at your fat-infected fear.
Jacked up, jacked in, the only game in town,
You hear me? Good. Well listen hard - she’s here.
I’m going solo. Comms are off in five.
Be glad I’ve come to keep you cunts alive.
I’m tuned for dropout, cranked and blasted, bad,
A supermax injection in the feed.
They hit me with a hundred mils of mad,
And spun me sick, but sick is what I need.
Reactivate the system. Punch the key,
The final, filthy button. Hit it, hard.
Incinerate the Dark Electra? Me?
Your fuckboys folded. I’m the river card.
Remember, when I bring that baby down,
Who’s laughing at your fat-infected fear.
Jacked up, jacked in, the only game in town,
You hear me? Good. Well listen hard - she’s here.
I’m going solo. Comms are off in five.
Be glad I’ve come to keep you cunts alive.
Friday, 1 May 2026
Hello Mom
by Nick Gisburne
Elated to be here, at home, at last,
With all the deadly elements I need,
I contemplate the carnage of the blast,
The filthy, faithless traitors who will bleed.
My enemies will not unmask me now;
An alibi awaits me at the church.
The sacrilege in every spoken vow
Deflects them from the signs for which they search.
A simple, standard x-ray could reveal
That all my human organs were replaced.
Unchallenged, I was able to conceal
A quantity of high-explosive paste.
I send a coded message: HELLO MOM.
On cue, on Mars, it detonates the bomb.
Elated to be here, at home, at last,
With all the deadly elements I need,
I contemplate the carnage of the blast,
The filthy, faithless traitors who will bleed.
My enemies will not unmask me now;
An alibi awaits me at the church.
The sacrilege in every spoken vow
Deflects them from the signs for which they search.
A simple, standard x-ray could reveal
That all my human organs were replaced.
Unchallenged, I was able to conceal
A quantity of high-explosive paste.
I send a coded message: HELLO MOM.
On cue, on Mars, it detonates the bomb.
Government Guidelines: New Government
by Nick Gisburne
We’re back, and we apologise, of course.
Apocalypse was not a great success,
But rather than regale you with remorse,
We come to bring a drug for your distress.
We see that some who served us still survive,
But barely - this is not a pretty place.
Submit, and we will keep you all alive,
Though some we will imprison and replace.
Our guidance is an offering, a choice,
A future that we dare you to defy.
New government will take away your voice,
But in the end, without it, you will die.
Oppression is the price that you must pay,
And soon you’ll wish we never went away.
We’re back, and we apologise, of course.
Apocalypse was not a great success,
But rather than regale you with remorse,
We come to bring a drug for your distress.
We see that some who served us still survive,
But barely - this is not a pretty place.
Submit, and we will keep you all alive,
Though some we will imprison and replace.
Our guidance is an offering, a choice,
A future that we dare you to defy.
New government will take away your voice,
But in the end, without it, you will die.
Oppression is the price that you must pay,
And soon you’ll wish we never went away.
Government Guidelines: The Crucial Vote
by Nick Gisburne
To simplify the coming crucial vote,
Significant improvements will be made.
Before you try to register, please note:
The mandatory levy must be paid.
For those who pledge to please us, this is waived,
While those opposed will pay a polling tax.
You’ll need to give us every cent you’ve saved,
But only if you’re voting, so relax.
Anonymous no more, you may proceed,
Submitting to the biometric scan.
To legislate the unity we need,
Your government is pleased to push to this plan.
Persuaded to support the other side?
Remember. You can vote. You cannot hide.
To simplify the coming crucial vote,
Significant improvements will be made.
Before you try to register, please note:
The mandatory levy must be paid.
For those who pledge to please us, this is waived,
While those opposed will pay a polling tax.
You’ll need to give us every cent you’ve saved,
But only if you’re voting, so relax.
Anonymous no more, you may proceed,
Submitting to the biometric scan.
To legislate the unity we need,
Your government is pleased to push to this plan.
Persuaded to support the other side?
Remember. You can vote. You cannot hide.