by Nick Gisburne
Show Daddy. Show him everything we made,
A package of surprises, just for him.
The photos of the weekends when he played
With someone else’s mother, younger, slim.
Show Daddy. Watch the wonder in his face,
Amazed how many documents we found.
The dirty deals, impossible to trace,
Unless you have a wife who’s been around.
Show Daddy. Save the biggest for the last,
The gift he might remember most of all.
The evidence he buried in the past,
A journal of abuse, his twisted scrawl.
Show Daddy, every name on every page,
Before he rots, forever, in a cage.
Tuesday, 18 October 2022
Monday, 17 October 2022
The Queen Must Breed
by Nick Gisburne
The Queen must breed. Today she chooses you,
An honour and a privilege. Rejoice.
Whatever her perversions, follow through.
Remember, this was duty, never choice.
Tonight you will be neutered by her blade,
The relevant appendages removed.
Consumed before their nutrients degrade,
Her mood will be appreciably improved.
The ritual unfurling of the wings
Precedes a crucial, murderous embrace.
Be ready with a smile, and if she sings,
Though tempted, do not to vomit in her face.
Whatever else you do, if something flaps,
Be certain, if you lick it, you’ll collapse.
The Queen must breed. Today she chooses you,
An honour and a privilege. Rejoice.
Whatever her perversions, follow through.
Remember, this was duty, never choice.
Tonight you will be neutered by her blade,
The relevant appendages removed.
Consumed before their nutrients degrade,
Her mood will be appreciably improved.
The ritual unfurling of the wings
Precedes a crucial, murderous embrace.
Be ready with a smile, and if she sings,
Though tempted, do not to vomit in her face.
Whatever else you do, if something flaps,
Be certain, if you lick it, you’ll collapse.
A Game She Cannot Win
by Nick Gisburne
She plays a game they say she cannot win,
Imagining the moment she will lose.
They showed her, twice, before they pushed her in.
The blood, the bodies. Somehow, not the shoes.
Determined now to never take them off,
She slithers through the corridors at speed.
Through soot and smoke she fights to kill her cough,
Aware the noise will waken those who feed.
Already at the margins of the nest,
Two creatures fall, dispatched without a sound,
But here, inside the nexus, lives a test
For which no worthy human has been found.
But she, perhaps, has something more to give,
A player who believes that she can live.
She plays a game they say she cannot win,
Imagining the moment she will lose.
They showed her, twice, before they pushed her in.
The blood, the bodies. Somehow, not the shoes.
Determined now to never take them off,
She slithers through the corridors at speed.
Through soot and smoke she fights to kill her cough,
Aware the noise will waken those who feed.
Already at the margins of the nest,
Two creatures fall, dispatched without a sound,
But here, inside the nexus, lives a test
For which no worthy human has been found.
But she, perhaps, has something more to give,
A player who believes that she can live.
A Hundred Miles
by Nick Gisburne
A hundred miles from anywhere, from home.
It never seemed so distant, not before,
But dark, corroded steel and battered chrome
Remind him, as the sensor readings soar.
A hundred miles. He’d walk it in a week,
Through deserts, mountains, tracks and trails, or trees,
But not from here. This tiny bubble, bleak,
Will bend and break. In minutes he will freeze.
A hundred miles, in one direction: down.
How tenuous the barrier to space.
From cities, grand and great, from every town,
There is no closer threat, no darker place.
A hundred miles, a trip he cannot take,
The journey home impossible to make.
A hundred miles from anywhere, from home.
It never seemed so distant, not before,
But dark, corroded steel and battered chrome
Remind him, as the sensor readings soar.
A hundred miles. He’d walk it in a week,
Through deserts, mountains, tracks and trails, or trees,
But not from here. This tiny bubble, bleak,
Will bend and break. In minutes he will freeze.
A hundred miles, in one direction: down.
How tenuous the barrier to space.
From cities, grand and great, from every town,
There is no closer threat, no darker place.
A hundred miles, a trip he cannot take,
The journey home impossible to make.
Sunday, 16 October 2022
Boiling Hot
by Nick Gisburne
The scream of sirens never seems to stop,
A sound of sweet importance to the plan,
To mask the crash of cables as they drop,
To sink inside the irrigation span.
The aqueduct, the lifeline of the state,
Brings water, channelled freely, to the rich,
While those below, the proles and peasants, wait
For tainted rains to fill a dirty ditch.
The cables cause a tremor, barely felt.
The sentinels who see are quickly shot.
A surge of power. Miles of metal melt,
And water floods the fortuned, boiling hot.
No better now than those they most detest,
Unwashed, unclean, as dirty as the rest.
The scream of sirens never seems to stop,
A sound of sweet importance to the plan,
To mask the crash of cables as they drop,
To sink inside the irrigation span.
The aqueduct, the lifeline of the state,
Brings water, channelled freely, to the rich,
While those below, the proles and peasants, wait
For tainted rains to fill a dirty ditch.
The cables cause a tremor, barely felt.
The sentinels who see are quickly shot.
A surge of power. Miles of metal melt,
And water floods the fortuned, boiling hot.
No better now than those they most detest,
Unwashed, unclean, as dirty as the rest.
Count to Five
by Nick Gisburne
I have a little story, little man,
To send you into silence, into sleep.
You know me, know exactly what I am,
A killer, come to help you count the sheep.
Your father was the first, but he was dead
Before you cried, before you took a breath.
The second of the brood your mother bred,
Your brother, as an infant, danced with death.
A sister, such a pretty peach, the third.
Remember how you shared so many things.
And later, how they told you, how you heard:
An envelope. Inside, your mother’s rings.
Four sleepers, leaving you, alone, alive,
But now I come again, to count to five.
I have a little story, little man,
To send you into silence, into sleep.
You know me, know exactly what I am,
A killer, come to help you count the sheep.
Your father was the first, but he was dead
Before you cried, before you took a breath.
The second of the brood your mother bred,
Your brother, as an infant, danced with death.
A sister, such a pretty peach, the third.
Remember how you shared so many things.
And later, how they told you, how you heard:
An envelope. Inside, your mother’s rings.
Four sleepers, leaving you, alone, alive,
But now I come again, to count to five.
Perfect Tools
by Nick Gisburne
A wonder, wild, impossible, but true,
The robots we invented seem to live.
Whatever task we teach them, they can do.
For this, imagine what the world will give.
Our underwater lab, a secret site,
Where systems are assembled, undisturbed,
Exists beyond the reach of those who might
Be keen to see outstanding science curbed.
Empowered, pushed to bend and break the rules,
Our company has everything to gain.
A hundred thousand robots, perfect tools,
In each of them a perfect human brain.
The dregs, the scum, their lives will not be missed,
When bigger, better cyber-slaves exist.
A wonder, wild, impossible, but true,
The robots we invented seem to live.
Whatever task we teach them, they can do.
For this, imagine what the world will give.
Our underwater lab, a secret site,
Where systems are assembled, undisturbed,
Exists beyond the reach of those who might
Be keen to see outstanding science curbed.
Empowered, pushed to bend and break the rules,
Our company has everything to gain.
A hundred thousand robots, perfect tools,
In each of them a perfect human brain.
The dregs, the scum, their lives will not be missed,
When bigger, better cyber-slaves exist.
Saturday, 15 October 2022
Pissing on the Smoke
by Nick Gisburne
The politicians, pissing on the smoke,
Forever douse disasters they designed.
The powerless, the peasants, left to choke,
Are out of sight, and always out of mind.
As fools we forge the leaders we deserve,
The crooks, the cowards, voted out or in,
New demagogues, committed to preserve
Whatever creature comfort soothes their skin.
To govern is to gamble in the game,
But theirs is not the sacrifice at stake,
And, win or lose, the outcome stays the same;
Whatever, once, was perfect they will break.
Towards the blazing bonfire of our dreams
A streak of yellow, sparse, insipid, streams.
The politicians, pissing on the smoke,
Forever douse disasters they designed.
The powerless, the peasants, left to choke,
Are out of sight, and always out of mind.
As fools we forge the leaders we deserve,
The crooks, the cowards, voted out or in,
New demagogues, committed to preserve
Whatever creature comfort soothes their skin.
To govern is to gamble in the game,
But theirs is not the sacrifice at stake,
And, win or lose, the outcome stays the same;
Whatever, once, was perfect they will break.
Towards the blazing bonfire of our dreams
A streak of yellow, sparse, insipid, streams.
The Child
by Nick Gisburne
A cold illusion shimmers in the dark,
The torn, tormented pieces of a dream.
By magic, or by miracle, a spark
Consumes them, feeding, feasting as they scream.
Expanding, sending filaments of skin,
It picks and pulls the tapestry of space.
Impossible infinities begin
To mix, to move, to form and forge a face.
It looks upon the universe, destroyed.
The hunger to be human made it so.
Alone, it cries, a creature in the void,
Omnipotent, with nowhere else to go.
The god, the child, can never comprehend.
The future died. Creation was the end.
A cold illusion shimmers in the dark,
The torn, tormented pieces of a dream.
By magic, or by miracle, a spark
Consumes them, feeding, feasting as they scream.
Expanding, sending filaments of skin,
It picks and pulls the tapestry of space.
Impossible infinities begin
To mix, to move, to form and forge a face.
It looks upon the universe, destroyed.
The hunger to be human made it so.
Alone, it cries, a creature in the void,
Omnipotent, with nowhere else to go.
The god, the child, can never comprehend.
The future died. Creation was the end.
Friday, 14 October 2022
Here I Am
by Nick Gisburne
Sedition steers the traffic with a ruse:
Encrypted codes, corrupting every car.
A swarm of mad, magnetic motors cruise
At speed towards the city’s Central Star.
Computers quickly synchronise their horns
To play an anthem censored by the state,
And every cabin console wakes and warns
The occupants, astonished, of the date.
Another year of mindless martial law,
Designed to help the helpless disappear,
Is doggedly resisted. Every flaw
Exploited, without mercy, without fear.
As each new car or cruiser joins the jam,
Its presence sends a statement: “Here I am.”
Sedition steers the traffic with a ruse:
Encrypted codes, corrupting every car.
A swarm of mad, magnetic motors cruise
At speed towards the city’s Central Star.
Computers quickly synchronise their horns
To play an anthem censored by the state,
And every cabin console wakes and warns
The occupants, astonished, of the date.
Another year of mindless martial law,
Designed to help the helpless disappear,
Is doggedly resisted. Every flaw
Exploited, without mercy, without fear.
As each new car or cruiser joins the jam,
Its presence sends a statement: “Here I am.”
You Will Not Go Far
by Nick Gisburne
She teaches tiny children how to die,
By telling them to follow, to conform.
No tolerance, no matter how they try,
Is shown for any slippage from the norm.
The brightest minds are bullied into shape.
The lowest learn exactly what they are.
For any student tempted by escape,
Her words remind them: you will not go far.
The teacher sat exactly where they sit,
Complying with the program, line by line,
And every day became a part of it,
Obedience implanted in her spine.
The rules are tightly wrapped around the mind.
No child is ever lost or left behind.
She teaches tiny children how to die,
By telling them to follow, to conform.
No tolerance, no matter how they try,
Is shown for any slippage from the norm.
The brightest minds are bullied into shape.
The lowest learn exactly what they are.
For any student tempted by escape,
Her words remind them: you will not go far.
The teacher sat exactly where they sit,
Complying with the program, line by line,
And every day became a part of it,
Obedience implanted in her spine.
The rules are tightly wrapped around the mind.
No child is ever lost or left behind.
Thursday, 13 October 2022
Two Voices
by Nick Gisburne
I hear them, through the wall, the brick, the wood.
The words are muddy, muffled, never clear.
Emotions. Fervid, fully understood.
Two voices. One is fury. One is fear.
His rage erupts in sharp, staccato bursts,
Her misery a constant, mournful moan.
A gulp, a glass; he drinks, but still he thirsts.
A struggle. Screaming. Begging him. A groan.
The pain is his, the spiteful snarling hers.
I hear a kick, a cough, a spluttered choke,
And venom, vile, a savage stream of slurs.
The scratching of a match. Her breathing. Smoke.
When mother comes to tuck me into bed,
Her hands are shaking, fingers swollen, red.
I hear them, through the wall, the brick, the wood.
The words are muddy, muffled, never clear.
Emotions. Fervid, fully understood.
Two voices. One is fury. One is fear.
His rage erupts in sharp, staccato bursts,
Her misery a constant, mournful moan.
A gulp, a glass; he drinks, but still he thirsts.
A struggle. Screaming. Begging him. A groan.
The pain is his, the spiteful snarling hers.
I hear a kick, a cough, a spluttered choke,
And venom, vile, a savage stream of slurs.
The scratching of a match. Her breathing. Smoke.
When mother comes to tuck me into bed,
Her hands are shaking, fingers swollen, red.
The Whistleblower
by Nick Gisburne
Rejected, hunted, hounded by the world,
Escaping to a dark, despondent place,
Her courage is belatedly unfurled.
Defiant, there is fury in her face.
For what was done no other took the blame.
The horror and the hate were never hers,
But, when she dared to speak the serpent’s name,
She learned at once what privilege confers.
A thousand voices spilled a thousand lies
To push her under, drowning in deceit.
The whistleblower, taken by surprise,
Was heckled into hiding, in retreat.
Returning for a fight she did not choose,
Her sword of choice, the truth, she yearns to use.
Rejected, hunted, hounded by the world,
Escaping to a dark, despondent place,
Her courage is belatedly unfurled.
Defiant, there is fury in her face.
For what was done no other took the blame.
The horror and the hate were never hers,
But, when she dared to speak the serpent’s name,
She learned at once what privilege confers.
A thousand voices spilled a thousand lies
To push her under, drowning in deceit.
The whistleblower, taken by surprise,
Was heckled into hiding, in retreat.
Returning for a fight she did not choose,
Her sword of choice, the truth, she yearns to use.
Too Relentless to Resist
by Nick Gisburne
The beautiful will always be destroyed,
By jealousy, by bitterness, by time.
Appalling, too invasive to avoid,
The bells of cold decay forever chime.
Too stubborn to assimilate the change,
The turn towards descent, that subtle shift,
Directs the mind to try to rearrange
The picture, as its form begins to drift.
But age is too relentless to resist;
Emotion only hastens the advance,
And, when perfection ceases to exist,
For what was lost there is no second chance.
The beautiful inevitably fall,
Their time to shine astonishing, but small.
The beautiful will always be destroyed,
By jealousy, by bitterness, by time.
Appalling, too invasive to avoid,
The bells of cold decay forever chime.
Too stubborn to assimilate the change,
The turn towards descent, that subtle shift,
Directs the mind to try to rearrange
The picture, as its form begins to drift.
But age is too relentless to resist;
Emotion only hastens the advance,
And, when perfection ceases to exist,
For what was lost there is no second chance.
The beautiful inevitably fall,
Their time to shine astonishing, but small.
Bug-Eyed Monsters
by Nick Gisburne
There’s nothing out there. Bug-eyed monsters? No.
And if they were, why wouldn’t they be here?
Be sure, be safe, until the day you grow
The vision to imagine what to fear.
Consider vessels built to bridge the void,
To travel, quickly, safely, star to star.
The sentience from which they were deployed
Would surely be superior, by far.
You think that such a presence could not hide?
Too slow to seek concealment from your sight?
You look too far. Look closer. Look inside.
Discover you already lost the fight.
Manipulating everything you do,
The monsters are your masters. We are you.
There’s nothing out there. Bug-eyed monsters? No.
And if they were, why wouldn’t they be here?
Be sure, be safe, until the day you grow
The vision to imagine what to fear.
Consider vessels built to bridge the void,
To travel, quickly, safely, star to star.
The sentience from which they were deployed
Would surely be superior, by far.
You think that such a presence could not hide?
Too slow to seek concealment from your sight?
You look too far. Look closer. Look inside.
Discover you already lost the fight.
Manipulating everything you do,
The monsters are your masters. We are you.
Wednesday, 12 October 2022
A Need to Read
by Nick Gisburne
She strives to see herself, her future days.
The almanac lays every secret bare.
But, as she learns, the letters crack and craze,
A spiralling of smoke and ink and air.
Reworded, what was truth will twist again,
With every fresh inspection of the text.
The writing wraps obsession round her brain,
To feed a need to read what happens next.
For those who steal the secret, those who look,
No mercy brings forgiveness for the crime.
Enchanted, bound forever to the book,
Her eyes begin their journey, one more time.
She reads until the page no longer lies,
And in that moment, starved of life, she dies.
She strives to see herself, her future days.
The almanac lays every secret bare.
But, as she learns, the letters crack and craze,
A spiralling of smoke and ink and air.
Reworded, what was truth will twist again,
With every fresh inspection of the text.
The writing wraps obsession round her brain,
To feed a need to read what happens next.
For those who steal the secret, those who look,
No mercy brings forgiveness for the crime.
Enchanted, bound forever to the book,
Her eyes begin their journey, one more time.
She reads until the page no longer lies,
And in that moment, starved of life, she dies.
Prepare
by Nick Gisburne
Citizens, patrons and peasants, prepare,
Marking the moment our forces return.
Gather together, with fervour and flair,
Thrilling to think that our enemies burn.
Sing at the sight of invincible men,
Marching, victorious, heroes and kings.
Cheer for the legions, the Glorious Ten.
Witness the wonders their bravery brings.
Where are the roars and the revelry now?
Welcome, in silence, the dying, the dead.
When did the goddess abandon us. How?
Nothing can save us, wherever we tread.
Conquering armies will follow the few.
Pray, and prepare for the damage they do.
Citizens, patrons and peasants, prepare,
Marking the moment our forces return.
Gather together, with fervour and flair,
Thrilling to think that our enemies burn.
Sing at the sight of invincible men,
Marching, victorious, heroes and kings.
Cheer for the legions, the Glorious Ten.
Witness the wonders their bravery brings.
Where are the roars and the revelry now?
Welcome, in silence, the dying, the dead.
When did the goddess abandon us. How?
Nothing can save us, wherever we tread.
Conquering armies will follow the few.
Pray, and prepare for the damage they do.
Tuesday, 11 October 2022
No Longer Whole
by Nick Gisburne
They killed me, for the body, for the brain.
For everything I was they took my life.
But now, beyond that avalanche of pain,
I wake to see a surgeon, with a knife.
Ferocious, I am quick to crush her throat.
A terrified assistant screams, in shock.
It seems that murder wasn’t all she wrote
When borrowed time was added to my clock.
The power of these hands is not my own;
I stand inside a shell of metal skin.
Beyond it, me, my body, flesh and bone.
I stagger as my vision starts to spin.
Awake, restrained, my mind no longer whole,
My captors, far more cautious, take control.
They killed me, for the body, for the brain.
For everything I was they took my life.
But now, beyond that avalanche of pain,
I wake to see a surgeon, with a knife.
Ferocious, I am quick to crush her throat.
A terrified assistant screams, in shock.
It seems that murder wasn’t all she wrote
When borrowed time was added to my clock.
The power of these hands is not my own;
I stand inside a shell of metal skin.
Beyond it, me, my body, flesh and bone.
I stagger as my vision starts to spin.
Awake, restrained, my mind no longer whole,
My captors, far more cautious, take control.
Impossible to Win
by Nick Gisburne
She needs the world to notice her, to care.
She fights for comments, clicks and likes, for love.
But none of it can soften her despair,
The unrelenting burden from above.
Her drug of choice, intoxicating, sweet,
Propels her to a public swamped with sin.
A thousand rival channels teach defeat,
A numbers game, impossible to win.
Depression, always beating on her back,
Is nowhere, never, anywhere allowed.
However bright the smile, her heart is black,
Another forced performance for the crowd.
Success becomes a curse, but is it fame?
Beyond the bubble no one knows her name.
She needs the world to notice her, to care.
She fights for comments, clicks and likes, for love.
But none of it can soften her despair,
The unrelenting burden from above.
Her drug of choice, intoxicating, sweet,
Propels her to a public swamped with sin.
A thousand rival channels teach defeat,
A numbers game, impossible to win.
Depression, always beating on her back,
Is nowhere, never, anywhere allowed.
However bright the smile, her heart is black,
Another forced performance for the crowd.
Success becomes a curse, but is it fame?
Beyond the bubble no one knows her name.
Government Guidelines: Failure to Report
by Nick Gisburne
A twenty-cycle sanitation clone,
Your septic saturation point is reached.
Significant decay to blood and bone
Is terminal. Your body must be bleached.
Unauthorised, a failure to report
For purging at the public poison pool
Is noted by the Corporation Court.
A clone who spurns the system is a fool.
The sabotage of protein product bins
Was DNA-identified to you.
You shame a system weary of your sins,
A traitor to the cells from which you grew.
Whatever dirt or defect stains your line,
Be certain we will slice it from your spine.
A twenty-cycle sanitation clone,
Your septic saturation point is reached.
Significant decay to blood and bone
Is terminal. Your body must be bleached.
Unauthorised, a failure to report
For purging at the public poison pool
Is noted by the Corporation Court.
A clone who spurns the system is a fool.
The sabotage of protein product bins
Was DNA-identified to you.
You shame a system weary of your sins,
A traitor to the cells from which you grew.
Whatever dirt or defect stains your line,
Be certain we will slice it from your spine.