BERLIN TOKYO WARHEARTS book poems by nick armbrister out on itunes/amazon

Happens

Why do I feel so disjointed in my usual way in the place where I almost belong? We were almost together my love. Because I panicked and thought you don’t want to know me, you went and found someone else. Leaving me down in the darkness, alone.

Weeks later when we talk, you say that you wish we had met. My views too. Come on over I say, we belong together. We both know it. We feel fate brought us together and this hasn’t run its course. I’ll see you in future when you’re single again. In the meantime I’m seeing a gal at weekend, it feels wrong but hey, I’ve been here before. With the wrong gal.

And in a few weeks time when we do meet, you’ll introduce me to your mates and hopefully my pagan wife will be there. Forget the new gal I’m meeting, you’re my High Priestess who protects me from myself and the evils of life. We’ll always be close my dear, please know that I love you and wish you well. Pagan to pagan.

Eclipsing Karin’s Fracture

Fracture lines of frantic events. Pretty little German girl named Karin Ulbricht. Leipzig late 1989, events so much bigger than just a mere pretty beautiful little lady. Daring to demonstrate for freedom, do you FUCKING know what you’re doing? Do you? Chasing a dream, not knowing what it is. 

BUT YOU FEEL IT IN YOUR BONES.

And know that you’re right, being in Leipzig, on THAT night. Voicing your opinion by your actions and words, you and your friends. Oh when I saw you on TV voicing your version of that night, I was caught in your rapture. I tried to find you and failed. My postcard with a Spitfire seaplane on, addressed to you in Dresden, remained unanswered. I so wanted to hear your views and talk to you, you a REAL Cold War warrior. A heroine of peace and freedom.

Dear Karin, do you know what would have happened if a single gunshot had destroyed the peace that night? What happened when you were all arrested and taken to the barracks in Leipzig, gals separated from guys? You could have all been murdered. Nazi and Stassi style. For what, peace?

All I know is that on TV you looked heartbreakingly pretty. Tell me my dear warrior woman, what date was you interviewed? Are you still as pretty and brave and vulnerable? Do I dare chase an impossible silly dream of being your friend and more? Two awful World Wars and a Cold War, Karin. Don’t you know, I’m part German?

My Pagan Goddess will bring you to me, if fate and destiny allows it. Peace my dear angel.

Witch

Witch gal hurt me so very much, not by her spells or High Priestess ways. Nor vainly trying to save me from myself. She can't stop my darkness, nor can she see my blood flow when darkness takes my happiness, adding to how she hurt me. But I forgive her, totally and unconditionally. I'm no longer a Nazi nor do I break people’s legs if they wrong me. I never once did a spell to hurt a fucking soul.

I left my Craft alone for so many years, became a real lost soul. Like the ones I write on, in my dark poems. Crossing lines. I never asked for so many things. Oh what a joyous list: being born, being different, being misunderstood and having war fighting ability with fists, weapons and words.

Above all, I never asked to live in a world of selfish people who are fucking cunts, where nations go to war and kill thousands for oil, where my life is a tragic ash filled ruin. And I never asked for the gift of writing so I could share my shit with all of YOU. Do my new spells stop my rot, guide me from my path of destruction, where SHE helped me on my way?

SHE filled the fuel tank on my broken warplane when I flew off on my suicide mission. Oh, I hope she remembers me after I blocked her for being like all of the others...                                                                                                                                          

Bleat

I blame you for all my maladies                                                                                                       

and strife in life.                                                                                                                             

Have a nice day.                                                                                                                         

Bend over and meet Mr Meat.                                                                                                              You fucking sheep!

Cyn

I look at you from across the ocean and wonder what are you thinking? Will you like my poem and my words when you read it? Would it be like a poem that you write, if you choose to do one? A collection of words, each unique as you are, all with meaning when joined together. Many things are different but many are similar. You like cakes and ice hockey. Part of your individuality. What else do you like? Music and films? Happy or sad? The years of your life traced thru a love of songs, remembering the good times but wanting to forget the bad. Just how I am. Do you think life gets harder as we get older, not easier? Broken hearts are for the young, not the old, as are hangovers. Tell me my friend, do my mere words do you justice? Wishing you well, my simple poem for you :)