by Nick Gisburne
An iron fist of hatred grips our souls
A scourge of twisted tyranny and pain
With blood and fear he conquers and controls
Exulting in the terror of his reign
But from the darkest shadows of the slums
Insurgency awakens in the night
Believing now, at last, our moment comes
We gather, and the flames of rage ignite
He falls beneath the fury of our force
A king no more, defeated and deposed
His eyes reveal no flicker of remorse
And yet he sees the weakness we exposed
Together we destroy the tyrant’s rule
The conquered king, the bully of the school
Thursday, 25 March 2021
Monday, 15 March 2021
Creativity Gap / ‘Powers’
You’ll notice there’s a gap here. The last poem, dated 5 March 2021, brought an end to a fairly long and productive spell of poetry writing. Was there a reason for this?
By looking at that poem, A Moment, Maybe, you’ll find a sonnet describing the end of a relationship. Did this happen to me? Yes. Did I write this just after the end of a relationship? No.
In fact, the sequence of events was this:
5 March - I wrote the poem
6 March - I read it to my partner (as I had always done with all my poems)
7 March - She ended our 8-year relationship
She did not of course end it because I wrote the poem. It had been on the cards (unbeknownst to me) for a long time. But writing a poem about a break-up and then having it happen almost immediately can kill anyone’s creativity, instantly. This, then, explains why my writing ended so abruptly in early March.
My ability to supposedly make something happen, just by saying it, is something I laughingly call my ‘powers’. Famous people have died the day after I wrote something related to their life - that has happened three times now. Of course these are all coincidences, and I have zero belief in any supernatural nonsense. But it does make life interesting. I am a lethal reincarnation of Nostradamus, apparently!
By early April (I’m writing this on 15 April 2021, but I’m adding it in situ to the blog so have had to give it an arbitrary date) I am over the shock of what happened, and back in full flow. My powers are still working - I wrote a poem, Infamy, with a line ‘The king is dead, but long will live his name’. The very next morning Queen Elizabeth’s husband, Philip, was indeed dead. You may say he was not technically a king, but ‘husband of a queen’ is as close as it gets, and that is a massive coincidence. He had, after all, been on this planet just shy of 100 years, and I wrote that line the night before he died. Was this just a coincidence? Yes, of course.
Need another? On the day of the death itself I was explaining this crazy coincidence to a friend. It’s important to note that my friend is female and has suffered with serious back pain for decades. She said, in a text, and I quote, ‘Don’t write about me unless it’s about being pain free’. Earlier that day I had already written the first draft of another poem, The Limousine, which includes the line ‘The pain she feels will never fade away’. Again, a coincidence, but these things certainly add colour to an otherwise unremarkable existence.
And before you ask, my powers do not work to order, so please, no assassination requests!
By looking at that poem, A Moment, Maybe, you’ll find a sonnet describing the end of a relationship. Did this happen to me? Yes. Did I write this just after the end of a relationship? No.
In fact, the sequence of events was this:
5 March - I wrote the poem
6 March - I read it to my partner (as I had always done with all my poems)
7 March - She ended our 8-year relationship
She did not of course end it because I wrote the poem. It had been on the cards (unbeknownst to me) for a long time. But writing a poem about a break-up and then having it happen almost immediately can kill anyone’s creativity, instantly. This, then, explains why my writing ended so abruptly in early March.
My ability to supposedly make something happen, just by saying it, is something I laughingly call my ‘powers’. Famous people have died the day after I wrote something related to their life - that has happened three times now. Of course these are all coincidences, and I have zero belief in any supernatural nonsense. But it does make life interesting. I am a lethal reincarnation of Nostradamus, apparently!
By early April (I’m writing this on 15 April 2021, but I’m adding it in situ to the blog so have had to give it an arbitrary date) I am over the shock of what happened, and back in full flow. My powers are still working - I wrote a poem, Infamy, with a line ‘The king is dead, but long will live his name’. The very next morning Queen Elizabeth’s husband, Philip, was indeed dead. You may say he was not technically a king, but ‘husband of a queen’ is as close as it gets, and that is a massive coincidence. He had, after all, been on this planet just shy of 100 years, and I wrote that line the night before he died. Was this just a coincidence? Yes, of course.
Need another? On the day of the death itself I was explaining this crazy coincidence to a friend. It’s important to note that my friend is female and has suffered with serious back pain for decades. She said, in a text, and I quote, ‘Don’t write about me unless it’s about being pain free’. Earlier that day I had already written the first draft of another poem, The Limousine, which includes the line ‘The pain she feels will never fade away’. Again, a coincidence, but these things certainly add colour to an otherwise unremarkable existence.
And before you ask, my powers do not work to order, so please, no assassination requests!
Friday, 5 March 2021
A Moment, Maybe
by Nick Gisburne
There’s nothing left to play, no game to win
We’ve broken every bond we had to break
The memories together, skin to skin
Are more than any torment I can take
I’m stronger than the fool you think you know
I’ll never let you back inside my head
We lost the art of loving long ago
Whatever spark we found is cold and dead
Believe me when I say this is the end
Enjoy your freedom; waste it while you can
The dream we shared, too meaningless to mend
Was broken long before it all began
We had a moment, maybe, you and I
A moment left to falter, fade, and die
There’s nothing left to play, no game to win
We’ve broken every bond we had to break
The memories together, skin to skin
Are more than any torment I can take
I’m stronger than the fool you think you know
I’ll never let you back inside my head
We lost the art of loving long ago
Whatever spark we found is cold and dead
Believe me when I say this is the end
Enjoy your freedom; waste it while you can
The dream we shared, too meaningless to mend
Was broken long before it all began
We had a moment, maybe, you and I
A moment left to falter, fade, and die
Thursday, 4 March 2021
A Soul Beneath the Sea
by Nick Gisburne
The harbour rests, deserted for a day
A sullen crow stands guard among the boats
The sea gulls know their place; they keep away
Upon the swell a single flower floats
A bell, a toll of torment, marks the time
The chapel on the mountain is unlocked
A tide of mourners starts the steady climb
The children huddle tightly, silent, shocked
Within, the quiet hymns are known to all
They whisper to a soul beneath the sea
But few inside this consecrated hall
Can find the faith to live with what must be
A child, a girl, at peace, as though she sleeps
A village, crushed by grief and anger, weeps
The harbour rests, deserted for a day
A sullen crow stands guard among the boats
The sea gulls know their place; they keep away
Upon the swell a single flower floats
A bell, a toll of torment, marks the time
The chapel on the mountain is unlocked
A tide of mourners starts the steady climb
The children huddle tightly, silent, shocked
Within, the quiet hymns are known to all
They whisper to a soul beneath the sea
But few inside this consecrated hall
Can find the faith to live with what must be
A child, a girl, at peace, as though she sleeps
A village, crushed by grief and anger, weeps
Tuesday, 2 March 2021
Wings of Gold
by Nick Gisburne
Invading every timber of the ship
The spawn infect the vessel from within
The sailors, numb, are helpless in their grip
Appalled to watch them burrow into skin
They long for death, but feel them as they feed
Devouring flesh and sinew, blood and bone
Absorbing all the nourishment they need
They sleep at last, engorged and fully grown
Adrift upon the currents of the sea
The creatures, in their chrysalids, awake
On wings of gold, the butterflies break free
Impatient for the journey they must take
They soar among the clouds, to live, to breed
To find the flesh of men, on which to feed
Invading every timber of the ship
The spawn infect the vessel from within
The sailors, numb, are helpless in their grip
Appalled to watch them burrow into skin
They long for death, but feel them as they feed
Devouring flesh and sinew, blood and bone
Absorbing all the nourishment they need
They sleep at last, engorged and fully grown
Adrift upon the currents of the sea
The creatures, in their chrysalids, awake
On wings of gold, the butterflies break free
Impatient for the journey they must take
They soar among the clouds, to live, to breed
To find the flesh of men, on which to feed
Fishing for Cats
by Nick Gisburne
Surrounded by a sea of crooning cats
We dangle flailing fairies on a string
Amused, the felines chuckle in their chats
But some suspect it’s supper time, and sing
Beguiling ballads saturate the sky
The fairy flappers sigh a sad response
A mournful moan to make the kittens cry
Who wave their whiskers woefully at once
The pussycats parade their purrs again
A furry fanfare, shivering with song
We lower down the lines and count to ten
And hope the silky strings are safe and strong
The fairies catch the kittens by the tail
We serve them, sliced and smoked, with yards of ale
Surrounded by a sea of crooning cats
We dangle flailing fairies on a string
Amused, the felines chuckle in their chats
But some suspect it’s supper time, and sing
Beguiling ballads saturate the sky
The fairy flappers sigh a sad response
A mournful moan to make the kittens cry
Who wave their whiskers woefully at once
The pussycats parade their purrs again
A furry fanfare, shivering with song
We lower down the lines and count to ten
And hope the silky strings are safe and strong
The fairies catch the kittens by the tail
We serve them, sliced and smoked, with yards of ale
Monday, 1 March 2021
The Madness of the King
by Nick Gisburne
Tormented, drained, the king surveys the room
In reverence he kneels and bows his head
A dismal chill pervades this ancient tomb
Its chambers seal the secrets of the dead
Bewildered by the perils of his reign
The whispers of the palace haunt his mind
A threat to his survival, stabbed and slain
The madness of the king, corrupted, blind
Pernicious rumours, long before the birth
A ceaseless torment, silenced with a knife
And here, among the dead, beneath the earth
He strikes another blow, to end his life
The king who killed his blameless wife and child
Will always and forever be reviled
Tormented, drained, the king surveys the room
In reverence he kneels and bows his head
A dismal chill pervades this ancient tomb
Its chambers seal the secrets of the dead
Bewildered by the perils of his reign
The whispers of the palace haunt his mind
A threat to his survival, stabbed and slain
The madness of the king, corrupted, blind
Pernicious rumours, long before the birth
A ceaseless torment, silenced with a knife
And here, among the dead, beneath the earth
He strikes another blow, to end his life
The king who killed his blameless wife and child
Will always and forever be reviled
Sunday, 28 February 2021
Government Guidelines: Removal Age
by Nick Gisburne
If a citizen has reached Removal Age
They must swallow an official poison pill
Any failure to comply, at any stage
Gives an officer the right to shoot and kill
Where a plague-infected relative has died
Use abrasive tools to grind the skin away
Hang all bodies on the meat hooks we provide
Current law permits a single corpse per day
Never question your allotted date and time
The efficiency of government is key
To extend your legal lifespan is a crime
And will triple the administration fee
When your usefulness is over you must die
You are not allowed to know the reasons why
If a citizen has reached Removal Age
They must swallow an official poison pill
Any failure to comply, at any stage
Gives an officer the right to shoot and kill
Where a plague-infected relative has died
Use abrasive tools to grind the skin away
Hang all bodies on the meat hooks we provide
Current law permits a single corpse per day
Never question your allotted date and time
The efficiency of government is key
To extend your legal lifespan is a crime
And will triple the administration fee
When your usefulness is over you must die
You are not allowed to know the reasons why
Saturday, 27 February 2021
The Collector
by Nick Gisburne
He rescues them from damage and neglect
Forgotten books of dark, demonic lore
A feverish obsession to collect
Addicted to their drug, he craves for more
But this, he knows, will be his greatest prize
Forbidden magic, stolen from the dead
The symbols swirl and snake before his eyes
A storm of flame and shadow fills his head
He wakes upon a floor of amber glass
His body, scorched, still breathing, still alive
He tells himself the pain must surely pass
Tenacity compels him to survive
The dragon scratches ‘Human’ on the jar
A rarity - the live ones always are
He rescues them from damage and neglect
Forgotten books of dark, demonic lore
A feverish obsession to collect
Addicted to their drug, he craves for more
But this, he knows, will be his greatest prize
Forbidden magic, stolen from the dead
The symbols swirl and snake before his eyes
A storm of flame and shadow fills his head
He wakes upon a floor of amber glass
His body, scorched, still breathing, still alive
He tells himself the pain must surely pass
Tenacity compels him to survive
The dragon scratches ‘Human’ on the jar
A rarity - the live ones always are
Tattooed Children
by Nick Gisburne
As children, left to scavenge on the streets
They live like beasts, but stay together, strong
A world of struggles, setbacks and defeats
But to a single purpose they belong
Inventions, strange and deadly, fill their dreams
Designs they scratch and scrape into their skin
The tattooed children’s enigmatic schemes
Conceal the seething bitterness within
And now, at last, the nightmares come to pass
A legion of unthinkable machines
Monstrosities of silver, steel and brass
They rise to wreak revenge, by any means
And those who once abandoned them must die
But not before they face the question: “Why?”
As children, left to scavenge on the streets
They live like beasts, but stay together, strong
A world of struggles, setbacks and defeats
But to a single purpose they belong
Inventions, strange and deadly, fill their dreams
Designs they scratch and scrape into their skin
The tattooed children’s enigmatic schemes
Conceal the seething bitterness within
And now, at last, the nightmares come to pass
A legion of unthinkable machines
Monstrosities of silver, steel and brass
They rise to wreak revenge, by any means
And those who once abandoned them must die
But not before they face the question: “Why?”
Friday, 26 February 2021
The Freak
by Nick Gisburne
They say it was an accident at birth
Biology, a freak genetic code
Of all the creatures doomed to walk the earth
On him the greatest burden was bestowed
If any other man had been so cursed
He surely would be driven to despair
A scourge of such severity, the worst
A malady no magic could repair
He sees the look of loathing in their eyes
But stands before them, shameless, unafraid
And as his voice brings terror from the skies
The greatest hits of Britney Spears are played
He murders them, the karaoke king
He knows it, but he simply loves to sing
They say it was an accident at birth
Biology, a freak genetic code
Of all the creatures doomed to walk the earth
On him the greatest burden was bestowed
If any other man had been so cursed
He surely would be driven to despair
A scourge of such severity, the worst
A malady no magic could repair
He sees the look of loathing in their eyes
But stands before them, shameless, unafraid
And as his voice brings terror from the skies
The greatest hits of Britney Spears are played
He murders them, the karaoke king
He knows it, but he simply loves to sing
Thursday, 25 February 2021
The Doorway to My Dreams
by Nick Gisburne
Where are you, tiny doorway to my dreams?
You show me other worlds, beyond compare
Unparallelled excesses and extremes
Yet everything is real when I am there
My life is dark, a sea of empty space
But all is bathed in light behind the door
I long to see our secret, special place
I know that you can show me so much more
Where are you? Why so difficult to find?
You stir my rage, at every twist and turn
Your spiteful games manipulate the mind
I wonder if my brain will burst, or burn
I see you, hiding. There, inside my skin
I cut another doorway, and walk in
Where are you, tiny doorway to my dreams?
You show me other worlds, beyond compare
Unparallelled excesses and extremes
Yet everything is real when I am there
My life is dark, a sea of empty space
But all is bathed in light behind the door
I long to see our secret, special place
I know that you can show me so much more
Where are you? Why so difficult to find?
You stir my rage, at every twist and turn
Your spiteful games manipulate the mind
I wonder if my brain will burst, or burn
I see you, hiding. There, inside my skin
I cut another doorway, and walk in
Beneath the Ice
by Nick Gisburne
She breathes. I feel it, far beneath the ice
The rhythm, unmistakable, is hers
I swore I would return, and pay the price
The bottle, safe, is buried in the furs
Too many men have died to fill this flask
And I, who killed its keeper, made it mine
A spirit, bound to give me what I ask
A power without limit, dark, divine
My fingers, crooked, frozen, fight the fear
They break the seal and set the spirit free
Compelled to grant the wish, my words are clear
“Restore my love - unite us, she with me”
She lives. I see her, far beneath the ice
But now my soul, beside her, pays the price
She breathes. I feel it, far beneath the ice
The rhythm, unmistakable, is hers
I swore I would return, and pay the price
The bottle, safe, is buried in the furs
Too many men have died to fill this flask
And I, who killed its keeper, made it mine
A spirit, bound to give me what I ask
A power without limit, dark, divine
My fingers, crooked, frozen, fight the fear
They break the seal and set the spirit free
Compelled to grant the wish, my words are clear
“Restore my love - unite us, she with me”
She lives. I see her, far beneath the ice
But now my soul, beside her, pays the price
Wednesday, 24 February 2021
Bucket List of Death
by Nick Gisburne
She was bored with her predictable career
But developed quite an interesting plan
She would take a journey, once or twice a year
See the wonders of the world, and kill a man
Nothing ever matched the tingle of those trips
As she added to her bucket list of death
She would always kiss her victim on the lips
Just to share his final moment, one last breath
But a romance, unexpected, changed the rules
Any thoughts of murder faded into dust
Such a gentleman, unlike those other fools
He was caring, kind, a lover she could trust
As they shared a breath of passion, as they kissed
As she died, she joined her killer’s bucket list
She was bored with her predictable career
But developed quite an interesting plan
She would take a journey, once or twice a year
See the wonders of the world, and kill a man
Nothing ever matched the tingle of those trips
As she added to her bucket list of death
She would always kiss her victim on the lips
Just to share his final moment, one last breath
But a romance, unexpected, changed the rules
Any thoughts of murder faded into dust
Such a gentleman, unlike those other fools
He was caring, kind, a lover she could trust
As they shared a breath of passion, as they kissed
As she died, she joined her killer’s bucket list
The Pious Priest
by Nick Gisburne
She shifts the hood to mingle with the crowd
Instinctively, she follows where they lead
The catwalk takes their feet from cloud to cloud
Disciples, in the garments of their creed
The rabid, rhythmic chanting of the priest
Possesses every pilgrim, young and old
A storm of hate, ignited and released
And he, its prophet, garlanded in gold
She knows the frozen deserts of his home
The pious priest, who burned a thousand ships
She tracked him to this world, this lavish dome
And marvels as the poison paints his lips
How easily he bends them to his will
Her son, who she has come so far to kill
She shifts the hood to mingle with the crowd
Instinctively, she follows where they lead
The catwalk takes their feet from cloud to cloud
Disciples, in the garments of their creed
The rabid, rhythmic chanting of the priest
Possesses every pilgrim, young and old
A storm of hate, ignited and released
And he, its prophet, garlanded in gold
She knows the frozen deserts of his home
The pious priest, who burned a thousand ships
She tracked him to this world, this lavish dome
And marvels as the poison paints his lips
How easily he bends them to his will
Her son, who she has come so far to kill
Tuesday, 23 February 2021
Making a Friend
by Nick Gisburne
I was weak, and I needed a friend
So I made one, and gave him a soul
More than someone on whom I depend
He is what I am not; he is whole
He has witnessed the days of my past
All the fragile emotion, the doubt
He knows all that I am, to the last
But the fear, only that, I left out
In his heart is the will to be brave
To embrace what this world has to give
He has all of the courage I crave
And the wisdom to use it, to live
In his eyes I am small among men
And I know I won’t see him again
I was weak, and I needed a friend
So I made one, and gave him a soul
More than someone on whom I depend
He is what I am not; he is whole
He has witnessed the days of my past
All the fragile emotion, the doubt
He knows all that I am, to the last
But the fear, only that, I left out
In his heart is the will to be brave
To embrace what this world has to give
He has all of the courage I crave
And the wisdom to use it, to live
In his eyes I am small among men
And I know I won’t see him again
Upgrades
by Nick Gisburne
A tangled fog of searing heat and light
I fight to focus, far beyond the pain
He said this rarely happens, but it might
A consequence of trauma to the brain
The service was expensive, but discreet
The unofficial channels always are
At least the upgrade seems to be complete
I see... my headless torso, from afar
The surgeon, pulling organs from the chest
My limbs, already strewn across the floor
A backstreet body scam - I should have guessed
He couldn’t wait to drag me through the door
I think he’s found the bomb behind my heart
At least I’ll see the bastard blown apart
A tangled fog of searing heat and light
I fight to focus, far beyond the pain
He said this rarely happens, but it might
A consequence of trauma to the brain
The service was expensive, but discreet
The unofficial channels always are
At least the upgrade seems to be complete
I see... my headless torso, from afar
The surgeon, pulling organs from the chest
My limbs, already strewn across the floor
A backstreet body scam - I should have guessed
He couldn’t wait to drag me through the door
I think he’s found the bomb behind my heart
At least I’ll see the bastard blown apart
Monday, 22 February 2021
The Teapot
by Nick Gisburne
The teapot shared their lives for fifty years
Extravagant and brash, but so is she
She cuts a slice of cake and wipes her tears
Then adds a little whisky to the tea
She always loved the contours of his chin
Dismayed to see the hint of any beard
Athletic, rugged, handsome, perfect skin
The spark between them never disappeared
The letters that she wrote him, every day
Had made the war seem shorter, so he said
She found them, just before he passed away
A hundred, sealed with kisses, ruby red
She swung the teapot, killed him with her rage
For hers was not the writing on the page
The teapot shared their lives for fifty years
Extravagant and brash, but so is she
She cuts a slice of cake and wipes her tears
Then adds a little whisky to the tea
She always loved the contours of his chin
Dismayed to see the hint of any beard
Athletic, rugged, handsome, perfect skin
The spark between them never disappeared
The letters that she wrote him, every day
Had made the war seem shorter, so he said
She found them, just before he passed away
A hundred, sealed with kisses, ruby red
She swung the teapot, killed him with her rage
For hers was not the writing on the page
Smash
by Nick Gisburne
The storms hurl tides of blood and seething tar
They drench the land in darkness and disease
A river, thick with plague, a poison scar
Delivers death to sterilise the seas
Colossal giants smash the city gates
The throbbing of their engines shakes the skies
Within, the doomed defenders face their fates
And yet, they see a silent spectre rise
The necromancer makes a final stand
Arcane, infernal magic fills his head
Apocalyptic angels sweep the land
The giants, screaming, shatter, broken, dead
Though little but a wasteland still remains
They need a plumber, soon, to fix the drains
The storms hurl tides of blood and seething tar
They drench the land in darkness and disease
A river, thick with plague, a poison scar
Delivers death to sterilise the seas
Colossal giants smash the city gates
The throbbing of their engines shakes the skies
Within, the doomed defenders face their fates
And yet, they see a silent spectre rise
The necromancer makes a final stand
Arcane, infernal magic fills his head
Apocalyptic angels sweep the land
The giants, screaming, shatter, broken, dead
Though little but a wasteland still remains
They need a plumber, soon, to fix the drains
Sunday, 21 February 2021
Duels in the Darkness
by Nick Gisburne
Deformity - the torment of her day
The twist of tainted flesh on crooked bone
The eyes of those who witness it betray
The shock, the scorn, the hate she’s always known
At night, she stalks a secret, shadow place
With gun and blade she duels on the street
And, at the point of murder, shows her face
The final fist of terror in defeat
Her victims are the worst of mortal men
The arrogant, the reckless, and the vain
They fight, yet when they die, and only then
Does any man confront what gives him pain
She duels in the darkness of the night
With those who would despise her in the light
Deformity - the torment of her day
The twist of tainted flesh on crooked bone
The eyes of those who witness it betray
The shock, the scorn, the hate she’s always known
At night, she stalks a secret, shadow place
With gun and blade she duels on the street
And, at the point of murder, shows her face
The final fist of terror in defeat
Her victims are the worst of mortal men
The arrogant, the reckless, and the vain
They fight, yet when they die, and only then
Does any man confront what gives him pain
She duels in the darkness of the night
With those who would despise her in the light