The Complete Nick Armbrister Poetry Collection Volume 3

By Nick Armbrister

THE COMPLETE NICK ARMBRISTER POETRY COLLECTION Volume 1 covers it all, Nick Armbrister's work from early 1996 right through to late 2013. An epic career of poems on many topics and views. Much of his work has been published in the 'small press' poetry scene over the years and in his previous books. Also included here is new unpublished work. This book will appeal to anyone who wants to read Nick Armbrister's multi emotional work and to new readers who want to read something different and unique.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick's Poetry Books
• Release date: Aug 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005681395

Nick Armbrister

Hi, this is the publishing writing profile for Nick Armbrister, an author and publisher from Manchester, England. His work includes varied poetry and stories, including short and novel length. Topics include history, erotica, aviation, current affairs and much more. Nick has been writing since 1996 and published in the 'small press' (poetry scene) and in books for many years. He does open mic, attends writing work shops and is always working on a writing project. He has writing online and in real world books. Follow Nick's writing, news updates and more on his varied blogs links. Enjoy his writing, something different and creative. Nick has also worked with several international writers/authors/poets.Nick's other interests are gothic/alternative music, gigs, tattoos, aircraft, reading, outdoors, paganism, hiking and life. He was born in 1971.

Book preview

THE COMPLETE NICK ARMBRISTER POETRY COLLECTION Volume 3 1996 - 2013

Nick Armbrister

I M P R I N T

THE COMPLETE NICK ARMBRISTER POETRY COLLECTION Volume 3 1996 – 2013 by Nick Armbrister

© 2021. Nick Armbrister. All rights reserved.

Author: Nick Armbrister

Contact: [e-mail]

If you liked the book, then recommend your friends to download their own copy. Thank you very much for respecting the work of the author!

This ebook, including all its parts, is protected by copyright and must not be copied, resold or shared without the permission of the author.

Copyright 2013 Nick Armbrister. This version 2021.

No part of this work maybe reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author and publisher.

The only exception is using a single poem for reviewing purposes where the author, Nick Armbrister, must be quoted as author and holder of the copyright.

Nick would like to dedicate this book to Amelia Earhart

Contents

Poems 1

Poems 2

Poems 3

Poems 4

Bio

Poems 1

SEARCHING

Searching, looking, experiencing life

just wondering what will come next.

I am looking for love and happiness

in the arms of a partner to share my life.

I have been married and had a caring girlfriend

but none of this worked out.

I’ll not rest until I am happy in my heart

to find my love to be the one.

I ask myself, why does it take so long

to find my girl in the journey of life.

Maybe, Louise, you will be the one for me

and we can share our future

together in each other’s arms.

How could I forget another October disaster,

joined the Golden Wheel to be taken for a ride.

Now nothing except a lonely heart.

PHOENIX

My pilots were the best but they all went down

in flames, to be snuffed out by life.

My precious relationship with Debbie faltered

when I came into contact with Jeanette.

And Jeanette won’t speak to me

because I got a bit confused.

Is it that bad that sorry isn’t enough?

My flat will have to go coz I left a dead

end job and have got no money.

So it’s moving into Paul’s

and off I go to college.

To live and to learn and to start again

in a new life. My old one nearly dragged

me down but I became a phoenix

determined to build a new life,

full of promise and joy.

From the course of change

there are always casualties

but can’t peace be made and friendships reformed?

I deserve a second chance to fly and not to crash.

MONTHS

August was upsetting with me and Debbie breaking

up and me losing my flat. September was painful

trying to make friends out of a lost lover,

not being able to go to college due to no cash

and looking for a job. October was full of dead

starts of Louise and Vicky and the ads in the paper.

November was full of meeting Victoria

and joining a new work agency

but it’s all the same old shit repackaged.

Will December be any good to try to find love and success?

CHEATED

All my life I have struggled one way

or another to find my way.

But when I am settled something happens

to upset my path. First it was my marriage,

then it was my job and last week it was Debbie.

I can’t keep living this heartbroken way,

I need someone to be my guiding light.

But I have never met such a precious person,

do they exist or am I to die alone?

I have a special place for the one

but it happens every time, that I feel cheated in love.

Do I blame God or myself or is it just life

that keeps putting me down?

As I get older, the loneliness gets worse

and the knife cuts deeper every time a crisis

hits home.

LIFE IS A CUNT

Life is a cunt and it’s all God’s fault

coz my last six months have been a pile of shit.

I say to myself the next six had better be more successful

coz I ain’t going through shit again.

I think who will I meet, where will I live

and what job will I do? I don’t know,

only the cunt of life will let me know.

LOVE IS DEAD

So it is time, love is dead, I have no girl only desolate loneliness

spreading out inside me, sadness leaving tears beyond belief

in this dark hour of my blackness. Mental instability threatens

my very existence, brings trauma and flashbacks, past into focus,

fight as I might. Breaking down to cry in anger at my own loneliness,

find a knife in my hand after hours, days of tragic thoughts.

A barrier is crossed October17, every 3rd week of the month a new cut

on my leg, see the red blood through water eyes of tears, my perfect leg

scarred now forever. Not my actions but my hand did it, alive on its own –

an extension of my wounded mind. Yet who can save me from this end game,

end it before my end? Love could, heal me, save me, take my pain, despair,

loneliness, sadness, anger, anxiety, depression, negativity, take it all away

and bring a positive. Yet I dream of my soulmate, a fool’s dream.

How talented am I, yet I am not alright in matters of the heart,

no woman puts her arms around me, no blanket of love to end

my instability. If I have love, find love, I am liable to lose it.

I feel so unstable. What if I lose my mind, self control and self discipline

fails and I lash out, make a tragic mistake? No one must suffer my pain

or upset, who can guide me, for eternity and to the stars? My dreams are empty,

do I drop them and pick up the knife and shed more blood,

through my streaming tears? If I survive, what will a future lover

say at my scars? At the ones she can see? Can she take my mental scars away

and heal me, save me? Or is love dead, my love dead?

NOT OF NOW

Old woman will be dead soon,

maybe I’ll know your answers then to your questions.

Why? Yet you took upon a cause, one our youth

don’t give a fuck about, why should they?

Narrow-minded closed to a point, next fix, crate of alcopop,

new dvd player. Big picture, ride the Nazis down.

Oldham’s finest Lancaster laden death, cruising heavy

over the Dutch coast. Doing their duty,

for freedom’s call and tyranny’s death.

Not to be! Nazi night fighter out of the darkness,

flash of cannons, smell of cordite, detonation of cannon shells

on big fat bomber. Death dances and smiles—oh my happy time.

Did big fat bomber fire back? Point three oh three bullets

against two and three centimetre cannon shells?

Corkscrew manoeuvre to beat the kraut. Get real!

All that fuel, fourteen thousand pounds of bombs.

No chance, two engines dead, feathered props.

Screaming down like a thunderbolt onto Dutch farmhouse,

family asleep. Surreal fuck up, Deighton’s Bomber has come to life.

What form did the blazing plane take before impact?

Who in the house heard Armageddon call, scream of engines,

death dive of plane?

Nearly sixty years later a port is extended.

Old bomber dug up, smell of gasoline filling the air, bombs for Germany

next to broken farm house. A child’s clothes next to English bullets,

a family killed by plunging Lancaster.

Mummy and daddy and three children dead,

seven men on a bomber blown to bits.

Grown men are sad at their grandparents’ legacy,

affected by history’s unending reach. Would this lost family’s children

have grown up to be successful and loved?

Laws of ballistics, physics and war ended five lives below, seven above.

A port is extended, an old woman remembers seven RAF men lost in a Lancaster.

Her one living cause, now she is in peace, lament.

Buries five men, RAF, mixed up with broken bomber and shattered farmhouse.

My memories. Melted aluminium like candle wax dripped onto millstone grit.

Saw my dad get a hernia from Lancaster reduction gear.

Price for wreckage, of his son’s passion.

Riot torn Oldham, no jobs, no Goth girl for me, no music,

just a love of war, death on Germany, 50,000 dead, bombed in their beds at night.

Ask them how it feels. Total war by 3,000 Lancaster’s built in Oldham.

I give up, I surrender now, I am lost, defeated.

No girl to save me, I scream to my soul, why couldn’t I fly in a Lancaster?

Death my price, I accept without hesitation. Piss myself, scream for my mother.

Yet part of something huge, making history that will last forever…

CLUB

Saw you all in the club, Metal City.

My old mates out of my life for three years.

I want you no more. You were friendly to me, me to you, I’m not a cunt.

Al lover, a fallout and me and her never getting on, worse than cat and dog.

You became friends with her, a sense of betrayal came to me, lack of trust

I still have now. John came and said, Hi, Sonia gasped at my tattoos

and Mavis asked how I was, why I stopped going up. My reply—

you became mates with people I don’t like, they don’t like me,

I made a decision and stood by it. You upset. Told the others that my mate

Leah is my trainee witch. What will you all think of my tattoos, my Goth side,

old animosity and moving on? To be easy, I will be polite to you

but I have moved on—

let me go yourself.

YES YOU

Come and get me, show me the insides of my body.

What makes me tick? Cut my heart out

and show it beat to me, remove my brain

and cut my belly, put it inside—funny weight problem!

Cut my hands off and toast my fingers,

eat them as snitzels in gravy made from the skin

of my back. Put my tattoos on a lampshade to preserve my art.

Give them to my children to gaze upon in awe.

What will you do to me when I am in pieces, my soul in hell,

you in heaven with my blood on your hands?

Fry my muscles as a fire cooked steak…

REPLICA, REAL

Only I care about the passion of flight,

dream of old airplanes that don’t exist anymore,

mourn them like the loss of a lover.

Silly thoughts yet more precious than gold,

for I alone remember.

See Fokker D8 replica roll and pirouette,

a silver arrow becoming a cloud – almost real.

Look at old blueprints on the net of the real D8,

stare in wonder at the simplicity of it all.

Yet for a second I was in raptures, a real D8, a big dragonfly on TV.

Simply existing. How would it fly compared to the replica D8?

Turn tighter, dive faster? My dream is complete, for now.

Have no girl to care, so in the sky I am…

YOU

So you are finally here, in my land,

you are bored to tears in Maidstone.

Why not London, gigs, pubs and clubs?

Did you not meet your soulmate,

walk hand in hand, fall in love?

Do you remember me, do you care?

Am I still a cliché you avoid like the plague?

You took me to an inch of my life,

taught me how to feel pain

like no time ever before.

I only survived due to my music.

My leg is now scarred, perfection gone.

Never done that before but never

been so alone in despair.

Yet every weekend I’m at my best,

actually happy.

Last week Tristania and Nightwish healed

my soul, my music. Sent you an email,

I expect shit back, it’s what people do to me,

will you?

1933, NEVER AGAIN

Oh my sister I miss you very much,

now that you’re gone, what am I to do?

My family is scattered, forsaken, dead.

Must continue onwards to find my way

yet I have my country’s tears in my heart,

my family’s blood in my veins.

My soul is rock, no more pain

but my last final breath to free me

from my mortal body – release, to be?

See miles of road pass on by, wheels

turning to a new life. Temporary.

Lorry never saved me, brought me a respite.

Got a flat and some money, that will stop,

you see they will deport me.

What next, a train ride and a shower?

Can I stay at the hospital where I work?

My English is coming on well,

your country needs me, a doctor.

Not to be. Told to go underground,

fade away, become nothing, a ghost.

Nearly time now. I think I will be home

soon, my enemy doing Darfur’s destruction

will have me killed, their beating wasn’t enough.

One last option – other side of the coin.

I will get a gun, Kalashnikov assault rifle,

defend my homeland, lay down my life

for an end to my pain, make a statement,

doctor becomes soldier. Blood on the sand,

join my family, my kin. Let the world remember

me, my story, the story of my people.

Wendy tried to help so much but all in vain.

Fuhrer Blair is top bastard – a Nazi?

ONE DAY

Why does so much negativity weigh

so heavily upon me right now?

World of lead upon my shoulders

taking away my emotions, making

me an automation. Went to Cloud 9

last night and had fun, found out

Pink Lady is out of reach, Martin says

she wants no one. He says talk to Jo,

who is Jo? I don’t remember…

Saw ugly pig-eyed bearded bastard rocker

who wouldn’t shake my hand.

Hate him, wish the twat dead.

I am the better man, an all rounder.

Met some people who like planes

just like me, spoke to Thomas’s uncle

in N. Ireland, he is in the sky just like me.

Thomas is single, his girlfriend left him for another.

I told him of my loneliness and how I love

my music, how it guides me and saves me.

Saw old mate Pete, said hi, he’s still with the girl.

I’ve moved on from them, got my gothic ways

and tradition to uphold, my cause now.

If others don’t like me I don’t have to compromise,

I say fuck them all and go straight to hell!

If I’m negative now it’s coz it can't be fun all the time.

I still dream of moving away from here,

this shit town, do a new start.

Be at peace with myself. One day…

UNTITLED

Love is an illusion fuelled by hope

Hope is an illusion fuelled by love

The sky is full of ghosts each cloud

A spirit forever trapped in the blue.

FEELS LIKE

Feels like I’m losing my mind,

can you tell me where it’s gone?

It must be around here somewhere,

not in my head. This is strange,

wash my face and dry it.

Rub it till it’s sore, my sense of feeling

is receding like a distant ocean wave.

Water is my mind, fluid, see through,

nothing there. Am I the man without a brain?

Can the doctors help me, fix me?

I don’t feel okay, this happens every day now

and I don’t like it. How long till they lock me up

because I’ve done something bad, evil?

Time will tell if I can heal this forgetfulness.

I struggle to add up, my regression is becoming a past life.

That of an imbecile who can only respond to touch,

not make conscious decisions.

I need to get out into the world, be in the middle

and not in a corner, ignored. If I fail and lose

my mind, my marbles roll away, I want you to help me.

Pick up the pieces and guide me, show me

how to think straight and to learn to live,

be kind, not cruel. Not to lose my mind.

TOGETHER

For Christmas she got me a small present that she said I’d like.

She told me about the present, my present. I remember only bits

now and I have only hazy memories of how it made me feel,

an empty shell of what held all the potential fun. All this in a small gift

wrapped in a single mauve ribbon.

A secret burst forth, here in this box was the secret to stop

all the wars and conflicts with man, human kind – international and personal.

All I had to do was to open it at midnight plus one on Christmas day.

But I have a confession to make. Instead of meeting God and being a saviour

of the world, I blew it. I lost the present on the way home,

where I don’t know. I had three too many beers and now I feel bad.

I lost my present on the way, our present. I know I’ll never find it.

Was it like a dream? Yes. Did I blow it all? To save ourselves and our world?

Was I a potential new messiah? Fate was kind to me, I never wanted the hassle

or responsibility. So we have to be careful. Don’t bring the red button

anywhere near me… we do it the real way, together.

HORNET RESURRECTION

Lady of the sky, flying so high up into the blue,

all silver, a cloud’s silver lining. Now nothing

but a ghost, image on an old photo, in memories.

My aching dream to resurrect the lady of the skies

and let her exist again. I know I will fail.

I am a mere man. Lady of the sky, where are you now?

Lady of the lake, under fresh water waiting to be found.

Lady of the desert, sand blasted bare all alone.

Lady of the mountain, high and desolate,

captured by a mountain peak. Lady of the ice sheet,

frozen in time and in an icy grace preserved.

Where can I find you? I’ll do a magic spell to find you,

make you real. Take to the skies again, not just in my mind.

You are the most beautiful airplane and the best of them all—

de Haviland Hornet.

AS BAD AS NAZIS

Guy meets girl and falls in love and both are happy.

Guy talks about his girl and his mates know he’s happy.

He’s an ex-army boy, as are his mates.

Secret’s out one day: his girl is a transsexual, dick