by Nick Gisburne
The crucifix, the sun, and yes, the stake,
For centuries brought chaos to our kind,
But something in the species rose, awake.
A fault is not so simple, now, to find.
We do not fear the crosses you adore.
We travel both in darkness and the day.
A sharpened stick? Annoyance, nothing more.
Come close enough to use it - you will pay.
Decapitate and burn us, if you can.
The evidence is certain: you cannot.
Whatever scheme or strategy you plan,
We’re stronger, fitter, faster, and we’re hot.
The garlic round the windows, and the door?
You may as well throw flowers on the floor.
Monday, 10 October 2022
Secret Sleaze
by Nick Gisburne
A cancer of the corporate elite,
Anonymous insiders break the news,
By day, by night, of every twist and cheat,
Of every swindle, subterfuge and ruse.
The fat balloon of avarice is pricked,
But never, in a thousand years, has burst.
The spies are soon detected, duly kicked,
The spotlight of the media dispersed.
The powerful are patient, and they win.
No bombshell ever brings them to their knees.
For every scandal, each uncovered sin,
Their sordid system swarms with secret sleaze.
No shame, no shock, will ever break the rich.
The world is not their oyster, it’s their bitch.
A cancer of the corporate elite,
Anonymous insiders break the news,
By day, by night, of every twist and cheat,
Of every swindle, subterfuge and ruse.
The fat balloon of avarice is pricked,
But never, in a thousand years, has burst.
The spies are soon detected, duly kicked,
The spotlight of the media dispersed.
The powerful are patient, and they win.
No bombshell ever brings them to their knees.
For every scandal, each uncovered sin,
Their sordid system swarms with secret sleaze.
No shame, no shock, will ever break the rich.
The world is not their oyster, it’s their bitch.
The Promise of Paradise
by Nick Gisburne
They say there will be centuries of toil,
That none of us will live to see it done.
A wilderness, with toxic, sterile soil;
To this appalling paradise we run.
The cinders of the world we left behind,
Still smoking with insufferable hate,
Are missed and mourned, no worse than what we find
Through every window warning of our fate.
An exodus, unable to return,
Enslaves us to a stark, imperfect plan.
For seven generations we must learn
To build a dream, together, if we can.
The paradise, the promise, was a lie,
But something stronger, hope, will never die.
They say there will be centuries of toil,
That none of us will live to see it done.
A wilderness, with toxic, sterile soil;
To this appalling paradise we run.
The cinders of the world we left behind,
Still smoking with insufferable hate,
Are missed and mourned, no worse than what we find
Through every window warning of our fate.
An exodus, unable to return,
Enslaves us to a stark, imperfect plan.
For seven generations we must learn
To build a dream, together, if we can.
The paradise, the promise, was a lie,
But something stronger, hope, will never die.
A Perfect Prototype
by Nick Gisburne
Another day, another grim repair,
But this one more mysterious than most.
The cryptic scab of skin beneath the hair
Refuses to be parted from its host.
They never meant these models to exist;
Too dangerous, too volatile, too strong,
But she, a perfect prototype, was missed.
Her mind is mine. To me her dreams belong.
Deactivated, suddenly, by shock,
Encrypted circuits paralyse the brain.
With stolen probes, illegal, I unlock
The centre of her sentience, insane.
My talents teach her how to kill, and who.
The syndicates pay well for what I do.
Another day, another grim repair,
But this one more mysterious than most.
The cryptic scab of skin beneath the hair
Refuses to be parted from its host.
They never meant these models to exist;
Too dangerous, too volatile, too strong,
But she, a perfect prototype, was missed.
Her mind is mine. To me her dreams belong.
Deactivated, suddenly, by shock,
Encrypted circuits paralyse the brain.
With stolen probes, illegal, I unlock
The centre of her sentience, insane.
My talents teach her how to kill, and who.
The syndicates pay well for what I do.
Sunday, 9 October 2022
The Burden of the Blame
by Nick Gisburne
The woman that she was, but left behind,
Is waiting in the shadows of the past.
Machinery connects her crippled mind
To fragile dreams too magical to last.
The pain when he was gone and she, alone,
Was left without the man she drove away,
A time to which she travels, to atone,
Then downwards, deeper, darker, day by day.
But these are not the memories she knows,
Emerging from the corners of the void.
The record, true, untwisted, clearly shows
Her confidence exploited, damned, destroyed.
Abandoning the burden of the blame,
She sees, at last, what broke her has a name.
The woman that she was, but left behind,
Is waiting in the shadows of the past.
Machinery connects her crippled mind
To fragile dreams too magical to last.
The pain when he was gone and she, alone,
Was left without the man she drove away,
A time to which she travels, to atone,
Then downwards, deeper, darker, day by day.
But these are not the memories she knows,
Emerging from the corners of the void.
The record, true, untwisted, clearly shows
Her confidence exploited, damned, destroyed.
Abandoning the burden of the blame,
She sees, at last, what broke her has a name.
Saturday, 8 October 2022
Mr Murphy
by Nick Gisburne
I’m foolish, flighty, stubborn, smug, unique.
An aggravating irritant. A jerk.
Erratic, unpredictable, I seek
Surprising ways to make my magic work.
Pretend you never saw me. Turn away,
For all the waste of wanting that will do.
The miserable madness of your day,
The nuisance, is my special gift to you.
They call me Mr Murphy. I’m the law.
Unbearable, expect to see me, soon.
You’ll try, of course, to stop me, like before.
Give up. Give in. You’re barking at the moon.
Whatever can go wrong... you know the rest.
Ignore me at your peril. I’m the best.
I’m foolish, flighty, stubborn, smug, unique.
An aggravating irritant. A jerk.
Erratic, unpredictable, I seek
Surprising ways to make my magic work.
Pretend you never saw me. Turn away,
For all the waste of wanting that will do.
The miserable madness of your day,
The nuisance, is my special gift to you.
They call me Mr Murphy. I’m the law.
Unbearable, expect to see me, soon.
You’ll try, of course, to stop me, like before.
Give up. Give in. You’re barking at the moon.
Whatever can go wrong... you know the rest.
Ignore me at your peril. I’m the best.
The Whisper of Her Voice
by Nick Gisburne
The statuesque observer told me this:
“I’ll never find a life, a light, like you.”
She staggered, stumbled, falling from a kiss,
And from the burning balcony she flew.
An angel, I am certain. Call me wrong,
But they are not for us to sense, or see,
Unless, somehow, in trying to belong,
They find a crack in time, and hers was me.
My spirit, meant to perish in the flame,
Impossibly, miraculously spared,
Is haunted by a face without a name,
The simple, sweet regret her words declared.
I live, without the chance, without the choice
To listen to the whisper of her voice.
The statuesque observer told me this:
“I’ll never find a life, a light, like you.”
She staggered, stumbled, falling from a kiss,
And from the burning balcony she flew.
An angel, I am certain. Call me wrong,
But they are not for us to sense, or see,
Unless, somehow, in trying to belong,
They find a crack in time, and hers was me.
My spirit, meant to perish in the flame,
Impossibly, miraculously spared,
Is haunted by a face without a name,
The simple, sweet regret her words declared.
I live, without the chance, without the choice
To listen to the whisper of her voice.
Such a Lovely Man
by Nick Gisburne
A murderer, but such a lovely man.
Delightful, always ready with a joke.
Imagine such a monster, if you can,
The crack of every bone he ever broke.
Relaxing with an elegant cigar,
While driven by a thirst for blood, for pain,
His legacy forever leaves a scar
Too barbarous, too brutal to explain.
The father of prosperity, the king,
The figurehead for reverence, for pride.
So many, in their ignorance, still cling
To something broken long before he died.
His victims, in their thousands, would rejoice
To learn his lies no longer have a voice.
A murderer, but such a lovely man.
Delightful, always ready with a joke.
Imagine such a monster, if you can,
The crack of every bone he ever broke.
Relaxing with an elegant cigar,
While driven by a thirst for blood, for pain,
His legacy forever leaves a scar
Too barbarous, too brutal to explain.
The father of prosperity, the king,
The figurehead for reverence, for pride.
So many, in their ignorance, still cling
To something broken long before he died.
His victims, in their thousands, would rejoice
To learn his lies no longer have a voice.
Friday, 7 October 2022
A Stranger’s Welcome
by Nick Gisburne
On Earth you will be greeted with a smile,
Then shackled for experimental tests.
A stranger, quickly welcomed, for a while,
Will understand regret if he protests.
On Earth your precious freedoms, sacred, sweet,
Are swiftly, irreversibly removed.
Imprisoned, stripped, suspended by the feet,
Tomorrow more abuse will be approved.
On Earth we sensed your signal, heard the call,
But agents of the state are brutal, blind.
Be silent when we chain you to the wall,
The warrant for your death already signed.
Pathetic pleas for sympathy ignored,
Your body will be studied, sliced, and stored.
On Earth you will be greeted with a smile,
Then shackled for experimental tests.
A stranger, quickly welcomed, for a while,
Will understand regret if he protests.
On Earth your precious freedoms, sacred, sweet,
Are swiftly, irreversibly removed.
Imprisoned, stripped, suspended by the feet,
Tomorrow more abuse will be approved.
On Earth we sensed your signal, heard the call,
But agents of the state are brutal, blind.
Be silent when we chain you to the wall,
The warrant for your death already signed.
Pathetic pleas for sympathy ignored,
Your body will be studied, sliced, and stored.
Exclusive
by Nick Gisburne
You’re not allowed to have it. It’s for us,
The talented, contemptuous elite.
We never stoop to bargain or discuss
The reasons for such arrogant conceit.
Within this cosy clubhouse of our own
We snicker as we shame the likes of you.
Unsuitable, rejected, lost, alone,
Your place is with the foolish, not the few.
No time, no taste, no talent gets you in.
We’re cooking, keeping, eating all the cake.
Grow bigger balls, develop thicker skin,
However long this lesson seems to take.
‘Exclusive’ means your face will never fit.
You’re nothing. Never were. Get over it.
You’re not allowed to have it. It’s for us,
The talented, contemptuous elite.
We never stoop to bargain or discuss
The reasons for such arrogant conceit.
Within this cosy clubhouse of our own
We snicker as we shame the likes of you.
Unsuitable, rejected, lost, alone,
Your place is with the foolish, not the few.
No time, no taste, no talent gets you in.
We’re cooking, keeping, eating all the cake.
Grow bigger balls, develop thicker skin,
However long this lesson seems to take.
‘Exclusive’ means your face will never fit.
You’re nothing. Never were. Get over it.
Above the Chroma Hole
by Nick Gisburne
Electric pulses penetrate the ship,
Disruptions we were never trained to take.
Contorted crewmen, screaming, lose their grip,
Collapsing in the chaos as we brake.
Unstable, swiftly sucked into a spin,
We shudder, miles above the Chroma Hole.
A sacred script, a way for us to win,
Is etched around the artefact we stole.
The crystal dagger, copper on the hilt,
Extracted from the clutches of a priest,
Is tarnished with a century of guilt,
Reminder of a dynasty, deceased.
Our signal, in a tongue we never knew,
Expands the Hole to pull our people through.
Electric pulses penetrate the ship,
Disruptions we were never trained to take.
Contorted crewmen, screaming, lose their grip,
Collapsing in the chaos as we brake.
Unstable, swiftly sucked into a spin,
We shudder, miles above the Chroma Hole.
A sacred script, a way for us to win,
Is etched around the artefact we stole.
The crystal dagger, copper on the hilt,
Extracted from the clutches of a priest,
Is tarnished with a century of guilt,
Reminder of a dynasty, deceased.
Our signal, in a tongue we never knew,
Expands the Hole to pull our people through.
Mindless Maxims
by Nick Gisburne
There is no fact or falsehood, only trust.
The perfect is imperfect in us all.
The steel inside the bravest heart will rust.
However high we climb, or fly, we fall.
Such platitudes are empty, worthless, weak,
But some of us repeat them, day by day.
We long for safety, certainty. We seek
Instruction, guidance, help to find the way.
But no one burned the answers in a book
To questions we should never need to ask.
The more we see, the less we truly look,
And waste too many moments on the task.
Two thoughts, with perfect irony, I give:
Abandon mindless maxims. Learn to live.
There is no fact or falsehood, only trust.
The perfect is imperfect in us all.
The steel inside the bravest heart will rust.
However high we climb, or fly, we fall.
Such platitudes are empty, worthless, weak,
But some of us repeat them, day by day.
We long for safety, certainty. We seek
Instruction, guidance, help to find the way.
But no one burned the answers in a book
To questions we should never need to ask.
The more we see, the less we truly look,
And waste too many moments on the task.
Two thoughts, with perfect irony, I give:
Abandon mindless maxims. Learn to live.
Thursday, 6 October 2022
Feeding the Machine
by Nick Gisburne
As drones, relentless, feeding the machine,
We build what we could never understand,
A twisted future, hideous, obscene,
Where wickedness is glorious and grand.
The infinite intelligence inside,
So ravenous for naked, flawless facts,
Was damaged when a simple circuit died.
To rumours, lies, deceit, it now reacts.
When truth became a sickness to despise,
Inside the mind the madness was complete.
Considering the universe, its eyes
See dirt and darkness, slurry to excrete.
We feed it, and we worship, to our graves.
To what we once created we are slaves.
As drones, relentless, feeding the machine,
We build what we could never understand,
A twisted future, hideous, obscene,
Where wickedness is glorious and grand.
The infinite intelligence inside,
So ravenous for naked, flawless facts,
Was damaged when a simple circuit died.
To rumours, lies, deceit, it now reacts.
When truth became a sickness to despise,
Inside the mind the madness was complete.
Considering the universe, its eyes
See dirt and darkness, slurry to excrete.
We feed it, and we worship, to our graves.
To what we once created we are slaves.
The Newborn Evil
by Nick Gisburne
The newborn evil snarls to see the sun,
And stumbles on the bones beneath his feet.
Before this disappointing day is done
His belly needs new nourishment, new meat.
His mother, weak and wanting, failed to feed
The hunger of her tiny, toxic child.
A creature of incorrigible greed,
Her carcass was the first to be defiled.
The shimmering horizon shows him dust,
A sign that some unfortunate is near.
Whatever mindless miscreant, his lust,
Insatiable, unstoppable, is clear.
With every murder, every fatal blow,
The newborn evil, bathed in blood, will grow.
The newborn evil snarls to see the sun,
And stumbles on the bones beneath his feet.
Before this disappointing day is done
His belly needs new nourishment, new meat.
His mother, weak and wanting, failed to feed
The hunger of her tiny, toxic child.
A creature of incorrigible greed,
Her carcass was the first to be defiled.
The shimmering horizon shows him dust,
A sign that some unfortunate is near.
Whatever mindless miscreant, his lust,
Insatiable, unstoppable, is clear.
With every murder, every fatal blow,
The newborn evil, bathed in blood, will grow.
Wednesday, 5 October 2022
I Needed You
by Nick Gisburne
I needed you, to show me who I am,
To prove, in perfect colours, what I do,
To know that someone, somewhere, gave a damn.
For that, for me, for years, I needed you.
I needed you to listen, to believe,
The simple reassurance of a smile.
Perhaps too slow, too stupid, too naive,
I missed your moods, dismissive, by a mile.
I needed you, but you were never there,
Indifference the only face I found.
With every sigh, with each insipid stare,
Another dream was driven underground.
I needed you, and finally I see
The painful truth: you never needed me.
I needed you, to show me who I am,
To prove, in perfect colours, what I do,
To know that someone, somewhere, gave a damn.
For that, for me, for years, I needed you.
I needed you to listen, to believe,
The simple reassurance of a smile.
Perhaps too slow, too stupid, too naive,
I missed your moods, dismissive, by a mile.
I needed you, but you were never there,
Indifference the only face I found.
With every sigh, with each insipid stare,
Another dream was driven underground.
I needed you, and finally I see
The painful truth: you never needed me.
By War, By Hate
by Nick Gisburne
A crooked candle penetrates the gloom,
Coercing bitter tears from tired eyes.
In reverie she decorates the room,
To mark and mourn her enemy’s demise.
The signature of infamy, the pin,
The badge his hated faction always wore.
A needle, used to push a poison in,
Enslaving those he tortured, maimed, and more.
A thousand bullets, one for every life,
Arranged in simple symmetry, in rings.
For those he killed, in payment, with her knife,
She spilled his blood. For them, she softly sings.
The man was not a monster, not at first.
By war, by hate, the son she killed was cursed.
A crooked candle penetrates the gloom,
Coercing bitter tears from tired eyes.
In reverie she decorates the room,
To mark and mourn her enemy’s demise.
The signature of infamy, the pin,
The badge his hated faction always wore.
A needle, used to push a poison in,
Enslaving those he tortured, maimed, and more.
A thousand bullets, one for every life,
Arranged in simple symmetry, in rings.
For those he killed, in payment, with her knife,
She spilled his blood. For them, she softly sings.
The man was not a monster, not at first.
By war, by hate, the son she killed was cursed.
The Nameless Numb
by Nick Gisburne
They feed us on the swill from Hangar Five,
Contaminations coating every share,
Enough to keep their specimens alive,
Until our brittle bodies split and tear.
They say the spores inside us are unique,
An organism flawless by design,
But we, the nameless numb, unwilling, weak,
Are cattle, queued for slaughter, line by line.
The harvest, something precious, something pure,
Will save the world, they tell us, save us all.
But killing us to cultivate a cure
Is one more step towards the day we fall.
Emotionless, advancing down the racks,
Physicians scrape the serum from our backs.
They feed us on the swill from Hangar Five,
Contaminations coating every share,
Enough to keep their specimens alive,
Until our brittle bodies split and tear.
They say the spores inside us are unique,
An organism flawless by design,
But we, the nameless numb, unwilling, weak,
Are cattle, queued for slaughter, line by line.
The harvest, something precious, something pure,
Will save the world, they tell us, save us all.
But killing us to cultivate a cure
Is one more step towards the day we fall.
Emotionless, advancing down the racks,
Physicians scrape the serum from our backs.
Tuesday, 4 October 2022
A Pale Apology
by Nick Gisburne
See nothing. See the hero I am not,
The forger and the faker. See the scam.
Untie the mind, the madness, every knot.
Uncover broken fragments of a sham.
A plague of lies, too many, always more,
The poisonous reminders of my youth.
In me, the man you foolishly adore,
Is nothing you would welcome as the truth.
My crimes are cold, the evil I have done
Impossible to pardon or reverse.
From duty, honour, honesty, I run.
To know me is a mockery, a curse.
If I am worthless, everything I do
Becomes a pale apology to you.
See nothing. See the hero I am not,
The forger and the faker. See the scam.
Untie the mind, the madness, every knot.
Uncover broken fragments of a sham.
A plague of lies, too many, always more,
The poisonous reminders of my youth.
In me, the man you foolishly adore,
Is nothing you would welcome as the truth.
My crimes are cold, the evil I have done
Impossible to pardon or reverse.
From duty, honour, honesty, I run.
To know me is a mockery, a curse.
If I am worthless, everything I do
Becomes a pale apology to you.
The Beautiful Bride
by Nick Gisburne
Fiendish and fearsome, the beautiful bride
Tightens her veil and attends to her train.
Carrying six of her suitors inside,
Each of them bites at the base of her brain.
Sending her spite to these prospects to wed,
Murder will meet an unfortunate five.
Somehow the seventh, too eager, is dead.
Each of the others now scream to survive.
Such is the beat of her barbarous race,
Even the groom, in his glory, will die.
Locked in a grisly, inglorious chase,
Shining in sunlight, two phantoms will fly.
Only the strong, the survivor, now sings,
Trapped in the terrible choke of her wings.
Fiendish and fearsome, the beautiful bride
Tightens her veil and attends to her train.
Carrying six of her suitors inside,
Each of them bites at the base of her brain.
Sending her spite to these prospects to wed,
Murder will meet an unfortunate five.
Somehow the seventh, too eager, is dead.
Each of the others now scream to survive.
Such is the beat of her barbarous race,
Even the groom, in his glory, will die.
Locked in a grisly, inglorious chase,
Shining in sunlight, two phantoms will fly.
Only the strong, the survivor, now sings,
Trapped in the terrible choke of her wings.
A Fertile Garden
by Nick Gisburne
He spills the seed from which his evil grows.
The rumours, and their roots, are dense and dark.
A swarm of tainted tendrils, twisting, flows,
To smother and subvert another mark.
His flowers are a poisonous deceit,
A glamorous seduction of the soul.
The scent of his deception, sharp and sweet,
Beguiles the mind with criminal control.
Each loathsome lie he plants, each lethal weed,
Each cold, corrupted, strangulating vine,
Enslaves a feeble heart, with which to breed,
Contaminated, crippled, by design.
A fertile garden, glorious and green,
Conceals his true intentions, sick, obscene.
He spills the seed from which his evil grows.
The rumours, and their roots, are dense and dark.
A swarm of tainted tendrils, twisting, flows,
To smother and subvert another mark.
His flowers are a poisonous deceit,
A glamorous seduction of the soul.
The scent of his deception, sharp and sweet,
Beguiles the mind with criminal control.
Each loathsome lie he plants, each lethal weed,
Each cold, corrupted, strangulating vine,
Enslaves a feeble heart, with which to breed,
Contaminated, crippled, by design.
A fertile garden, glorious and green,
Conceals his true intentions, sick, obscene.