A Caravan of Sorrows

by Nick Gisburne

---

They stagger through the desert in their droves
A caravan of sorrows, raw and red
At last they fall, to rest and light the stoves
To cook a meagre meal of scraps and bread
The smugglers work for money, nothing more
And yet, at night, another debt is due
Collected in the shadows, on the floor
The lonely, bitter burden of the few
Allowed no word of protest, no dissent
The desert gives them nowhere else to go
Their money, and their freedom, stolen, spent
What life, or death, awaits, they do not know
    The daylight drags them on, towards their dreams
    But darkness brings the sorrow of their screams

The End

by Nick Gisburne

---

The stranger draws the rifle from his coat
His fingers twist a broken poker chip
He throws another whiskey down his throat
And leaves a silver dollar for the tip
The faces at the tables turn away
A sign they see, but do not disapprove
The rhythmic rattle-tapping of his prey
A trail towards the man he must remove
The writer feels the presence of a friend
He hurries now to type the final word
And as his fingers finish with ‘The End’
A single, deadly rifle shot is heard
    The stranger pulls the story from his hand
    A ruthless tale, exactly as they planned

Fallen Flowers

by Nick Gisburne

---

A dagger splits the ceiling of the sky
The ship, a spinning blade of fractured light
A strangled thought, a question: “Will I die?”
Defiance, somehow, orders me to fight
We spiral through the atmosphere at speed
A single symbol penetrates my skull
Bewildered, as my eyes begin to bleed
I punch it, hard, to break apart the hull
The pieces fall like petals from a rose
But now another flower bursts to bloom
A canopy of shadow spreads and grows
And slowly I am lowered to my tomb
    The ship, the chute, and I, reveal our worth
    But all are fallen flowers, far from Earth

Walter the Warlock

by Nick Gisburne

---

Last of an infamous sorcerer line
Proud in the purple of wizards and kings
Scholar of spellwork to slay the divine
Drainer of demons, and sometimes he sings
Walter’s a wonder at working a spell
Mixes elixirs with nauseous names
Three of his wives were eternals from Hell
All of their children just burst into flames
Watch as he braces to battle the gods
Summons a salvo of furious force
Spies his opponents and ponders the odds
Greeks he can do, but don’t fuck with the Norse
    Sundays, when gods are too lazy to fight
    Waxes his wand till his whiskers turn white

Selling Secrets

by Nick Gisburne

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The sisters of the coven hear her scream
Convulsing since the punishment began
The penalty is harrowing, extreme
For one who sells her secrets to a man
The shadows binding body, soul, and art
Give warning of temptation and excess
Unlocking hidden doorways to the heart
She sold what only witches may possess
Her treason, her betrayal, brought her this
Vitality and magic torn away
A diabolic metamorphosis
Transforms her flesh to ugly, crippled clay
    They bind her to the stake and curse her name
    The faithless traitor, burning in the flame

I’m Rapunzel, Get Me Out of Here

by Nick Gisburne

---

The rescue was a nightmare from the start
Without a proper plan it turned to farce
Whoever thought it wouldn’t fall apart
Should stick another blueprint up his arse
Rapunzel found a prince to lend a hand
But government officials stood their ground
A bylaw meant that ropes of hair were banned
A regulation scaffolding was found
In seven days the platform was complete
Certificates of safety duly signed
But victory was short and bittersweet
The bloody thing collapsed and they were fined
    Rapunzel could have let down all her hair
    But not before the paperwork was there

Hate Mail

by Nick Gisburne

---

I write to say you’re getting on my nerves
The more I think of you, the more I hate
Your twisted mind will get what it deserves
And even if you’re sorry, it’s too late
The lies will crash and burn and bring you down
Remember what you are, a waste of space
Perhaps you think you’re funny? You’re a clown
But all the world is laughing in your face
You need to know the simple truth at last
So let me be the one to tell you first
The time when I believed in you has passed
May all your days be wretched, short, and cursed
    The letter, sealed, is waiting on the shelf
    Tomorrow I will post it, to myself

Dancing Puppets

by Nick Gisburne

---

The afternoon amusements have arrived
The thrill of expectation is divine
The members gather, restless and revived
An educated audience of nine
The club was categoric in its choice
No preference was ever made so clear
Descending from above, our hearts rejoice
To see the dancing puppet show appear
The ignorant know nothing of the art
A secretive tradition from the past
They dangle and they dance and then depart
We hear the chimes - the meal is served at last
    The puppets, human, dainty on their feet
    The dancing adds such flavour to their meat

Defending the Dream

by Nick Gisburne

---

Robotic legions gather in the storm
They feed upon its elemental force
Electric armies separate and swarm
They kill without emotion or remorse
Fanatical defenders meet the strike
Kinetic giants, equal to the task
Immense, opposing armies, both alike
Machines which go to war when others ask
The remnants of humanity are trapped
They cower in the ruins, gripped by fear
Synthetic soldiers endlessly adapt
Yet why they fight is now no longer clear
    While Armageddon rages overhead
    The dream they once defended, hope, is dead

A Poisonous Procedure

by Nick Gisburne

---

His potion sears the surface of my throat
Malignant toxins twist like coiling steam
The necromancer’s eyes are dark, remote
They scan the sacred runes as though they dream
A nest of squirming vipers fills my jaw
Voracious serpents, ravenous for flesh
The spell’s elixir animates them more
They burrow deep, in search of food more fresh
The narrow span of time before I die
Can yet be lengthened with an ancient drug
Injected with a bodkin through the eye
His pincers reach within my throat and tug
    The snakes are shrivelled, impotent, and dead
    This dentist is the one I always dread

Churchwarden Chores

by Nick Gisburne

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I’m weary of this aspect of my work
The blood of slaughter sticking to my boots
Another pagan party gone berserk
Those cannibals - voracious little brutes
More chunky lumps of flesh to sweep away
And kidneys from a corpse without a head
I long to take a break, for just a day
To please myself, and not the living dead
But sunset comes to haunt me with its bite
My gruesome list of chores begins again
Proceeding to the crypt by candlelight
I serve my Lord his breakfast blood at ten
    Before we host the Tea and Torture Club
    I think I’ll give the altar boys a scrub

Sealed Inside

by Nick Gisburne

---

They sealed her in the dark to rot away
No mercy, no release, will ever come
How fragile seems her sanity today
How long before her spirit will succumb?
They gave her little time to plead her case
Pretending that they listened, they did not
The bruises on her body, on her face
Reflections of their fury, high and hot
The only thing she wanted was respect
Acknowledging her struggle to survive
But everything she honours they reject
She wonders why they keep her here, alive
    The daughter they despise was once their son
    A truth from which their minds can never run

The Whisper in the Frost

by Nick Gisburne

---

They say she is the Whisper in the Frost
A succubus behind a frozen veil
She lures the ghosts of angels who have crossed
And hurls them down from Heaven with her tail
The dreams of men are deep before the dawn
At night she takes her pleasure from their skin
Forever to her whispers they are drawn
Forever are their souls consumed by sin
But death is swift for those who hear her speak
For they shall know the whisper of her name
The body, drained of passion, barren, bleak
The heart, forever frozen, stained by shame
    With every stolen dream there comes a cost
    No soul survives the Whisper in the Frost

The Centre of the Wall

by Nick Gisburne

---

She finds the perfect centre of the wall
The keystone of her courage, worn and grey
The ocean, far below, won’t break the fall
Perhaps the waves will wash her pain away
Confusing as her life has now become
She hesitates to jump, to seek its end
This place, the wall, the centre, leaves her numb
The symmetry, the focus, is her friend
The burdens of her mind mean nothing here
The glory of the ocean makes them small
The world has always magnified her fear
But now she does not see its face at all
    And yet, beyond the centre of her mind
    Such peace may be impossible to find

Government Guidelines: Child Delivery

by Nick Gisburne

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Your allocated infant has emerged
Internal organs fitted and dewormed
The antenatal cylinder was purged
Dispatch, by basic birth crate, is confirmed
The child should never deviate in thought
Effective isolation is the key
Submission, duty, service, must be taught
Authority and order set us free
Permit no interaction with its peers
Contaminated contact breeds mistakes
Control the mind with standard primal fears
Free will must be suppressed until it breaks
    Correction. Quota limits now apply
    Your infant will be vaporised. Goodbye

Ball Problems

by Nick Gisburne

---

The Dying, Dead and Undead Winter Ball
Its decadence deflated after dark
The worst satanic orgy of them all
Pathetic as a werewolf baby’s bark
The walkers of the night are frosty folk
A holy water fountain caused a stir
But crosses in the cocktails, just a joke
Were blasted as a vampire racial slur
The sacrifice, supposed to clear the air
Was smothered in a garlic butter paste
The pentagram turned out to be a square
And all the virgin brides were far from chaste
    The reason for the treason and the shame?
    The caterer, Van Helsing, was to blame

Morgue Report

by Nick Gisburne

---

The subject is deceased, Caucasian, male
Uncertain lifespan, tall and heavy, strong
All teeth are brown and crooked, thick with scale
Hair curly, greasy, reddish-brown, and long
Bizarre, abnormal markings mask the eyes
Their lids enhanced and darkened, vivid black
Large, pallid circles, lined to emphasise
The brows have been removed, but painted back
Distorted mouth, grotesquely modified
The colour of the lips: a shade of rose
Remaining skin shows body paint applied
A spongy, crimson ball obscures the nose
    You’ll find a thousand suspects in this town
    And all of them would kill a killer clown

Peter

by Nick Gisburne

---

I’m Peter, your imaginary friend
I’ve come to change your life and free your soul
Your mind is what deceives you in the end
But I will take the lies and leave you whole
The old ones tried to frighten me away
But children, on their birthdays, need me most
Let’s go up to the rooftop. We can play
Perhaps we’ll see an angel, or a ghost
Up here, this little stairway to the sky
Put on these special wings. That’s good. That’s right
I know that you can do it. You can fly
Just one more step, then jump towards the light
    I’m Peter. I’m so happy we could meet
    And look, that’s you, below us, on the street

Tina, The Wobblier Princess

by Nick Gisburne

---

She breaks their balls in battle, it’s her way
The pagan princess, Tina, reigns supreme
And when she’s high on sugar, so they say
She’ll fight until the cakes run out of cream
Her dragon armour shows a lot of skin
But touch it and she’ll rip your face in two
She staggers round the tavern, drinking gin
Her diva dreams are faded, failed, and few
She worries that her fists won’t pack a punch
And what will fall out first if she should trip
She longs to find a sea of skulls to crunch
Her arms can snap the biggest battleship
    She’s cranky and she’s old, but not quite dead
    She’ll fight you, but she’d rather stay in bed

Stripes

by Nick Gisburne

---

They slice another stripe across my back
Professionals, they use the surgeon’s tools
His mind machine is still inside the sack
A thief who’s caught is punished - not my rules
Perception blurs, untethered from my head
Distorted by the smell of burning meat
I wonder if I’ll know when I am dead
How long until the flesh admits defeat?
They know their business, disciplined, extreme
The boss man waits and watches, sips his tea
He nods with every whimper, every scream
Perhaps one day he’ll know: that isn’t me
    The mind machine - I’m in his brother’s brain
    But he’s in mine, and feeling all the pain