Warhawk and Nate
The Warhawks took off and flew upwards
Like angry hornets looking for trouble
Covering the frail old biplane
A flying camera with brave crew
Tasked to look for enemy locations
Flying here and there warlanes they were
American flown Curtiss fighters
Guarding the Filipino crewed Stearman
On a mission of war in the second global war
The **** were ready and scrambled planes
Nates took off and headed for battle
Each side had skilled determined pilots
Men would die today and planes be wrecked
Like something from Hollywood they clashed
Vicious little snappers reeling about the sky
Rolling turning diving climbing shooting dodging
The battle went till fuel and ammo was gone
Two planes and pilots never made it back
Both fought like demons and paid the price
Each side lost a pilot and plane
They both came to grief on the same mountain
And left comrades and loved ones behind
Bits of broken airplanes on the mountain
Lost forgotten unwanted for decades
Till the wrecks were eventually found
Some answers revealed more questions posed
Only the pilots' ghosts and God knew the truth
In this Tarac Ridge battle February 9 1942
The day Stone and Kurosawa died...

pagpag
the mosquito lamok flying ******
kept biting me again and again
i venemously defended myself

doing my best to annihilate it
but kept missing and failing
till i had my chance and acted
a dead cert **** **** ****!

yet when i looked it wasn't there
where was it?
inside my pc keyboard

i inverted this and out fell the lamok
stunned vulnerable and soon to be dead
mosquito was upside down

i tortured the **** and enjoyed it!
i dropped the mouse on it
again and again and again
as it's legs wiggled and slowed

finally i squished it
with a granite paper weight
lamok was flat flat flat!

no more bites for me...
...then i saw its friend!

to what
what to write
what to think
what to do
what to say
what to dispose
what to ask
what to answer
what to design
what to suggest
what to refuse
what to confirm
what to dream
what to add
what to discuss
what to tattoo
what to read
what to eat
what to drink
what to be
what to ****
what to shoot
what to bomb
what to corrupt
what to believe
what to dismiss
what to slaughter
what to obliterate
what to annihilate
what to eliminate
what to terminate
what to graduate
what to *******
what to beautify
what to crucify
what to mummify
what to buy
what to steal
what to create
what to destroy
what to forget
what to remember
what to expire
what to try
what to ship
what to order
what to use
what to fly
what to drive
what to sail
what to crash

A BREAK IN THE OLD ROUTINE



Do you ever find life gets dull?

And you need a break in the old routine?

Come with me and we’ll do just that.

It’ll be ******* up to work as we go

for a drive down those winding country lanes

to somewhere long forgotten.

Maybe if we go to the right place

we will meet our past selves from other lives.

The trees speed past and the sky is ever so blue

and time has no meaning, almost like it doesn’t exist.

We are there now. It’s just what I expected

but only so much better. I’d like to stay here forever

and ever…

Brutal Not Comfort
The soldiers of Nippon descended upon Asia in a vast horde of death.                              

Fighting anyone who dared oppose them, killing their enemies without mercy. Destroying everything from isolated houses to entire cities.                                        

Decades of looking inwards bred an evil military dictatorship.                                          

Only two atom bombs changed that.                                                                                      

But a story remains untold.                                                                                              

Hidden by silence and silenced by death.                                                                      

Imperial Japanese Army soldiers didn't just fight and ****, they ***** as-well.                  '

Comfort Women' stolen from Asia.                                                                                

'Liberated' from Korea, the Philippines, China and elsewhere.                                              

*** slaves shown no mercy by their unfeeling enemy.                                            

****** violence of the worst kind.                                                                                

Hundreds of thousands of women were *****, beaten, abused, tortured, made infertile and murdered at 'comfort stations.'                                                                                  

The Emperor's soldiers taking fully liberty with no reluctance.                                            

Nearly seventy years after Japanese unconditional surrender, no apology has been given.                                                                                                                          

Opposite the Japanese embassy in Seoul stands a statue.                                                                                  

Not of a soldier or tank but of a woman.                                                                          

People dress her whatever the weather and demonstrate there for an apology.                  

She is a reminder and a memorial to women affected by the **** of war.                            

In the private recesses of their minds, what do the Japanese diplomats feel?            

Tension remains at the highest level, almost outliving that lost generation.                        

In South Korea only a few still live.                                                                                        

Tell this story to students of history.                                                                                                    

Put it next to the Holocaust and area bombing raids so this never happens again.

CELEBRATING HARVEST TIME



Here we are celebrating harvest time,

a once a year event so important to everyone

of us, man and best alike. We light a candle,

burn some incense and drink some wine

in an offering to the gods at this sacred time of year.

You can feel the magical power all around you

coming from within and from the universe both at once.

We eat some bread and bite into an apple

celebrating the coming of autumn

with the leaves soon to turn red,

ochre and gold covering the land with colour.

We say our magic rites and we join nature

in the turn of the seasons.

As our celebration comes to a close

we feel the joy of harvest time.

OUT OVER THE FIELDS



Out over the fields a pair of crows circle and dive amongst the hedgerows and green grass.

A watery sun casts its watery face through the spring clouds as the birds disappear from view.

Eighty years ago it was a similar story as two manmade hawks of the air battle to the death; the fields aren’t green but a shell-holed hell with muddy trenches filled with wretched men.

Soon the burning Albatross smashes to earth, its pilot shot through the head – dead.

Back today the lost warplane still lies buried in a timeless image of death, as crows fly overhead, to freedom.

Pure
Oh you've been shafted and shat on from a great height. You'll never forget any of this. But just like Mandela, you walk with peace in your heart and forgiveness in your soul. A hand of peace for your enemies. No animosity but understanding. Setting an example. For if 7 billion souls do the same, our world is healed. No war, anger or hatred. Be honourable, just and humble. Expect nothing and give the world in return.

OLD



Take the lid off the old wooden box and peer inside, what is there? What do you see? An old bullet from the Korean war, a discoloured gemstone from a broken lover’s necklace.

A curling yellow photo of lost teenage friends, now no more, one lost to drugs.

Some ancient coin from a faraway land, unreadable language.

Now put back the lid and pause for thought. If you were to have a keepsake,

what would it be?

RAGING EARTH



If we could look at the earth in a few thousand years from now,

we would see a nightmare vision. A planet ravaged by massive ice flows,

poisonous radiation storms and acidic oceans.

A naive mankind has done this. Now man has gone underground, far below

the poison and the cold.

It will be ten thousand years before he ventures forth again. Now he lives in

huge caverns using the heat of the earth for warmth. He has built massive

cities underground built of crystal and minerals.

He has forgotten what it feels like to walk in the sun or to swim in the sea,

these are only the memories of a raging, shattered world.

Data
What will happen to us all tomorrow? Now there are so many topics that are illegal and against the law. Things like racism, ageism, bullying and a thousand other things ending in ing and ism. But what about people being spied on by America? Even their friends and allies. Isn't that bad and illegal? Like social stereotyping by law enforcement using stop and search tactics on one racial group? How did we get into this position of spy agencies siphoning up all our data? Phone calls and records, emails and photo attachments. What next? We're all on CCTV. Next they'll want to know how much crap role we use.

“If that poem idea is in your head NOW, write it down. Right now. Or lose it. For when it's gone, it's gone forever...”
― Nick Armbrister

leaded
right now i miss you very much
this feeling inside that
i feel you will shrug off
for too much has happened
we've seen too much
done way too much
for this to matter to you
or me but it's there
right inside me
not going but residing
the feeling that i miss you
and we should of done more
gone to more places
cared for one another more
loved the other more
instead of fighting
but don't they say
those who fight are like lovers?
i'm not sure i agree
tho this feeling is there
is it coz things are changing?
as new events form
and come into being
let's forget the fights and rows
we'll do it all again
from the beginning
the right way
where we only turn left
down the correct path
not the road paved with lead
that leads to wrack and ruin
with false temptations and fakery
let part 2 begin...

the lovers of time

oh my dear lady
i do love you
i don't want this to be a cliche
nor a drab love song
i want this to be for you you you
not anybody else

so sing me a song baby
a song of love
about how we met
and what we have
and who we are dear

we are the lovers
the lovers of time
the lovers of time
the lovers of time
how lucky we are
we have this time now
a thing that is ours

but i ask my dear
why didn't we meet before?
think of our extra time baby
on top of what we have

we are the lovers
the lovers of time
the lovers of time
the lovers of time
how lucky we are
we have this time now
a thing that is ours

no talk
i was with my mate going to work
when i saw the couple on the bus
they were young and in their 20s
he had mousey hair and she was blond
they were taking time out

and travelling in the philippines
she was finishing her teacher training
and he was a soldier between deployments
while i was commuting to work

in the city to my bpo job
we talked in my head
not in the real world

they were innocent and untouched
she wasn't abused by her students
he hadn't seen his mates blown up

all that was to come
should i of warned them?
be vigilant and strong
but no no no

they had to learn for themselves
the london couple on the makati bus
they reminded me of my old mates
when i lived in essex and london
years ago...

...3 were soldiers
where are they now?

Tarac
We busted our *****
To get up there
Over a kilometre high
Where the warplanes live
And die a violent death
Meeting their end up above
On towering lonely slopes
As did Lt Stone and Sgt Kurosawa
On the same day seventy six years ago
To the day we went there
As others before had
For we had a job to do
The missing answer to find
To locate the remains of a lost pilot
Named Stone from America
Who flew a Curtiss P-40 Warhawk
In mortal battle with his nemesis
Kurosawa from Japan
With his Nakajima Ki-27 Nate
Both died that day
February 9 1942
And both haunt those inclines
One is angry and lost
One found wants to go home
One likes Hello Kitty
But not the one you think
For my drink tumbler fell
And the guide missed it
It stopped where Stone said
And there we dug dug dug
And found his airplane
Or what was once his warplane
In pieces that were scrap
But had meaning to our group
For it was this plane
That brought us here
Many hours of climbing
Swearing and sweating
To touch the clouds
And be where both hit
At what cost?
Two planes smashed
Two pilots dead
The American protecting Villamoor
The Philippines' best pilot
Who flew his biplane
A Boeing Stearman
On a recon mission
The same type that flies today
With **** English wing walkers
From Clark in Bataan
The same field Kurosawa flew from
Yes synchronicity is here
Eagle Has Landed style
What does this mean now?
In 2018 right now
Is it the pilots' ghosts
Or God or fate or karma
That brought me here
To Tarac Ridge to look
To try to find Stone's bones?
When so many have looked
And failed to find him
Did we really find Lt Stone?
So he's no longer MIA
And captive here
This beautiful mountain side
Where the sky and sea become one
Where Bataan and Corregidor
Are visible
The old battlefields
Where hell occured
Where there are more MIAs
From both sides
Both pilots hunted here
And both became the prey
Paying the ultimate cost
Bent metal and broken bones
Telling a story
Their story
If you listen
You will hear it...

Chair Man
He made a decision to clean the factory chimney out.
Did he know it would be messy?
I look out of my window and see so much smoke emanating from the chimney.
It blanketed the fields in particulate sulphate alkali acid.

I was so happy! I could be a zombie now.
I ran down to the fields and danced naked in the grass.
I was in a real pea souper of man made chemical arsenic fog.

Right away it happened: zombification!
My skin bubbled like acid and fell off in tatters.
My lungs filled with liquid and I drowned in my own blood.
Every orifice streamed liquid, a real **** burn. Won't be using it no more.
The only gals for me will be ones I eat.

The smoke thins and I see a watery sky.
The pause between before and after.

My life and my very body have changed for the better.
I feel my teeth turning into steel shards that yearn for female zombie flesh.

I go in search of my first victim.
As I stroll thru the summer grass I see her. Mrs Peters from the farm.
She looks disorientated.

I close in.

Burn baby and give me some sulphuric hydrochloric acid smoke,
your fire gives me toasted tiktox and crisps me up nicely.
Boom goes the roof when 55 gallon drums go flying and it’s all ballistic.
The money shot is when the boss’s office goes up like a frigging rocket.
He was sat at his desk and went to the moon.
Chemical Ali won’t be coming back anytime soon.
Question is where is his ten million dollar profit?
Was it hidden in an empty oil drum on a pallet of dangerous chemicals?
All the factory is ablaze, three workers died and two were injured.
They should have got blood money for working there,
no risk to life was greater and no boss more meaner.
As flames reach a hundred feet and smoke a mile in the sky,
hindsight is way too late.

It fell to earth a million years ago in a burning tail of fire to land on the barren glacier, undiscovered until now, its power can only be guessed at.

The High Priestess Angelica was drawn towards it and it was She who found it.
Now the black crystal is at the centre of her power and her life, it sits on her sacred altar doing her bidding.

A white flame seems to burn at the crystals heart with a life all of its own.
Now Angelica can start her quest for world *******, she has the sacred power to do so.

Blonde-haired girl waiting for something, I don’t know what,
standing there with a look of mischievous happiness on your face.
I see the wind tussle your hair, delicate blowing strands, see the sunburst
on your blonde hair – an explosion of gold, beauty eternal at this moment.
Head slightly bowed, eyes ahead, mouth resting on your pink cardigan.
You must be thinking of something funny, see you smile for an instant –
sun through the clouds.
For few precious minutes I watch you, you don’t see me, I see you
and do this poem for you, blonde girl waiting for something – what?

Got fired from my call centre job for failing the exam. Took it while doing the night shift. First I've ever done graveyard. Can't say I like it. In fact, I ****** hate night work. Unless it's in a goth club, drinking beer or grinding.

Gonna get a new job. Jimmy Boom Semtex needs beer and tattoo cash. Give him a job and let him learn. Short term memory aside, he'll do his best. Make you laugh and roll your eyes. Jimmy Boom Semtex is here!

Gotta wait 3 months for my wages. That's ok. I'll buy 120 bottles of beer at Xmas and drink myself unconscious while reciting mad poetry. Red Horse or Colt 45? More beer is needed. Paid for by Jimmy's next job. Night shift? You bet!

Terracotta robots zapping rodents.
Ongoing Zagreb building projects.
Witches, milk floats and Vauxhall cars in Bill's head.
You got Tonsillitis from licking prostitutes’ rancid toes.

Towel used for a century; six frayed threads on its length.
Novel bus design; the driver drives from upstairs.
You drink Earl Grey tea, cold.

I so **** hate slow tardy days dragging till I get my dole for a new tattoo.
Signed on Fri, a 3 day wait till pay day.
It may not be paid right.
Twits!

Nebulous screwdrivers in the sky.
Take me away from the clouds to a desert landscape.
Tattoo my earlobe you minky moo.

Monochrome images swirl and collide on the surface of my mind,
round and round they go through the loops and coils of my brain.
Slowly they submerse themselves in colour, so much colour more
than in a rainbow.

Every image and sight I have ever seen is in here all waiting to show
themselves when the time is right.
The alcohol I had earlier helped so much to create this massive trip
in my head, I see a billion faces all at once, the power of the human brain
is awesome if only we knew how to use it, people could fly and swim
forever in their minds.

I spiral and glide down the dark alleyways and doors that lead to different
times and feelings all so alive in their own little place.
This is my access to the collective mind of the universe and of everyone
who has ever lived and who ever will.

This artistic and ancient civilisation settled on these fertile slopes a millennia ago,
in peace with the land they live in complete harmony for they are not a war-faring race.

They plant crops and grow grapes on the lower slopes of the huge towering volcano,
everyone ignores the billowing clouds of steam issuing forth, they know they’re safe just as their parents knew.

At midday the earth rocks and then the volcano explodes, sleeping mountain awakes with a massive roar. Fire and rocks fly forth in all directions and lava flows down the steep slopes.

Villagers run away scared but many are caught in the fall of hot ash and rock,
as the burning lava destroys their crops and town they know the end is near.
Falling ash covers everything and everyone so that they’ll be hidden for three thousand years, entombed to their end.

LIKE FLAMES

Like flames I see them burning ever so brightly, their colours of orange and red covering me in waves of heat.
Soon I will be reduced to carbon and smoke after being burned alive. I could ask for nothing more, such a beautiful death that we all fear but there’s nothing to fear.
It’s like a B-17 going down over Berlin, it has to come to earth someplace – what a stunning sight to see when it does, all those people burned alive, in pain.
Today I’ll settle for a 747 in her death dive, full of screaming passengers who will be roasted alive in the beauty of fire.

“Hello, my name is Rodriguez the tinpot dictator of South American country A. I came to power and made everyone a communist whether they liked it or not.
Those who disagreed disappeared. You see, I ain’t a bad man but as I’m in power I have to be firm and they’re no more.
Some call me Steel ***** as I go up against my country’s insurgents, in the pay of the Yanks, and tie down their capitalist forces in a futile war they can never win and I send the traitors’ families the bill for the bullets – pay up or die!
Everything went well till the Americans sent the Marines in and we beat them at first but now we are losing, so I’ll soon be out of a home and a job. I’ll find another country and take my cause to them, overthrow their government and be a dictator again.
Ill teach the Zionists a lesson and show them how a communist can fight.”

ARMED ASSAULT FIGHTER

Small, agile and with awesome power, that’s the assault jet.

They do a specialist job, very dangerous and especially risky,

yet the pilots are proud and brave and they’re prepared to die for their cause,

their homeland, their squadron.

From the Skyhawk blooded in Vietnam, Israel and the Falklands to the Jaguar used so fiercely in two Gulf wars, it takes a special kind of pilot to attack a missile site and to fly so low.

Watch out for the ground! Hit that and you’re history.

It’s all pilot skill battling Migs and flying between valleys to the target area

if you hit the target you’ve still got to get home.

Yes, you certainly need ***** and a lot of skill to fly an assault jet.

WAR

“Why is he not burning?”

“He will, he will, the air is too thin up here…”

Wing over broken wing, crushing g-forces stopping escape,

the enemy pilot prayed to his god but it was too late,

he’s as good as dead.

Sunlight sparkled on the spinning plane a thousand metres below.

Smaller and smaller hard to see in the death spiral.

Will he cry for his mother and scream her name in the thicker air?

When he burns up and if he is still alive? The God of war has struck again and shows no mercy.

Lower air bites and fuel vapour streams through a hundred bullet holes,

catching in a second.

A flash of yellow flame, almost white and a wounded pilot burns,

mercifully unconscious at his life’s end.

War has taken another victim. In the upper air the war rages.

Two more planes fall down, defeated…

RUFE

A late summer pacific sun burns down on this tiny coral atoll, here are three Zero floatplanes codename Rufe. They share such a common beauty that all warbirds have. Waves gently wash over the floats of the planes, resting in the cool and calm of the ocean. Delicate pastel colours colour the scene, the purple of the planes and orange of the sun, the blue of the sea.

In a few minutes a Rufe will take off, building up speed through the mirror smooth water until she is free of the blue liquid surface, she will be in flight in her sky where so much danger lurks. Hellcats and Corsairs.

Rufe has the handling of her Zero brother so she will be okay –

she is a bird of the summer sky battling her enemy.

Huge, massive and awesome that’s the Boeing 747, all that metal flying through the air on such fragile wings.

Crazy madmen of the world target these big vulnerable planes with a vengeance.

From the Sukhoi Flagon claiming one as a **** to the tragedy of Lockerbie, where a village and plane was destroyed.

In a flash all control is lost as the tail separates and the plane tumbles, lights go out and a jumbo jet dies. You know you will suffer a terrible death.

What can we do to get revenge over these madmen? Prison, no. Hanging, no.

I’d nuke their capital city and then they’ll know what its like to suffer massive death and pain. Vengeance will be ours.

GOTHIC STORM
Gothic storm across the heavens, splitting
the sky in two creating a rip in the fabric
of the sky into which the earth will fall,
doomed and dead into the abyss of time
forever more. We are the generation of the ******,
condemned to be this for the rest of our lives
until we die, by our own hand
or that of Old Father Time or of our enemies,
stalking us across the chapters of the universe,
never ending. The seas of time used to be on our side
but now the hour glass has tilted and we slide
effortlessly downwards, to our end
and that of all that meant something to us,
now nothing but ashes and dust,
not even a folk memory remains as we cease
to exist, become nothing but a storm in the rift
of time that is the world, an idea of what might have been,
ending now…

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.

Thai By
This place gets under your skin. Slowly creeping in like black Texas gold. I said I'd never partake in the cat house girls. Seeing them each day for eighteen months was routine. Walking past the 'venues' to my shop. Usual hi's and hello's.

Then one fine humid day, bang! I happened. I changed. Cabin fever? I walked into Suzi's Place. I put my cash on the counter and grinded the mamasan first. Then her two daughters followed by every other girl in there. It took thirteen hours.

I totalled twenty eight girls. Most were nice. I can't tell my wife. My mate could, his wife's cool. Mine isn't. I'll say I was busy inking from dawn to dusk. I'm not sure what came over me. The Thai air got under my skin. That day tattooing could wait.

Maybe I'll do it again. Invite my wife and her toy boy. Did I say that people are strange here? I fit in well...

Beware
Brit gal went on hols to Thailand, wanted a good time. What she got was hell. Riding a moped down a road, something went so wrong. She hit a minibus while going fast, whose fault was it? Was she on the right side of the road? Catapulted thirty yards in the road, thud!

Mushy head time. A Brit cop working with his Thai colleagues saw her. Her head smashed in, brains spread onto the road. Still alive and very conscious she asks for her parents, crying her last tears. Then she’s gone.

If you go to Thailand remember the poor Brit gal and her fatal accident. Don’t drink or do drugs and ride a bike or moped and wear a helmet.

Beware!

MAN DOWN

“You silly stupid boy, I told you to be careful!”
She weeps as she mourns her fiancés loss.
“You couldn’t be trusted to cross the road!”
He was only a boy, gone down in the channel.
**** this ****** war, a girl mourns her love,
a Wellington pilot defending his love, his land.
As she cries mournful tears, her two friends console her,
she becomes strong and shouts:
“When you have it, something meaningful,
even for a minute, don’t let it go, fight for it!”
Then she crumbles, breaks apart in grief,
inconsolable, pain like she never knew –
for this is England, we stand alone –
his loss was for all of us.
Her friends suffer her tears and wish her well,
for she has changed, grown old at her moment of loss.

nick armbrister

She Defeated Death

She should have left the city when the chance was there.                                                                                      
Before the Nazis came, closing the noose.                                                                                                      
She has so many regrets, except on her actions.                                                                                                  
Now she's at the wall,... the reasons crystal clear to her.                                                                                                          
Some things are priceless, unique.                                                                                  
Like you my dear, now against the wall.                                                                                          
Your dark brown locks hang by your shoulders,                                                                                    
your pretty eyes scan the heavens, still defiant.                                                                                                                      
Your lovely beautiful face stern.                                                                                                  
With death bearing down upon you, victory is yours.                                                                        
Crack go the rifles.                                                                                                                   Your ****** witnessed by the shot down RAF airman.                                                                                                                                                                                                        
You, the heroine, when the others were silent.                                                                          
Imagine your legacy and what you stand for fifty years from now.                                                                            
That matters.                                                                                                                        Though I don't know your name, I remember you and what you died for. (dedicated to an unnamed woman that a shot down RAF airman saw executed by the Nazis)

out of our new book...

Europa – in the dark valley between the world wars
Out of the total darkness came a light brighter than infinite suns... Poetry on women (and men) in conflict
Nick Armbrister
And
Andy N

It’s August... (by Mel)


Its August
When the wind blows
My hair, my smile off my face, my eyes full of sand
And my dress comes flying over my head,
I stand
In the middle of the race
Of dust coming from all over the place.
Its Misery
When the wind knocks
On the door, opens it without invitation
And enters without hesitation
My mood overflows with desperation
My mind with determination
To stop this irritation
This never-ending, awful sensation-
This winds illustration
Of my worst humiliation
Its motivation to tear me apart
It pulls at me, but then pushes me away,
Again!
Its gladness
When he finally leaves
This unwelcome guest, to tease
Yet another until
She's driven to madness too.
Its surprise
When he returns once more
And rushes out to deform a helpless tree
Whatever can the reason
For such, strange behaviour be?
Like a child he throws a tantrum,
But what can one do?
To please this friendless wind?
And comfort it too?
Its peace when he eventually ceases
To anger me.
"Take me or leave"
He softly whispers through
The leaves in the trees,
As he slowly leaves
I can breathe once again.
Its regret
That fills my heart
What can I ever miss about
That spiteful one that grabs and rips you
Apart?
Its sadness
That fills my soul
My agitated friend is gone
And I am, once again,
Alone!

Goth Fall
What a cool gothic chick I hooked up with online.

We shared the same interests.

A pretty, kind, intelligent, funny woman.

I thought this is it.

I've met my soulmate.

No more loneliness or being misunderstood by the wrong gals.

What a catch.

Something stopped us being together.

She sensed it.

Bad news got in the way of us.

Half a bottle of ***** engulfed my oblivion.

It's cancer.

I don't know how bad.

I'm gutted.

She sent me this message:



Heya nick lovely lad...im so sorry for not txtin u....ive had bad news n i need to deal wiv it.i wud love to have met you but now i fear we cannot...u see it wouldn't b fair on u. Ur txts and books and pics av been lovely to get each day and have helped(are helping)but i have dark times ahead...i knew i was being kept from you for a reason. Ur far too lovely for me crash into ur life only to leave you brokenhearted one day. I am sad beyond words not for my battle ahead but for my chance of meeting you being ruined in the cruelest way...you are an amazing man and an amazing spirit... Im sorry for toutching your life and being so unavailable...that was never fair of me and not my intention...bless you gorgeous man,you will find good love,its in ur future.love Katie xxxxx



I was on a real downer.

I deleted her number, my awfully capable defensive mechanisms kicking in.

Later she emailed me, in response to my flurry of skyfall emails.

Why didn’t I reply to her text about my gig?

I’ve no recollection of getting that text.

She would have gone.

Imagine her being there, after I was outa my ******* face on *****.

Due to her.

My wounds healed.

But no.

We’re apart.

And darkness engulfs me again.

Welcome back old friend...

Events and Time

I guess my feelings don’t really matter, that I don’t need anyone by my side when I’m down or upset or depressed. Don’t you know I’m just like anyone else? Though I’m different I’m just the same inside don’t you see? Do you know how hard it is to live alone and not have anyone to care for you? And when I meet someone who I thought was special, to let her in and trust her and slowly show her my world, bit by awkward bit.

Like when I met Anya in the pub we got on so well, she wore the same religious symbol as me, a pentagram, carried the same ink on her skin, tattoos and likes the same music, alternative. We had two weeks of fun, ending my 13months of being alone. Too fast she said, Nick, you’re moving way too fast, now it’s over. In the gulf of her silence I was so affected but I knew the truth.

When I heard the gunshots and saw a man dying I wanted Anya to be there for me, I was alone. Saw evil on my own streets, not wanting to be there and a witness to such random horrific events. Silly little boys armed with 9mm pistols thinking they’re something selling drugs and being in gangs, will they ever learn? They should have heard the widow’s screams. Oh that would teach them.

My life will move on, very different now. Anya taught me to not let anyone in though I’m still her friend and don’t hate her. After seeing the ****** I promised never to hate again or to carry a weapon, not even defensive. Sometimes events happen and come together, that week for me was like no other. It was all an awful fairytale with wicked people and tragedy beyond belief. And still I wrote and did my open mic readings; life must go on even in darkness, an illusion smoke and mirrors.

Still I ask who will be there for me when silent screams wake me in the deep of night. Will I forget what I saw? Will anyone ever find me, my soulmate does she exist??

IN



I now wonder, why it’s always this way the broken

heart and failed romance, it’s Nick and Danna.

Maybe now you know, I love you so

and I will pine away forever.

How can it have come to these silly games,

me putting an ad in this paper?

You have your Dave and so many more,

so will fate grant me a reprieve?

Will fate laugh and kick me when I’m down

or help me and make me strong?

All I know is that I want my life sorting

and no more emotional trauma.

OUT 4



Dave was his name and he plays rugby,

he wants to see you and share a drink with you.

Will that be all you share, as you see him every Thursday?

I know how these things work, two months as mates

“See you next Thursday Danna…” and then

you’re suddenly lovers.

He noticed me, the week before, needing to be with you.

Patience was his game and yourself was his cause

as he hatched his little plans.

Now he will think, when will she be mine?

I know it will work. All it takes is a little time.

OUT 3



So I had to be with you after watching Lost in Space,

it was the ****** robot and it having a heart.

Away to the pub I hurried to be with you

and to banish my loneliness.

Sadly it wasn’t to be as Jo stole your attention

and you ignored me.

So I went home, lonely and upset,

as other eyes sought you and took note.

OUT 2



I walk down to the road in the dying day,

as my heart cries and my brain collapses.

Dave likes you and I go to a club, to meet

a girl and get over me and you.

But all I do is to get ****** and have a dance

to old music, all on my own.

In my own lonely kingdom, where I rule by myself.

How has this happened, the loss of what we had?

When we were a couple, a real happy couple?

Maybe never, my brain cries to bring me down

to earth. How can it work

when you have three screamin’ kids?

OUT



So we went out to see a film, with cars and music:

The Fast and The Furious. It’s like old times, you know,

Nick and Danna, when we had that thing.

Now the film ends and we go to your house,

reality hits home in the usual way.

The bloke you met sends you a text “Hello beautiful…”

and then I know it’s time to leave.

The trauma starts as I realise, this is it,

it’s finally over and I have to move on.

Natalie. Roberto
Oh my dear friend Roberto. I remember back to our time, when we made love. Not the last time but the time before. When you were doing your college film studies and were so happy on your future. It was you who said, “Nat, I’ll make the best film ever made.” And his dear eyes were so full of passion, life and innocence. And a love so powerful, I cried, right there. Love for life, film, his country and lastly, for me. I new then in that moment, Roberto loved me. Maybe more than all the other things. How was that possible?

I replied to his film statement. “Tell me, what film will you make Roberto?” Those precious eyes clouded over. I heard him whisper: “Why Natalie, I’ll make the film about you. A small story about you, how you’re in a band and love to fly in your red stunt plane. My film is about you Natalie.”

I was utterly speechless. Those close to me and anyone who cared to listen knew my voice was always in motion, just like the ocean. He looked at me. That moment is still with me, over thirty years later. I never did reply to him. I embraced him and cried tears of joy. For him and for a love I had but never dared admit to myself, till Roberto died in a British artillery barrage weeks later. I was in love with him. He has no known grave.

Was his body found and marked ‘Unknown Argentine Soldier’ because he had no dog tags? Those beautiful innocent eyes are gone forever. I can’t remember what colour your eyes were!

Oh my dear Roberto, I say it now. Every day since you were killed in battle, I say aloud my love for you. Even now I’m married to Nick and am with him, he understands. His words bring clarity to me when I weep for you, dear Roberto. A life stolen by war, unfulfilled. You never did make your film about me, never completed your film course or chased your dreams. All dreams shattered by Them, those who forced you to join our army to fight the English.

I quietly say to myself, your end was fast and you never suffered. I don’t know exactly where you lost your young life, just the area. I’ve been there to see with my own eyes. I felt you were nearby to me. Are you still earth bound my love? Are you? I sense that you are. Please be happy for me and my new family. I wanted all this with you but war stole you from me, forever. I can’t remember what colour your eyes were!

At least I have someone who should hate me for what I did to his countrymen and who listens to my incoherent words about you Roberto. It shouldn’t be Nick wiping away my tears, it should be you. Please stay close to me. I have to move on from those awful times. I dedicate my life to peace. Please understand my lost friend.

“Sir. They Hit the Wrong Town”
Ruth was concerned. Spitfire recon photos were the problem. Not the quality but something else. The target, it was wrong. Its street plan was different. Buildings, or what were once buildings, were different. What was wrong? Ruth thought. Do what thy will be the whole of the law. Do it right or it’s a **** up! What have our boys done?

She called her superior officer over. Quietly Ruth raised her concern and he looked closely through the stereoscopic eye glass at the post bombing pic.

“Strewth! You’re right. A right **** up. They hit the wrong ****** town. It’s not Munich. This is bad.

Ruth glanced up with wide intelligent questioning eyes. She looked very pretty in her WAAF uniform, with hair tied back and young features.

“As you sow, so shall you reap,” muttered her officer. Did it matter where the enemy was hit? As long as we bombed them. Our revenge for Coventry, London and a score more. Our Lancasters were pulverizing Germany. Bomber Harris had unleashed his whirlwind, silencing the Luftwaffe’s wind with extreme violence.

An urgent investigation needed to be carried out. It was the wrong target. A new raid would be needed...

Nedā

You died in protest in Iran. Āghā-Soltān age 26. Your death caught on camera. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Sent around the world. Condemning the Iranian government led by the mad man Ahmadinejabd. Your fellow country people said they were called your name. We are Nedā. Your death was one of the most witnessed in history due to television and the internet.
Human Rights Watch said:
"She was a philosophy student who was a bystander to the protests when she was shot in the chest on Kargar Street. At the time of the shooting, Āghā-Soltān was not actively protesting, according to her relatives and eyewitnesses. She had been travelling in a private car stuck in traffic several kilometres from the main protests at Azadi Square, and had just stepped out of the car. Numerous witnesses have stated that there were no active clashes between protesters and security forces in the area where she was shot."
Your years of study over, stolen by an assassin's bullet. Unable to live your life, follow your dreams and contribute to life. But in death, you Nedā, won't be forgotten. You stand for freedom, life and against tyranny. Music was your love, you never did play your new piano. Stolen by that evil bullet allegedly fired by Abbās Kārgar Jāvid, member of the Basij militia. Symbolizing the people versus the government in the disputed election. Government authorities denied you a proper funeral and a ban on collective prayers after your ******, threatening your family if they mourned you. Evil actions by an evil government, like ****** or Stalin's evil way. Nothing but brutality. You Nedā are the opposite of that.

Memories (by Mel) from THE RANTINGS OF A DAMAGED MIND book by nick armbrister and mel grobler
Today as I sit and think of you,
I remember your face so dearly.
I can still see the love which shone
As the lights flashed across your face.
I remember a straight line across your jaw
And the tightness of your expression.
I can still see the creases on your face
As you smiled at your friends.
You seemed so sure and confident
And so relaxed and patient.
I stood and watched you and
When your gaze met mine, I glanced away.
I glanced away even though I didn't want to.
I turned away though my heart was screaming.
I felt as though you were still looking at me
And your gaze seemed to tear me apart.
I wanted to run up to you and hold you close
and perhaps then you would have known how I felt
About you...
I see you so clearly in my dreams and it seems
as though you're a part of me, but you suddenly drift away.
You drift away because my grasp on you isn't secure.
You drift away in dark and smoky clouds.
I reach out for you every way I can.
I whisper your name as I walk down deserted alleys and high mountains.
I see your face in everything I do,
and I fumble with sweet thoughts of you.
Will I ever make you mine or will you always
Be a memory that I failed to erase.

Sacred Dream
You can’t steal my dream.                                                           ­                                                     

You can take everything I’ve got but not my dream.                                                           ­                         
It belongs to me.                                                              ­                                                              My path is my dream.                                                           ­                                                       

You can't steal my dream.

Therate
I want them to find all lost bodies on Thera.

Thirty metres of ash hides them.

Brothers and sisters cremated alive.

There was no divine guidance from a higher divinity over her last 4 years.

Wishful thinking on her part, oh yeah.

She, Katrina, acquired a taste for gin.

Life goes on, so her mate said.

Jesus failed continuously from 2013.

Ikea replaced him.