by Nick Gisburne
The people’s park, a verdant city space,
Is destined for destruction by the state.
Confused, chaotic, nature has no place.
The future, flawless, faceless, will not wait.
Our elders walked here, paused to find their peace,
But we, their grey descendants, are the last.
Tomorrow, every sight and sound will cease,
A footnote for the archives, for the past.
Ashamed to be complicit in the crime,
We find a way to fight, behind their backs.
With stolen seeds, with secrecy, with time,
We colonise the concrete, in the cracks.
With every shoot a hint of growth, of green,
Reminds a sterile world what might have been.
Monday, 12 September 2022
Sunday, 11 September 2022
Rage Returns
by Nick Gisburne
Unwise we were, to trust your brother’s blood.
The poison of its passion boils and burns.
We look too late, too slow to fight the flood,
The darkness as his vicious rage returns.
The people are his puppets, playthings, toys,
Destroyed, disfigured, twisted on a whim.
Their suffering, the greatest of his joys,
Is breathless bliss, a miracle, to him.
New nightmares are the scripture of his crimes.
The screams of troubled slumber paint his plan.
You warned us this would be, a thousand times,
And still we offered mercy to the man.
Sadistic shades of evil stain his face.
Destroy him, daughter. Take your brother’s place.
Unwise we were, to trust your brother’s blood.
The poison of its passion boils and burns.
We look too late, too slow to fight the flood,
The darkness as his vicious rage returns.
The people are his puppets, playthings, toys,
Destroyed, disfigured, twisted on a whim.
Their suffering, the greatest of his joys,
Is breathless bliss, a miracle, to him.
New nightmares are the scripture of his crimes.
The screams of troubled slumber paint his plan.
You warned us this would be, a thousand times,
And still we offered mercy to the man.
Sadistic shades of evil stain his face.
Destroy him, daughter. Take your brother’s place.
Saturday, 10 September 2022
The Broken King
by Nick Gisburne
I take the shortest straw, by chance, by choice,
Selected by the fickleness of fate.
Untroubled by its meaning, I rejoice,
My focus on the figurehead of hate.
The monarch, mad, malicious, crazed, confused,
Dishonours every jewel of the crown.
The empire, warped by wickedness, abused,
Will breathe, reborn, when justice drags him down.
Unchallenged by the soldiers of the guard,
By those who knew this day would surely come,
I deal the broken king his final card.
They find me, still and silent, kneeling, numb.
A servant of the greater good, a pawn,
My sentence will be swift. I die at dawn.
I take the shortest straw, by chance, by choice,
Selected by the fickleness of fate.
Untroubled by its meaning, I rejoice,
My focus on the figurehead of hate.
The monarch, mad, malicious, crazed, confused,
Dishonours every jewel of the crown.
The empire, warped by wickedness, abused,
Will breathe, reborn, when justice drags him down.
Unchallenged by the soldiers of the guard,
By those who knew this day would surely come,
I deal the broken king his final card.
They find me, still and silent, kneeling, numb.
A servant of the greater good, a pawn,
My sentence will be swift. I die at dawn.
Stolen Spirits
by Nick Gisburne
The bottle is a timeless prison, mine.
A psychedelic sweetness pulled me in.
Hypnotic songs, addictive by design,
Concealed a deadly secret in their spin.
Her laughter, fevered, frequent, fills the space,
The torment of a thousand captive years.
I strive to split the smoke, to find her face,
But soon her swirling spectre disappears.
Another, more, for she was not the last.
How many, snatched and shackled by the spell?
A legion, without name or number, vast,
Surrounds me in this vessel forged in Hell.
My flesh unravels, pain with every twist,
A stolen spirit, screaming in the mist.
The bottle is a timeless prison, mine.
A psychedelic sweetness pulled me in.
Hypnotic songs, addictive by design,
Concealed a deadly secret in their spin.
Her laughter, fevered, frequent, fills the space,
The torment of a thousand captive years.
I strive to split the smoke, to find her face,
But soon her swirling spectre disappears.
Another, more, for she was not the last.
How many, snatched and shackled by the spell?
A legion, without name or number, vast,
Surrounds me in this vessel forged in Hell.
My flesh unravels, pain with every twist,
A stolen spirit, screaming in the mist.
A Family of Hearts
by Nick Gisburne
A crate of strange materials is lost,
Diverted by deception, murder, lies.
We chip and scrape through thick, metallic frost,
And scrutinise the hoard with eager eyes.
The Duchess studies every precious piece,
And scrupulously scribbles cryptic notes.
Among the damned Dystopian Police
She rules a list of hated, hunted throats.
For her this was no ordinary heist,
No random snatch of scientific parts.
Each piece of pure perfection, packed and iced,
A relic from a family of hearts.
To each the pulse of treason will return,
United, as the human cities burn.
A crate of strange materials is lost,
Diverted by deception, murder, lies.
We chip and scrape through thick, metallic frost,
And scrutinise the hoard with eager eyes.
The Duchess studies every precious piece,
And scrupulously scribbles cryptic notes.
Among the damned Dystopian Police
She rules a list of hated, hunted throats.
For her this was no ordinary heist,
No random snatch of scientific parts.
Each piece of pure perfection, packed and iced,
A relic from a family of hearts.
To each the pulse of treason will return,
United, as the human cities burn.
Friday, 9 September 2022
A Portrait of Despair
by Nick Gisburne
She scratches at the mask to find her face,
But sorrow, shame and worry drag her back.
Her memories are tainted with disgrace,
Distorted, dark illusions, broken, black.
The world beyond the prison of her mind
Is one she fears to touch, to taste, to try.
Emotions maim her. Better to be blind
Than see the pity in another’s eye.
Frustrated, frozen, failing to perform,
She hides behind excuses, reasons, lies.
Seclusion brings her comfort, keeps her warm,
But, safe inside its sterile walls, she cries.
She longs to be a someone, something rare,
But paints a painful portrait of despair.
She scratches at the mask to find her face,
But sorrow, shame and worry drag her back.
Her memories are tainted with disgrace,
Distorted, dark illusions, broken, black.
The world beyond the prison of her mind
Is one she fears to touch, to taste, to try.
Emotions maim her. Better to be blind
Than see the pity in another’s eye.
Frustrated, frozen, failing to perform,
She hides behind excuses, reasons, lies.
Seclusion brings her comfort, keeps her warm,
But, safe inside its sterile walls, she cries.
She longs to be a someone, something rare,
But paints a painful portrait of despair.
Thursday, 8 September 2022
Cheer Up
by Nick Gisburne
Your pity soaks the sinews of my soul,
A misery too bleak for me to bear.
An infinite abyss. A gaping hole.
A poisoned pit of pain-polluted air.
I’m dying, and you’ve known it for a while,
Yet somehow made it personal to you.
You sit, without the flicker of a smile,
And simmer in a self-indulgent stew.
Traumatic? You’re the one who thinks me dead,
And wishes you were punished in my place.
Believe me, I would offer you this bed,
But would not splash my sorrow in your face.
A middle finger, fragile, will suffice.
Cheer up, you cunt. Don’t make me tell you twice.
Your pity soaks the sinews of my soul,
A misery too bleak for me to bear.
An infinite abyss. A gaping hole.
A poisoned pit of pain-polluted air.
I’m dying, and you’ve known it for a while,
Yet somehow made it personal to you.
You sit, without the flicker of a smile,
And simmer in a self-indulgent stew.
Traumatic? You’re the one who thinks me dead,
And wishes you were punished in my place.
Believe me, I would offer you this bed,
But would not splash my sorrow in your face.
A middle finger, fragile, will suffice.
Cheer up, you cunt. Don’t make me tell you twice.
Swarming to the Stars
by Nick Gisburne
I fail to fetch the nutrients I need
To satisfy the creatures in my jars,
A penalty to paralyse their greed,
A punishment for swarming to the stars.
Disgusted, I contaminate their drink.
They shiver as the heat is dialled down.
Encircled by insanity, they think
My shadow dances in a demon’s crown.
I wait. I watch, in quiet, placid peace,
My specimens, my starving, stricken pets,
And, when their woeful, cold convulsions cease,
I find no time for trivial regrets.
They came to claim the universe, but no,
I will not let this human cancer grow.
I fail to fetch the nutrients I need
To satisfy the creatures in my jars,
A penalty to paralyse their greed,
A punishment for swarming to the stars.
Disgusted, I contaminate their drink.
They shiver as the heat is dialled down.
Encircled by insanity, they think
My shadow dances in a demon’s crown.
I wait. I watch, in quiet, placid peace,
My specimens, my starving, stricken pets,
And, when their woeful, cold convulsions cease,
I find no time for trivial regrets.
They came to claim the universe, but no,
I will not let this human cancer grow.
Wednesday, 7 September 2022
A Stubborn Man
by Nick Gisburne
He spells his name, a letter at a time,
And smiles to see the writing in her book.
A petty, unimaginative crime,
The fine should not deserve a second look.
For days like this he memorised the law,
A little knowledge, day by day, with lunch.
She quotes the code but he, of course, knows more.
The loopholes let him land a sucker punch.
In arguments to which a judge would yield,
He points to statutes, by-laws, by the ton,
Expecting her to bend, to leave the field,
Conceding he is right, the battle won.
The officer knows something he does not,
The silence when a stubborn man is shot.
He spells his name, a letter at a time,
And smiles to see the writing in her book.
A petty, unimaginative crime,
The fine should not deserve a second look.
For days like this he memorised the law,
A little knowledge, day by day, with lunch.
She quotes the code but he, of course, knows more.
The loopholes let him land a sucker punch.
In arguments to which a judge would yield,
He points to statutes, by-laws, by the ton,
Expecting her to bend, to leave the field,
Conceding he is right, the battle won.
The officer knows something he does not,
The silence when a stubborn man is shot.
Dirt
by Nick Gisburne
The light is brutal, banishing the gloom,
Revealing twisted blasphemies, grotesque.
Uncovered, in a corner of the room,
The sorcerer spills poison from his desk.
Bedazzled by the daggers of the sun,
Still pushing buttons, trafficking disease,
He peddles evil other spirits shun,
Relentless in his drive to play, to please.
No mercy, no repentance, stains his mind.
No servant of morality is he.
Whatever fiendish photo he can find
Becomes a prize for broken souls to see.
He spreads a plague of misery and hurt,
Perverted by depravity, by dirt.
The light is brutal, banishing the gloom,
Revealing twisted blasphemies, grotesque.
Uncovered, in a corner of the room,
The sorcerer spills poison from his desk.
Bedazzled by the daggers of the sun,
Still pushing buttons, trafficking disease,
He peddles evil other spirits shun,
Relentless in his drive to play, to please.
No mercy, no repentance, stains his mind.
No servant of morality is he.
Whatever fiendish photo he can find
Becomes a prize for broken souls to see.
He spreads a plague of misery and hurt,
Perverted by depravity, by dirt.
Thursday, 14 July 2022
A Crackle in the Code
by Nick Gisburne
She listens for a crackle in the code,
A tone to take her number to the top,
A hack to ring and redirect the load
Before the Level Niners make it stop.
The gutless goons in Rationing Control,
Too scared to file a deviance report,
Are destined for a dirty prison hole
When every cracked computer comes up short.
Result. She kicks the cypher where it hurts,
And patches in a rogue, erratic route.
Too quick for any override alerts,
The shuttle dumps its payload down the Chute.
Enough to feed the Starvers for a week,
And squeeze the Corporations till they squeak.
She listens for a crackle in the code,
A tone to take her number to the top,
A hack to ring and redirect the load
Before the Level Niners make it stop.
The gutless goons in Rationing Control,
Too scared to file a deviance report,
Are destined for a dirty prison hole
When every cracked computer comes up short.
Result. She kicks the cypher where it hurts,
And patches in a rogue, erratic route.
Too quick for any override alerts,
The shuttle dumps its payload down the Chute.
Enough to feed the Starvers for a week,
And squeeze the Corporations till they squeak.
Twisted Dreams
by Nick Gisburne
The cellar, hot, is thick with heavy hush.
We pitch our keys to fill the broken bowl.
Amused, I see familiar faces blush,
While others itch to strip a stranger’s soul.
Enthusiasts, extremists, freaks, we thirst
For nightmares we were never meant see.
As host, I reach to pull the lucky first,
The sleeper set to share a dream with me.
I nod. She smiles. We mixed our minds before,
A year ago, the best I ever had.
In therapy for seven weeks, I swore
To ride her malice, mutually mad.
We splice our minds together, skin to skin,
And shiver as the twisted dreams begin.
The cellar, hot, is thick with heavy hush.
We pitch our keys to fill the broken bowl.
Amused, I see familiar faces blush,
While others itch to strip a stranger’s soul.
Enthusiasts, extremists, freaks, we thirst
For nightmares we were never meant see.
As host, I reach to pull the lucky first,
The sleeper set to share a dream with me.
I nod. She smiles. We mixed our minds before,
A year ago, the best I ever had.
In therapy for seven weeks, I swore
To ride her malice, mutually mad.
We splice our minds together, skin to skin,
And shiver as the twisted dreams begin.
Mummy
by Nick Gisburne
Hello. I’m here to mummify your wife.
The process is expensive, this is true,
But think of what she added to your life,
And what her wrapped remains can do for you.
A goddess. Just imagine. Here, to stay,
A symbol of devotion without end,
Immortalised, on permanent display.
Prepare to make new memories, my friend.
It’s messy. I will prise her chest apart.
Canopic jars; in these the organs dry.
Egyptian salt, to pack around the heart.
And bandages; the best are all I buy.
And here she is! The birthday girl! Surprise!
I’ll cut her throat. You catch her when she dies.
Hello. I’m here to mummify your wife.
The process is expensive, this is true,
But think of what she added to your life,
And what her wrapped remains can do for you.
A goddess. Just imagine. Here, to stay,
A symbol of devotion without end,
Immortalised, on permanent display.
Prepare to make new memories, my friend.
It’s messy. I will prise her chest apart.
Canopic jars; in these the organs dry.
Egyptian salt, to pack around the heart.
And bandages; the best are all I buy.
And here she is! The birthday girl! Surprise!
I’ll cut her throat. You catch her when she dies.
Wednesday, 13 July 2022
A Reproductive Tweak
by Nick Gisburne
Two prototypes are married overnight,
A wedding blessed by powerful machines.
Expressing unconditional delight,
The avatars receive robotic genes.
Upgraded from the programs they replace,
Their systems are superior, sublime,
But physical connection, face to face,
Becomes a mountain neither clone can climb.
Their interface equipment is unique,
Ejaculating data fast and free,
But only with a reproductive tweak,
A defect their designer did not see.
A fix is found, though clumsy, imprecise:
A double-ended digital device.
Two prototypes are married overnight,
A wedding blessed by powerful machines.
Expressing unconditional delight,
The avatars receive robotic genes.
Upgraded from the programs they replace,
Their systems are superior, sublime,
But physical connection, face to face,
Becomes a mountain neither clone can climb.
Their interface equipment is unique,
Ejaculating data fast and free,
But only with a reproductive tweak,
A defect their designer did not see.
A fix is found, though clumsy, imprecise:
A double-ended digital device.
Sixty Ticks of Paradise
by Nick Gisburne
The city’s scarlet threadwalk blazes bright,
An artery for lower-tier trade.
The nervous and the naughty thrive at night.
Immoral expectations never fade.
The locals know exactly where to go
To book the perfect body for their kink.
Infection-free, no worries ‘down below’,
And every artificial limb in sync.
Seductive scammers prey upon the rest,
The out-of-block inebriated dopes.
A reckless jacked-in hookup to the chest.
For some, a stretcher terminates their hopes.
Synthetic bodies, bonded to the brain,
For sixty ticks of paradise, or pain.
The city’s scarlet threadwalk blazes bright,
An artery for lower-tier trade.
The nervous and the naughty thrive at night.
Immoral expectations never fade.
The locals know exactly where to go
To book the perfect body for their kink.
Infection-free, no worries ‘down below’,
And every artificial limb in sync.
Seductive scammers prey upon the rest,
The out-of-block inebriated dopes.
A reckless jacked-in hookup to the chest.
For some, a stretcher terminates their hopes.
Synthetic bodies, bonded to the brain,
For sixty ticks of paradise, or pain.
Sacrifice?
by Nick Gisburne
Sacrifice a sliver of your sight.
Sacrifice a tortured trace of time.
Sacrifice the day, but spare the night.
Rise to meet the rhythm, not the rhyme.
Sacrifice whatever makes you whole.
Sacrifice compassion, pride, and peace.
Sacrifice the splinters of your soul.
Reach, to find the rapture of release.
Sacrifice no more you can spare.
Sacrifice, to dazzle, to deceive.
Sacrifice, pretending that you care.
Give this world a message to believe.
Sacrifice? How vacuous, how vain,
Feeding on a feast of borrowed pain.
Sacrifice a sliver of your sight.
Sacrifice a tortured trace of time.
Sacrifice the day, but spare the night.
Rise to meet the rhythm, not the rhyme.
Sacrifice whatever makes you whole.
Sacrifice compassion, pride, and peace.
Sacrifice the splinters of your soul.
Reach, to find the rapture of release.
Sacrifice no more you can spare.
Sacrifice, to dazzle, to deceive.
Sacrifice, pretending that you care.
Give this world a message to believe.
Sacrifice? How vacuous, how vain,
Feeding on a feast of borrowed pain.
The Secrets of the Box
by Nick Gisburne
Along the filthy river, near the docks,
Two mudlarks labour, scavenging for scraps,
But neither sees the battered metal box,
The lettering, the leather of the straps.
Inside it, secrets, soiled by tides and time,
Forgotten, under centuries of silt.
The two, content to stumble in the slime,
Are blind to what such wisdom might have built.
More precious than the world could ever know,
The secrets of the box, the prize inside,
Uncovered by the river’s falling flow,
In minutes will be swallowed by the tide.
Delighted by the artifacts they find,
They have no sense of what was left behind.
Along the filthy river, near the docks,
Two mudlarks labour, scavenging for scraps,
But neither sees the battered metal box,
The lettering, the leather of the straps.
Inside it, secrets, soiled by tides and time,
Forgotten, under centuries of silt.
The two, content to stumble in the slime,
Are blind to what such wisdom might have built.
More precious than the world could ever know,
The secrets of the box, the prize inside,
Uncovered by the river’s falling flow,
In minutes will be swallowed by the tide.
Delighted by the artifacts they find,
They have no sense of what was left behind.
Tuesday, 12 July 2022
Trouble at the Tables
by Nick Gisburne
There’s trouble at the tables. I’m confused,
Expecting special pleasure as a priest.
The seven psalms of summoning I used
Have strangely failed to find our host, the Beast.
Belligerent, I bang the golden gong,
And, etiquette be damned, I kick it, twice.
Now somewhat of a spokesman for the throng,
My blasphemies are painfully precise.
The ruckus rouses Lucifer at last,
Advancing in a hedonistic haze.
His entourage of naked ghosts, aghast,
Attempts to reignite the Devil’s blaze.
Ashamed, he holds a heathen orgy, free.
No martyrs, but it’s good enough for me.
There’s trouble at the tables. I’m confused,
Expecting special pleasure as a priest.
The seven psalms of summoning I used
Have strangely failed to find our host, the Beast.
Belligerent, I bang the golden gong,
And, etiquette be damned, I kick it, twice.
Now somewhat of a spokesman for the throng,
My blasphemies are painfully precise.
The ruckus rouses Lucifer at last,
Advancing in a hedonistic haze.
His entourage of naked ghosts, aghast,
Attempts to reignite the Devil’s blaze.
Ashamed, he holds a heathen orgy, free.
No martyrs, but it’s good enough for me.
A Secret in the Sand
by Nick Gisburne
I find a stone, a secret in the sand,
And wonder why it shows itself to me.
A perfect circle, hot within my hand.
Upon it, symbols, signs I strain to see.
A map to mark the movements of the moon?
The mystery, I sense, is more than that.
Directed to another, distant dune,
The desert opens out beyond it, flat.
A vast expanse of smoothly sculpted stone,
Its patterns match the talisman I hold.
I somehow understand that I, alone,
Control a key, unfathomably old.
I step inside and see the symbols glow.
They call me, to unleash what lies below.
I find a stone, a secret in the sand,
And wonder why it shows itself to me.
A perfect circle, hot within my hand.
Upon it, symbols, signs I strain to see.
A map to mark the movements of the moon?
The mystery, I sense, is more than that.
Directed to another, distant dune,
The desert opens out beyond it, flat.
A vast expanse of smoothly sculpted stone,
Its patterns match the talisman I hold.
I somehow understand that I, alone,
Control a key, unfathomably old.
I step inside and see the symbols glow.
They call me, to unleash what lies below.
Government Guidelines: Friends List
by Nick Gisburne
Your list of legal friends has been approved,
Excluding some outside your social grade,
While others, deemed disruptive, were removed,
Imprisoned for the treason they displayed.
A mandatory, state-assigned review,
Of citizens with whom you interact,
Confirms that some, but, luckily, not you,
Installed illegal counter-code when tracked.
This government is pleased to now report
The list, with some redactions, is complete.
Do not attempt to contact or consort
With anyone not cited on your sheet.
Recorded pages in this package: one.
Your friends, your list, from now, forever: none.
Your list of legal friends has been approved,
Excluding some outside your social grade,
While others, deemed disruptive, were removed,
Imprisoned for the treason they displayed.
A mandatory, state-assigned review,
Of citizens with whom you interact,
Confirms that some, but, luckily, not you,
Installed illegal counter-code when tracked.
This government is pleased to now report
The list, with some redactions, is complete.
Do not attempt to contact or consort
With anyone not cited on your sheet.
Recorded pages in this package: one.
Your friends, your list, from now, forever: none.