Zuni

I'm the defective detective.

I marvel at the whiteness of frozen snow.

Left right upper leg.

Do you like beer?

No I like Ricky Gervais.

I'm inside the tumble dryer spinning in space.

Just made a hillinit bloody hooooot.

Why do I let the last 5 years drag me down?

Chained to me,

self destroying me from within.

I'm the Phantom Ray bombing plane with no pilot.

She ticked the opt out box and became

a peace loving vegan vampire bi-sexual lesbian called Sultry Sheba.

Dave can roll joints with his toes and smoke them with his bell end.

Curtain rail caterpillar coloured purple and beige.

Gibbering old people flying Messers over Russia.

Retirement?

Humbug flavoured gumdrops.

Silver beer cans tasting tinnily of champers.

Aldi luxury potatoes for tea.

Join me and talk gibberish.

Moonscape

In the cemetery there are twelve thousand dead.

They fought and died for Paschendale.

Such slaughter took place.

One hundred and forty thousand Allies are missing.

Fighting and dying in a foreign land,

in a town that looks like a moonscape.

Obliterated.

Nothing left.

Pieces of bodies being found today:

German, British and French.

Indistinguishable from each other except by one thing:

death.

The war to end all wars failed.

So many died, so many maimed, so much destruction.

Tens of thousands killed in one day.

Infamous names burnt into Europe’s consciousness:

Somme, Ypres, Verdun, Paschendale and a thousand more.

Sixteen million people killed and no one remembers their name

my free natalie poem ebook download

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/natalie/id527369671?mt=11

Natalie. Politico
There was trouble in The Argentine. A few of Natalie’s friends spoke out against the military junta who ruled the country. The two girls and one boy, all aged eighteen, had simply vanished. Natalie was scared. Roberto warned her not to speak out. The same people who forced him into the army, ending his college studies, had apprehended the teens. Their fate was unknown and not good.
Nat was having none of this. She wrote a song, in Spanish, criticizing the government and asking where her friends were. At a live gig in a monastery town outside BA, her band did a gig and she sang that song. Other people were watching her. Her life and new air force career were in grave danger. Did Natalie know or care?
Natalie sang her song for her dear friends who were missing. It was no use going to the authorities, they were responsible! The message was clear. Don't speak out against the ruling junta. Was Nat actually on their side? Joining the air force and being a future tool for their use in any war with Chile over the border or even Britain on the Malvinas. Either thought scared her to death.
While on stage Nat briefly toyed with the idea of dropping out of her training. The fate of her friends deeply affected her; she could end up like them. Dead or missing. People in the audience never took their eyes off Nat. She had power here, real power. That was dangerous. A shady man by the bar also watched and waited. Nat cried and sang for her pals and all the other Disappeared. Was it really real? Teenagers going missing because they believed in freedom? The rest of Mayo's set passed in a haze of emotion. Two encores later, it was over.
Nat was drained and got a strong drink at bar. The man in black walked over and nodded at the girl. She looked back blankly.  Her eyes followed his hand as he opened his jacket. She saw a gun. The threat was clear. Don’t step out of line. He finished his beer and left the bar. Natalie was shaking now, frightened that They knew who she was and that she knew what was going on. Her song was proof of that. The barman served her drink and she downed it on one.

SHIT HAPPENS

SHIT HAPPENS

Can someone please pick up the empty toilet roll holders

when you’re finished with them? I’ve just picked up ten of them.

Say guv, gun crew on 40mm banging away at the krauts.

Crap roll holders rolling about like empty 40mm shell cases,

what joy banging away! Where’s my gal at a time like this?

January on my lust for tattoos and more...

January

The Xmas rush in the big bakery is over.

No one wants to buy Yule Logs or Stollen cakes in Jan.

We did one day work and then signed on the dole.

Just try getting your Job Seekers Allowance,

the bastards won’t give it to you easily.

A two week wait after your first interview to see if you qualify.

I signed on thinking I’d be paid three working days later.

Not to be; my bank account was empty.

Bastards!

Weeks not working while waiting for my dole.

When a day’s work does come up and you do it,

make sure to declare it on your B70 form.

Gone are the days of cheating the system.

I must declare my writing; the bastards class it as a ‘job’!

My book sales get me a tenna a month.

I’m better than JK Rowling but not as rich.

No pussy Potter in my writing.

My venom is unleashed.

I don’t mind doing a day job,

it pays for tattoos.

6 month of continuous ink,

in the studio every week.

Sometimes twice.

Now the CSA cunts will take my cash

and leave me with £89 a week.

Enough for a tattoo!

I win every time you cunts and bastards!

Give me my dole in the time before I work again. 

I want a tattoo!

I’m not lazy like some chav cunts,

I want to work as it pays for my ink.

On the fucking way; 12 tattoo sessions ahead!

The Rantings of a Damaged Mind out now on amazon

The Rantings of a Damaged Mind

By Nick Armbrister and Mel Grobler

Petalled

I’m bearing my soul to you, I’m a summer flower so (frail and fragile)... showing you everything. I am so vulnerable to life’s fall out. What else can I do?

My poems, like me, very breakable when my dark side is visible. My inverse petal side is black. With the power to destroy me. Will I lose everything when you see how shattered I am?

Or do I keep my petal face to the sun, hiding my dark underside from you? What darkness. Yet I live and love with such power, ignoring what can, will, kill and destroy me. Party on in blissful ignorance.

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!

Shafted

So here I am again at the start of another year.

Same old fucking shit.

No work with the agency putting cherries on cakes.

Signed on the dole again.

Been here before, each year including 2001.

What a thing to be proud of.

Got to wait two fucking weeks before I get my dole off the bastards.

Even though I signed on Jan 18, I won’t get my dole till Jan 30.

What the fuck am I meant to do for cash?

Rob a fucking bank with a sawn off?

It’s ok for you fat cats sat in the dole office,

you get paid a big wad for doing fuck all.

Maybe I should rob you?

Or make you disappear, steal your identity and do your job?

I know I’d get away with it.

You’re one level below the Prime Minister and he’s a cunt.

Ruling 2% have got everything while we have only our pride.

Fuck you all!

plane poems

NO8 CHINESE PROSPERITY

On holiday in Taiwan enjoying a break on the west coast, fine five star hotel, great scenery, nice beach and pretty gals. Two weeks of bliss at a new holiday destination. Little was I aware that Red China was about to plan her invasion to unite her renegade province by force. Recent jet air combats left an uneasy peace with Taiwan the victor.

I got up at dinnertime after a long heady night out, to see short range rockets hit the train station. Huge blasts ruptured the sky, knocking me senseless. Medium range missiles thundered inland hitting hell knows what. Taiwanese jet fighters rose in their dozens form their bases and headed west. Distant explosions rocked the blue summer Asian sky. What do I do as the air attack sirens sound?

KNOCK EM DEAD

Her plan didn’t go smoothly, her rockets had caused huge material damage but she hadn’t caught the Taiwanese air force on the ground. Their jets had been dispersed; they knew what their brothers were planning. Huge aerial encounters of over a hundred warplanes knocked them dead. By sea communist troops embarked in ships to invade, most died in the ocean. Taiwan missile strikes killed thousands and still they came, unstoppable. A single Taiwan jet carried one secret bomb, heading to Shanghai. The end…

MESSERSCHMITT DEATH MACHINE

Yankee terror bombers fly overhead to bomb our cities and our military targets.                     

Stop them! Quick, into our Messerschmitt 109G’s.                                                                           

Take off; rise up to do battle with the infidels armed with their fifty calibre super heavy machine guns.                                                                                                                 

We have a few toys too! We drop 500-pound bombs on B-17s timed to go off and send them to hell! One-way ticket, don’t forget to pay the ferry man.                                           

Backed up by big fat 30mm cannon in the engine, punch big fat holes into the terror bombers - kill them!                                                                                                                                            Twin 13mm guns in the engine cowling to rat-atat-tat the big bad yanks.                                               

And two 20mm cannons, one under each wing to do more killing and bomber destruction or two 210mm rockets to kill from stand off range, break up their formations to execute them one at a time.                                                                           

Messerschmitt 109G death machine, weapons platform.                                                                   

What about Focke Wulf 190? Four 20mm guns, two 13mm guns, bombs, rockets or 30mm guns. Use these up, ram the bastards! Official suicide squad, Nazi style.

SOME KIND OF DANCE

The bastards came and hit Darwin.                                                                                                     

Our radar warned us in time,                                                                                                           

we got three squadrons of Spitfires scrambled and had height on our side.                                             

Now we’ll show the Nips!                                                                                                       

Diving down we got two of the deadly Zero fighters, their best naval fighter ever built.                                                                                                                                         Counter attack! Quickly a Spit is hit and the pilot is in the water.                                               

We try to out turn them as we did with the 109 and 190s in Europe.                                                                

But these Zekes turn like the Devil possesses them.                                                                                     

Our tactics are wrong!                                                                                                                   

Soon Spitfires join Zeros falling down on fire.                                                                                       

If our Intel boys had learnt from the Flying Tigers and their crap P-40s we’d have nailed the rising sun boys, dive and zoom all the way.                                                                  

Never turn with a Zero! They’re like sports planes with 20mm cannons.                                                                  

We did win this fight though coz we ripped their bombers a new arse hole, Battle of Britain style.                                                                                                                                             Our trials aren’t over yet; we used all of our fuel up.                                                                     

Many of us had to force land killing one pilot.                                                                               

Next time we’ll nail the bastards, dive and zoom all the way.                                                                  

How will history judge this epic encounter of Spit versus Zero?

ONE STEP AHEAD

One step ahead of Imperial Japanese forces, we were kicked out of the Dutch East Indies, fleeing for our lives. We escaped in Dutch Air Service Dornier 24 flying boats and others, ending up at Broome, Australia. Free for now from the marauding Jap Zero fighters, they can’t catch us here!

Our Dornier is about to depart to sanctuary in southern Australia, we’re in the flying boat when they come out of our autumn sky and oh fucking hell, the Japs are here! Nine Mitsubishi Zero fighters begin their attack runs. Our plane is fuelled up, full of civilians ready to begin our new life down south. We’ll never see our East Indies again!

Bullets and cannon shells fall amongst our fifteen flying boats setting them on fire, killing us! There are no soldiers here only men, women and kids. One by one fifteen flying boats settle on the sea bed – 8 Catalina, 2 Short C Class and 5 Dornier 24 aircraft.

Don’t you know there are civilians on these blazing sinking aircraft? There’s no air defence here but one zero was nailed when they hit our air base inland – not all one-way! Carnage reigned there but not the end! The bastards got a DC-3 full of civilians and a B-24 full of injured servicemen.

As my Dornier burns tell them my name is Anneke and I’m from the Dutch East Indies…

KAHLIA AKASHA IS BACK, SORT OF LOL

We armed our jet with 8 anti ship missiles; every single under wing weapon pylon was spoken for. Under fuselage drop tank full of fuel, in front of that twin barrel 30mm gun with 200 armour piercing shells. We where forward based on a dusty coastal track in southwest India. The Pak Navy sank the Indian aircraft carrier and her Sea Harriers; we can’t use her as a springboard. On the beach, fuel topped up, weapons armed, final checks done.

We took off heading west to engage the Pakistan Navy. To sink their ex British and American destroyers. Just as they sank the ex Brit carrier India had. Mad. Nice low slow cruise 50ft above the choppy fog laden sea. 200knots, 220mph. She would touch 530mph but we had to go slow, we had 8 ships to kill. My wife flew our plane in the back cockpit. I monitored the juicy missiles below our stealth fighter plane. Used infrared to scan ahead, just ghostly images hidden by the fog. I tried the laser range finder, so many readings due to the shifting fog. Radar! Two scans, off. There! The 1st Pak Navy ship, a Type21 Frigate ex Royal Navy. Let’s do an Argy and sink it!

Our Chain Head missiles are better than Exocet, 25yrs ahead in tech and lethality. My wife kept our jet 50ft above the ocean, our grave if she hated me. I confirmed, ‘Missile 1 locked on, missile 2 ready to lockup any new target,’ then my lady lifted our port wing. Unbalancing me, just illusion. Enough room for our weapon to launch without hitting the sea, yet our rite wing was 20ft above the sea! A big wave would swamp us. Mad. Away! Orange bright flare devil roar missile gone. Radar on again to sweep ahead, weapon merging with Pak ship 80 miles distant.

Time to turn gently away; we have 7 more ships to find in the fog and coming night. We’re an unseen ghost below enemy radar, flying slow to save fuel. We have forever to do our job. Sink the Pak navy. Any survivors in the water will get 30mm shells if we don’t shoot up any ships. Let’s hope our missiles work. I wana strafe some drowning men. Our black painted Soviet prop jet fighter slides through the evening fog as a distant orange flash flares and dies. 7 anti ship missiles left. We’ll evade their 40yr old Mirage jets...

FIGHTER PILOT

So you are a fighter pilot in one of today’s latest jets.

Tell me what it is like to fly, to fight and to die in the air?

All of the crushing g-forces and dizzying changes

of direction happening all at once.

I bet that there’s no glory in your battles,

only pain, mutilation and death.

But this is your game, an aerial ballet

of chess where the victors come home

and the vanquished cease to exist.

I’d like to see what you see just for a day,

to experience what it is like to be a fighter pilot.

 

various crazy fucking poems...

EXPERIENCE

She always was a good soul, they both got on like a blazing ammo dump; detonations careening along to where? They went out before as friends, back in the late 90s when he was married. Now, over a decade on with no marriage and years of being a bloody bachelor he wants her. They bumped into one another in the library, very convenient! Now he likes her just as much as back then, when they shared drinks in trendy Manchester bars and loud Oldham clubs.

Over time he forgot about her, after all nothing really happened. A dance, holding hands and was there ever a kiss? He really should remember but can’t, except how she was and still is. She was one of the catalysts that changed his young life forever; they were out with other friends the weekend when he left his wife.

He should have dated her then but he didn’t, they lost touch and he met another but that didn’t last and years fell by like empty beer bottles. Alcohol clouds his judgment, he’ll cut down he promises, when I meet someone to love me and care for me and I want Kathy now, like I did in the late 90s.               

What will happen? He never was able to control his life, do this at the right time but not that. Now he better learn or he’ll have many more lonely years like the last ones in this awful soulless town of bastards.

THIELBEK AND ARCANA

I wish I wasn’t wrong! I thought three ships perished in the freezing Baltic ocean. But it’s five. The Soviet Union sunk three but the Royal Air Force got two! See the names above, now meaning little in the 21^st Century.

Back then it was a different story, two big ships crammed full of thousands of people being taken to hell knows were. Hit by British airpower and despatched to a watery grave, haven’t we been here before? Were these events covered up for decades? Due to who were on the ships? Allied prisoners of war and concentration camp victims? Killed on the two ships, drowning in the sea and finished by the SS?

Thielbek and Arcana, number four and five in the majestic old ships lost in the Baltic, adding ten thousand dead to the horror of that little quiet sea. An awful fairytale of five ships sunk and up to thirty thousand dead.

The truth can be awful like some trashy paperback novel written by a second rate author, wouldn’t it be nice if this was fake? Remember their names: Gustloff, Goya, Steuben, Thielbek and Arcana. I’m very sorry, I don’t know the name of the thirty thousand who perished, only God does and he is silent...

FAIL

It’s obvious the north has failed me again, like in mid 00s when yank cow ruined my life. She stopped me being with her. I met another southern gal, we lasted 3yrs. Had some jobs and a car. Job went, then back north. Fail fail fail. Nowt, fuck all up here. No gal, no job, no car.

Last 1 died almost killed me on a motorway. Now another real southern gal pulls at my heart. Old pen pal from over a decade ago. My fault we lost touch. On crap valentine day she found me, after thinking where's nick? We talked by phone, it was whoomph!

What has she started? My southern lass into war history.

LIFTED

I hated Valentine’s Day with a burning hot vengeance; joined facefuck groups called fuck valentines day! My ex school mate said have a wank! And a witch commented I’m a nice lad, that I should have someone.

I did my English night school course, half the class wasn’t there. Out with their other partners, being wined and dined and getting their brains fucked out.

Then you get in touch, Layla, my old pen pal of a decade plus ago. It was my fault we lost touch, I stopped writing and moved around a lot.

You ignited something; I feel it when we talk for hours on the phone. Is it starting again?

LAYLA

Gonna take you up in my F-20 warplane; we’ll circle the moon on the darkest night, roll inverted through a cloud as wisps of gossamer safely embrace us forever. Like your touch showing I’m not alone.

Climb past the sun, blind in her glare, like I am to your affect upon me, perfect love. A passion like Her’s blazing away like our first kiss, intimately serene when I feel your passion and embrace, joining mine.

Up into calm blue sky where our sun always shines. Us rising past a Cirrus cloud, we climb on a tail of fire going where no one has ever been before.

I want to hear you gasp in awe when we see the curve of the earth under a black star laden sky. When we make love, let it be under such a spectacular star scape. What we have together is huge, minuscule when compared to Mother Nature. Yet You are Her and She is You. Femininely divine.

Stall turning ever so slowly, we soon hurtle to earth. A falling silver dart called Tigershark. She has a cold beauty, unlike your warm beautiful shadow perpetually upon me, your naked warmth keeping me safe on the stormiest night.

You found me after 11years; I’ll never forsake you again. Let’s fly together, forever in nature’s powerful sky making love till the rain comes to soothe our aching bodies.

I ask myself, is this how Mustang pilots felt, flying and fighting while thinking of their sweethearts, their name painted on the nose of their war bird. Alive, free and so very in love.

Onwards we fly, to freedom and unconditional love, Layla and Nick. Forever.

OLDHAM GALS

Oldham gals aren’t women; they’re mean and vicious, sneering down their nose at me. Only fit for being chained to the sink, cooking and washing. Forget in bed, they just lie there like a sack of spuds.

With a figure like a bag of spuds, you don’t want to take one home and be caught by your mother!  Definitely not marriage material, get hitched and you’re nailed to a bitch for the rest of your life. I’d rather be a long time single than with a slapper called Linda. “Put the tea on!” is all they’re for.

If I had a choice of an Oldham slapper, I’d turn gay! So would many other lads when they see the state of the talent! So many chav bitches hanging out at the job centre. Not bothered about getting a job but waiting for their boyfriends who’re signing on. On the social, getting a free flat and benefits to live off, these bitches have it all. No chance of university to better themselves, just day to day skimping of the state.

In the days of clubs like the Cabaret, the Candlelight, Dreamers and Henri’s, you could go and pick up a slag to fuck. Get a dose as well! Same old faces in the VD clinic. Was it worth a drunken shag after ten pints of Boddies bitter? If you get engaged to a local gal, she’ll fleece you and take what she can. This happened to me.

Get married and it’ll be a temporary matter. Soon half of your possessions will be in her care. I and my mates have been single for years, unable to get a nice woman. Only rough ones to fuck, better ladies are in more affluent parts of our country. More chance of winning the lottery than finding a life partner, take a chance locally.

It’s up to you but I pity you for the bitch you’ll end up with. Want an Oldham slapper? Not for me mate...

CHAV BASTARDS

Are you proud to be a white man? Do you carry that pride when you kick a Pakistani man in the head after he stared at you too long? You wanna finish him off with another kick? While in your pocket, you carry your fascist group membership card, nicely laminated and printed, with your mug shot and a false name on it.            

Do you wanna lick your sister-in-law’s cunt and bring her to orgasm while your wife cares for your newborn baby? Putting you first, as you did when you made love to her when your wife was in labour, in hospital giving birth to your child. Did you explain, why her sister and yourself were late, coz you had a quick shag?

Do you wanna spend your monthly salary on your new sports car; a new body kit this month, new alloys last and a new boom box next month, while your mate has to pay double rent on your flat so you’re not evicted? Putting your car before your bills. What if you’re mate won’t pay; will you rob him and make then pay your rent or beat him up if he grasses?

You keep drugs in your Nan’s shed, sell a kilo of smack to her mates, who’re burnt out sixties hippies. You’re a real character, a fuckin’ cunt and a drug dealer who deals under your family’s eyes, corrupting old people who did drugs in their misspent Rolling Stone youth. You don’t tell them that your drug is cut with weed killer. Are you a cunt?

Imagine where we would be, if you smuggled guns over from the Irish Republic to kill innocent people, after you’d sold them to black gang members. Do you have no morals in this 21^st Century world, where the white man is best in his selfishness and pride in his actions which he thinks is right? You’re wrong! Keep it as an idea.

Can’t we live in peace, not randomly shooting people for fun; have an end game so we don’t end up oppressed? Live and let live, being multi cultural in the UK. Tough white chav thugs acting like crocodiles, preying on whoever they want. Mugging illegal immigrants, wanton drug taking, ringing cars for bank raids and more. Are you a chav bastard criminal?

YOU

You live like a prince in paradise,                                                                                                                 
you live like a prince in paradise.                                                                                                                             You have it all,                                                                                                                                             
a house,                                                                                                                                                            
a car,                                                                                                                                                           a career in a trade,                                                                                                                                                
pet animals and your mates.                                                                                                                      But tell me, are you happy?                                                                                                                  
You still get riled by me falling out with you (and her)                                                                           
nine years ago.                                                                                                                                                              I know you resent me but I wish you well.

ACID FAT

I put my right foot into the five litre bucket of acid fat                                                                                                
and feel it warm my foot. Feels nice!                                                                                                           
Warm and funny!                                                                                                                                       It will cure my in-growing toe nail.                                                                                                                              
Gets hotter! What’s happening?                                                                                                           Acid fat in a tub, eating into my flesh                                                                                                       till nowt’s left. As if my flesh is rice paper.                                                                               
Feels like maggots are eating my foot,                                                                                                          what’s going on? It’s not right!                                                                                                                                          
Acid fat from an animal, dead unwanted offal.                                                                                                     Add sulphuric acid, you get acid fat!                                                                                                                                        Put my foot in it for a laugh.                                                                                                                                                 
Now take it out, my toes are gone.                                                                                                                    No flesh, white bare bone bloody bubbling away!                                                                                                    
My acid eaten bloody foot.                                                                                                                                          No more in-growing toe nail.                                                                                                                          Acid fat! Acid fat! Acid fat!                                                                                      

BIZARRE

I was on my way back from my mate’s when a lad walked behind me, at a fast pace.                                       
I was ready for whatever. I walked behind him after he cut down murder road.                                
A few yards behind, I trailed him. I saw four paki’s leave a dark alley; I dodged them and kept going, crossing the road. I heard a chav lad shout for his bitch and saw him on the corner of the road, standing there defiantly.

I cut down into another alleyway and kept a low profile, emerging straight behind speedy posh white lad. He got ready to go home. I saw a Christian lad in the church garden with his dog, it went woof. I said be nice to the dog and feed it the shouting chav. Walking on, I started doing a text to my mate – to tell him “Guess what I saw?”

Then I heard them fifty yards away through the light fog, some chavs! Three of them ran and joked, asked me did I see it, where did it go? Yes I saw their black rabbit run into a garden past a car! Through the fence I said, no doubt they’d just stolen it, the thieving cunts. A walk home seeing bizarre sights!