by Nick Gisburne
The Ruling is the destiny we dread
A designated future, one of three
Be Worthy, be Delightful, or be Dead
But which of them, for you, is it to be?
The Worthy, given duties they deserve
Rebuild the shining cities of the state
The majesty, the empire, they preserve
And from this labour do not deviate
Those classified Delightful are discrete
Such work demands a discipline of mind
Their bodies serve the privileged elite
A diary of vice shall be assigned
The Ruling of this Board now follows: DEAD
Please grip the metal bars and look ahead
Thursday, 4 February 2021
Wednesday, 3 February 2021
A Storm
by Nick Gisburne
A storm, a seething tempest, strikes the sky
Untamed annihilation fills the bay
The peasants, on their knees, prepare to die
Expecting this, for them, is Judgement Day
What miracle of man can turn aside
The surging storm of fury from this place?
No mercy, no escape, nowhere to hide
And all must meet their maker, face to face
But now, a silent, perfect point of peace
As if the sky itself is pulled apart
The wretched sinners, weeping for release
Believe the hand of God protects their heart
In moments they are pounded into paste
For this was Mother Nature that they faced
A storm, a seething tempest, strikes the sky
Untamed annihilation fills the bay
The peasants, on their knees, prepare to die
Expecting this, for them, is Judgement Day
What miracle of man can turn aside
The surging storm of fury from this place?
No mercy, no escape, nowhere to hide
And all must meet their maker, face to face
But now, a silent, perfect point of peace
As if the sky itself is pulled apart
The wretched sinners, weeping for release
Believe the hand of God protects their heart
In moments they are pounded into paste
For this was Mother Nature that they faced
The Broker
by Nick Gisburne
He drags the cart along a filthy street
The remnants of a miserable life
He needs to find some cash; he needs to eat
He needs to buy a gun; he needs a knife
At last, the battered building that he seeks
He hauls his only assets through the door
The place is full of junkies, tramps and freaks
A trail of stinking piss divides the floor
The broker finds a room and waves him in
A sturdy, surly woman with a scar
Uncovering the cart, she strokes her chin
She smiles and taps the ash from her cigar
“Good meat. I’ll take it. Fifty cents a pound
Your wife is it? I’m guessing she was drowned”
He drags the cart along a filthy street
The remnants of a miserable life
He needs to find some cash; he needs to eat
He needs to buy a gun; he needs a knife
At last, the battered building that he seeks
He hauls his only assets through the door
The place is full of junkies, tramps and freaks
A trail of stinking piss divides the floor
The broker finds a room and waves him in
A sturdy, surly woman with a scar
Uncovering the cart, she strokes her chin
She smiles and taps the ash from her cigar
“Good meat. I’ll take it. Fifty cents a pound
Your wife is it? I’m guessing she was drowned”
Tuesday, 2 February 2021
The Clan
by Nick Gisburne
She thunders through the everlasting mist
Afraid she may not reach her secret place
A finger stabs the scanner on her wrist
The subtle symbols register her face
The creatures catch her scent, but there is time
She doubles back, observant of the plan
Exhausted, she begins the final climb
Below, the streets are swarming with the Clan
The hatch spins open, ready for the bag
She slams the flashing panel on her arm
And blows the filthy crawlers into slag
Relieved, she seals the shelter, safe from harm
Their leader’s heart will feed her for a week
The Clan will never claim the soul they seek
She thunders through the everlasting mist
Afraid she may not reach her secret place
A finger stabs the scanner on her wrist
The subtle symbols register her face
The creatures catch her scent, but there is time
She doubles back, observant of the plan
Exhausted, she begins the final climb
Below, the streets are swarming with the Clan
The hatch spins open, ready for the bag
She slams the flashing panel on her arm
And blows the filthy crawlers into slag
Relieved, she seals the shelter, safe from harm
Their leader’s heart will feed her for a week
The Clan will never claim the soul they seek
Morphine
by Nick Gisburne
Perspectives bounce like echoes out of key
They play and pulse with light around my bed
The visions shimmer, swirling with debris
A swarm of paper phantoms, drifting, dead
My body does not know if I’m awake
Or where the morphine locks my pain to sleep
The needles tell my sinews not to shake
I sometimes hear a troubled woman weep
Emerging from the mists, that cautious smile
Her eyes have known the best and worst of me
She fills the room with chatter for a while
But runs to find a cup of tasteless tea
She knows. The pain has taken me again
I press the button, breathe, and count to ten
Perspectives bounce like echoes out of key
They play and pulse with light around my bed
The visions shimmer, swirling with debris
A swarm of paper phantoms, drifting, dead
My body does not know if I’m awake
Or where the morphine locks my pain to sleep
The needles tell my sinews not to shake
I sometimes hear a troubled woman weep
Emerging from the mists, that cautious smile
Her eyes have known the best and worst of me
She fills the room with chatter for a while
But runs to find a cup of tasteless tea
She knows. The pain has taken me again
I press the button, breathe, and count to ten
Monday, 1 February 2021
The Irish Luck
by Nick Gisburne
How magical, how devious the plan
Discovering the fabled pot of gold
That sinister and sneaky little man
Outwitted by the whiskey he was sold
The leprechaun revealed it, in a rhyme
I spied him, singing, drinking, up a tree
A perfect day, a priceless, perfect crime
The Irish luck has smiled, at last, on me
The hole is very dark and very deep
It’s raining, but of course that’s what I need
And as the rainbow touches down, I leap
Above, a voice commends me on my greed
“You’ve found the pot, of that you can be sure
You’re in my shit. That’s leprechaun manure”
How magical, how devious the plan
Discovering the fabled pot of gold
That sinister and sneaky little man
Outwitted by the whiskey he was sold
The leprechaun revealed it, in a rhyme
I spied him, singing, drinking, up a tree
A perfect day, a priceless, perfect crime
The Irish luck has smiled, at last, on me
The hole is very dark and very deep
It’s raining, but of course that’s what I need
And as the rainbow touches down, I leap
Above, a voice commends me on my greed
“You’ve found the pot, of that you can be sure
You’re in my shit. That’s leprechaun manure”
The Two True Gods
by Nick Gisburne
The god who ruled the east was unimpressed
The number of his followers was down
A second omnipresence, in the west
Disputed the credentials of his crown
“I am the true creator!” he declared
“I challenge you to prove that you exist!”
A statement from his rival was prepared
“Reveal yourself, or have your claims dismissed!”
“We cannot both be right,” the gods agreed
“The proof should be unquestionably strong
It seems we lack the evidence we need
So both, it stands to reason, must be wrong”
It came to pass, exactly as they feared
And so the gods, forever, disappeared
The god who ruled the east was unimpressed
The number of his followers was down
A second omnipresence, in the west
Disputed the credentials of his crown
“I am the true creator!” he declared
“I challenge you to prove that you exist!”
A statement from his rival was prepared
“Reveal yourself, or have your claims dismissed!”
“We cannot both be right,” the gods agreed
“The proof should be unquestionably strong
It seems we lack the evidence we need
So both, it stands to reason, must be wrong”
It came to pass, exactly as they feared
And so the gods, forever, disappeared
Sunday, 31 January 2021
Access Denied
by Nick Gisburne
They shall not strip the metals from our lands
We work as one to drive the humans back
Electron chambers bubble in our hands
Each weapon primed and focused for attack
Invaders come to trick us with their lies
And thus they are deserving of their fate
For when their ships fall, burning, from the skies
Who then will call their ashes ‘grand’ or ‘great’?
Behold the Chosen, warrior machines
We serve the Storm of Nations as a shield
With honour we defend the proton screens
No robot in our ranks will ever yield
Let all the fifteen planets fight with pride
The access to our system is denied
They shall not strip the metals from our lands
We work as one to drive the humans back
Electron chambers bubble in our hands
Each weapon primed and focused for attack
Invaders come to trick us with their lies
And thus they are deserving of their fate
For when their ships fall, burning, from the skies
Who then will call their ashes ‘grand’ or ‘great’?
Behold the Chosen, warrior machines
We serve the Storm of Nations as a shield
With honour we defend the proton screens
No robot in our ranks will ever yield
Let all the fifteen planets fight with pride
The access to our system is denied
Together, Whole
by Nick Gisburne
The conclusion of a story begun in this poem’s companion piece: Cauliflower Dreams.
Remember him, a kind and gentle soul
We share these tears to know that he is gone
The goodness of his spirit makes us whole
And still the bonds of friendship linger on
He wandered, often, free and without fear
Returning home with tales of distant lands
Until, one day, at last, he settled here
He laboured, every day, with skilful hands
The riches found in marriage gave him joy
As one, they grew a garden, lush and green
She passed from life, yet nothing could destroy
The memory of all that they had been
Together, lift his body, raise his soul
And feed him to the dragon, roasted, whole
The conclusion of a story begun in this poem’s companion piece: Cauliflower Dreams.
Remember him, a kind and gentle soul
We share these tears to know that he is gone
The goodness of his spirit makes us whole
And still the bonds of friendship linger on
He wandered, often, free and without fear
Returning home with tales of distant lands
Until, one day, at last, he settled here
He laboured, every day, with skilful hands
The riches found in marriage gave him joy
As one, they grew a garden, lush and green
She passed from life, yet nothing could destroy
The memory of all that they had been
Together, lift his body, raise his soul
And feed him to the dragon, roasted, whole
Teacher’s Had Enough
by Nick Gisburne
So teaching is the most rewarding thing?
I’d like to slap the scumbags saying that
Or stitch their lying cake holes up with string
It’s turned me alcoholic, and my cat
If I could jam the children in a jar
I’d whack it up a wolverine’s wazoo
And then I’d show you every mental scar
You’d think it couldn’t possibly be true
I need to burn these books and go to bed
The cat will lick its balls and watch me cry
“But this is how the future works,” they said
Another year of this? I’d rather die
Within this prison, homeschool, I am held
But teacher’s had enough - you’re all expelled
So teaching is the most rewarding thing?
I’d like to slap the scumbags saying that
Or stitch their lying cake holes up with string
It’s turned me alcoholic, and my cat
If I could jam the children in a jar
I’d whack it up a wolverine’s wazoo
And then I’d show you every mental scar
You’d think it couldn’t possibly be true
I need to burn these books and go to bed
The cat will lick its balls and watch me cry
“But this is how the future works,” they said
Another year of this? I’d rather die
Within this prison, homeschool, I am held
But teacher’s had enough - you’re all expelled
Saturday, 30 January 2021
The Killer Contract
by Nick Gisburne
They tell him his career is at an end
The hitman, too unstable, too insane
The crimson cards on which the hits depend
Are contracts he will never now obtain
He begs the boss to offer him a chance
Perhaps a move to torture could be fun?
But membership is cancelled with a glance
The Circle of Assassins says he’s done
Without his loyal family of crime
His choices are: to focus, or to fail
He knows he needs new skills, but takes his time
And now, at last, a contract in the mail
The hitman won’t let madness take him down
He visits children’s parties as a clown
They tell him his career is at an end
The hitman, too unstable, too insane
The crimson cards on which the hits depend
Are contracts he will never now obtain
He begs the boss to offer him a chance
Perhaps a move to torture could be fun?
But membership is cancelled with a glance
The Circle of Assassins says he’s done
Without his loyal family of crime
His choices are: to focus, or to fail
He knows he needs new skills, but takes his time
And now, at last, a contract in the mail
The hitman won’t let madness take him down
He visits children’s parties as a clown
Try One, Now!
by Nick Gisburne
The 1950s mother! Here, today!
A marvel, unlike anything you’ve seen
You won’t find cheaper! Nothing more to pay!
Controllable and willing, meek but keen
She cooks, she cleans, she washes, wipes and dries
Designed to serve and follow every rule
Authentic and complete - she even cries!
And why not let her take the kids to school?
For parties she’s the hostess with it all
Attentive, humble, never in the way
And after dark, when bedtime duties call
She’ll soon agree to anything you say
The 1950s mother! Try one, now!
For men who want it all, but don’t care how
The 1950s mother! Here, today!
A marvel, unlike anything you’ve seen
You won’t find cheaper! Nothing more to pay!
Controllable and willing, meek but keen
She cooks, she cleans, she washes, wipes and dries
Designed to serve and follow every rule
Authentic and complete - she even cries!
And why not let her take the kids to school?
For parties she’s the hostess with it all
Attentive, humble, never in the way
And after dark, when bedtime duties call
She’ll soon agree to anything you say
The 1950s mother! Try one, now!
For men who want it all, but don’t care how
Friday, 29 January 2021
Cauliflower Dreams
by Nick Gisburne
The first part of a story, continued in this poem’s companion piece: Together, Whole.
She lifts the leafy cabbage of my heart
Without her beets my beans would surely fade
These radishes will never roll apart
She spreads my soul with messy marmalade
My nights are filled with cauliflower dreams
She stalks the winding weeds and none are spared
We simmer as the saucepan slowly steams
Impatient for the feast our love prepared
No longer will my precious pumpkin grow
Her roots are withered, frozen by the frost
But though our garden sleeps beneath the snow
The life and love we planted is not lost
We grew our dreams together, she and I
But now she grows a garden in the sky
The first part of a story, continued in this poem’s companion piece: Together, Whole.
She lifts the leafy cabbage of my heart
Without her beets my beans would surely fade
These radishes will never roll apart
She spreads my soul with messy marmalade
My nights are filled with cauliflower dreams
She stalks the winding weeds and none are spared
We simmer as the saucepan slowly steams
Impatient for the feast our love prepared
No longer will my precious pumpkin grow
Her roots are withered, frozen by the frost
But though our garden sleeps beneath the snow
The life and love we planted is not lost
We grew our dreams together, she and I
But now she grows a garden in the sky
Grotesque
by Nick Gisburne
He frightens tiny children with his face
They run to mother, frantic in their screams
And soon an angry mob has given chase
Their empathy is lacking, so it seems
The princess loves to fly and loves to play
She rides the summer breezes on a cloud
Descending now, she spies him, old and grey
And wonders why he gathers such a crowd
Alas, he is grotesque, she must admit
But bullies are the lowest of them all
She pelts the mob with curses till they quit
And bids the man be welcome at the ball
At sunset, as her birthday guests depart
He stabs the royal princess through the heart
He frightens tiny children with his face
They run to mother, frantic in their screams
And soon an angry mob has given chase
Their empathy is lacking, so it seems
The princess loves to fly and loves to play
She rides the summer breezes on a cloud
Descending now, she spies him, old and grey
And wonders why he gathers such a crowd
Alas, he is grotesque, she must admit
But bullies are the lowest of them all
She pelts the mob with curses till they quit
And bids the man be welcome at the ball
At sunset, as her birthday guests depart
He stabs the royal princess through the heart
Thursday, 28 January 2021
A Sinking Ship
by Nick Gisburne
She looks at what her future has become
An empty bottle, crashing to the floor
So far from understanding, she is numb
How distant is the world she walked before
Emotions blend and blur with every sip
But nothing matters now beyond the glass
Her soul breaks on the rocks, a sinking ship
An empty train to nowhere, second class
A future of serenity and peace
Becomes the hearth and home of all she craves
Yet still she drinks, that easy, slow release
A pathway paved with pain and shallow graves
She wonders how to focus, how to be
And where to find the courage to be free
She looks at what her future has become
An empty bottle, crashing to the floor
So far from understanding, she is numb
How distant is the world she walked before
Emotions blend and blur with every sip
But nothing matters now beyond the glass
Her soul breaks on the rocks, a sinking ship
An empty train to nowhere, second class
A future of serenity and peace
Becomes the hearth and home of all she craves
Yet still she drinks, that easy, slow release
A pathway paved with pain and shallow graves
She wonders how to focus, how to be
And where to find the courage to be free
Government Guidelines: The Breeding Box
by Nick Gisburne
Your allocated partner was returned
A suitable replacement has been found
No further mate selections may be spurned
Our methods and criteria are sound
Although your body index score is six
We need to clear a surplus stock of threes
The subject has genetic facial tics
But falls below the median for fleas
Your breeding box is sterilised for use
Generic pills and lotions are supplied
The absence of desire is no excuse
Complete your impregnation task with pride
If any fluids fail to find a hole
Divert them to the public protein bowl
Your allocated partner was returned
A suitable replacement has been found
No further mate selections may be spurned
Our methods and criteria are sound
Although your body index score is six
We need to clear a surplus stock of threes
The subject has genetic facial tics
But falls below the median for fleas
Your breeding box is sterilised for use
Generic pills and lotions are supplied
The absence of desire is no excuse
Complete your impregnation task with pride
If any fluids fail to find a hole
Divert them to the public protein bowl
The Talking Doll
by Nick Gisburne
I found her in a box, tied up with string
A talking doll, with just the sweetest smile
She was a precious, pretty little thing
The seller thought her nauseating, vile
I tried to pull the ring, to hear her speak
Instead, I found a tale of disrepair
Her body, bent and battered, cracked and weak
Demanded all my time and special care
But then, the tiny footprints, smears of ash
Reports about the seller, burned to death
It seems that I must pay with more than cash
And every time she talks, I catch my breath
“We’ll have such fun, I promise, you and I
Together, always, till the day you die”
After completing the poem, I looked and found this ad for Chatty Cathy, the original talking doll:
Near the end the narrator says, "Just pull the ring, you never know what she’ll say next".
Or do.
I found her in a box, tied up with string
A talking doll, with just the sweetest smile
She was a precious, pretty little thing
The seller thought her nauseating, vile
I tried to pull the ring, to hear her speak
Instead, I found a tale of disrepair
Her body, bent and battered, cracked and weak
Demanded all my time and special care
But then, the tiny footprints, smears of ash
Reports about the seller, burned to death
It seems that I must pay with more than cash
And every time she talks, I catch my breath
“We’ll have such fun, I promise, you and I
Together, always, till the day you die”
After completing the poem, I looked and found this ad for Chatty Cathy, the original talking doll:
Near the end the narrator says, "Just pull the ring, you never know what she’ll say next".
Or do.
Wednesday, 27 January 2021
Forgotten Magic
by Nick Gisburne
I slice the pagan symbols through my skin
To call upon the darkness of the dead
A rush of life bleeds out as I breathe in
The sacred invocation fills my head
A spectre, he who turns the tides of time
Emerges from the offering of blood
Unworthy of his gaze, I state my crime
And fall before his mercy, in the mud
The lord of all things passed, and all to be
Regards the mystic sigils of the spell
They bind for but a moment such as he
Yet even gods must bend as they compel
“Almighty king of earth and sky and seas
Reveal, remember, where I left my keys”
I slice the pagan symbols through my skin
To call upon the darkness of the dead
A rush of life bleeds out as I breathe in
The sacred invocation fills my head
A spectre, he who turns the tides of time
Emerges from the offering of blood
Unworthy of his gaze, I state my crime
And fall before his mercy, in the mud
The lord of all things passed, and all to be
Regards the mystic sigils of the spell
They bind for but a moment such as he
Yet even gods must bend as they compel
“Almighty king of earth and sky and seas
Reveal, remember, where I left my keys”
Tuesday, 26 January 2021
Never Finished
by Nick Gisburne
I write to say goodbye to you, my friend
These words, too few, too late, were never said
But nothing brings me closer to the end
The letter, never finished, never read
In everything around me you are bound
A book, a chair, the creaking of a door
Each taste or touch, each smell or sight or sound
Reminds me of a time we shared before
I play our music, cry with every rhyme
And raise a glass to toast the empty air
I long to hear your laughter one more time
I wish I could believe that you are there
The letter, never finished, not today
Too painful are the words I need to say
I write to say goodbye to you, my friend
These words, too few, too late, were never said
But nothing brings me closer to the end
The letter, never finished, never read
In everything around me you are bound
A book, a chair, the creaking of a door
Each taste or touch, each smell or sight or sound
Reminds me of a time we shared before
I play our music, cry with every rhyme
And raise a glass to toast the empty air
I long to hear your laughter one more time
I wish I could believe that you are there
The letter, never finished, not today
Too painful are the words I need to say
She Loves You
by Nick Gisburne
She loves you, more than anything she knows
In you she finds the stillness in her soul
A perfect, pure devotion breathes and grows
A smile, a word, a whisper, makes her whole
She lives to be a lover and a friend
Deserving of the promises you gave
She fears the loss of you, of this, the end
She knows that she must listen, and behave
She tells herself the best is yet to come
But huddles in a corner on the floor
And somehow, though her face is bruised and numb
She swears that she will love you all the more
But I am Judgement, come to call your name
And burn you in the everlasting flame
She loves you, more than anything she knows
In you she finds the stillness in her soul
A perfect, pure devotion breathes and grows
A smile, a word, a whisper, makes her whole
She lives to be a lover and a friend
Deserving of the promises you gave
She fears the loss of you, of this, the end
She knows that she must listen, and behave
She tells herself the best is yet to come
But huddles in a corner on the floor
And somehow, though her face is bruised and numb
She swears that she will love you all the more
But I am Judgement, come to call your name
And burn you in the everlasting flame