War poems submission by Nick Armbrister

War poems submission by Nick Armbrister

Norwegian Hills

Back in 2004 two men met. A unique meeting then, in that year. Yet the event that led up to that meeting, the actual cause, was something else. Do I call it majestic? No.

YOU decide what to call it.

A burning Halifax bomber fell in flames between two hills. Two or three engines on fire. What happened to the other six men? Raped by Nazi gunfire. So many lost, dead.

I wish I could see the scene the Norwegian man saw. Or not. Did he pull the sole English survivor out of the wreckage?

NORWAY MY HOME.

So much war. Not Vikings or myth but real. Burning RAF bomber fell between two hills. Where are the men? Only one was there in 2004, with his saviour. Does he miss his mates? Where are his pals? Still in the charred bomber?

There Are Two

In our world there are two wars. Both are equally deadly. Casualties and deaths are enormous. Our soldiers are at war all over the world, campaigns in Iraq, Afghan, Libya and more. Insurgent bullets claim some, IEDs others. Young people serving their country, often paying the highest price.

The second war is even more devastating and knows no geographical boundaries, the whole world. Lives are stolen like Lynette Hammond's life by her selfish boyfriend when he drink drove them to oblivion.

Is anyone innocent?

Look at my mad past. I created casualties of war by my angry drunken actions, married no more. Pints of beer are like bullets, have one more and drive your car.

Do drugs?

Fancy a knockout spliff, like a grenade. Bang goes your mind. Onto Class A, rob and murder a pensioner to pay for your dirty habit. Will you OD or do bird? More war casualties on our streets.

How many soldiers end up in both wars? Flashbacks leading to mind collapse, war without end. I ask why?

Hurri

Been up to see the Hurricane crashes at Tintwistle. Heather covered black hillside, treacherous rocks to snap a leg, somewhere hides the wreckage. Oh don't you know I went too far. Ended up at the quarry. Those rock faces are something.

I stumbled thru wicked undergrowth and climbed the hill. This way and that led me to the memorial cross to the three lost pilots. I paid my respects. Looking on Google, I saw where the crash was.

Over the wire, I found it in a few minutes. Smashed alloy and bent pipes. My poppy is now amongst the bits that belong to three Hurricane fighters. Last resting place of three brave pilots, killed before they lived their young lives.

It was nearly thirty years ago when I was there before. I was just a kid. I promise to go there soon.

Flames are tears. Tears are flames, till the bitter end.

Belgrade

Broken warplane falls wreathed in smoke.

Me with two German bullets in my chest.

How it hurts.

Funny how I feel alive right now, before I die.

Was I dead when we met?

Something precious died inside when you left me.

So I joined the air force and became a pilot.

People feted me wherever I went.

Don’t you know I shot two Huns down?

Then number three got me.

Good and proper in his bull’s eye.

Sorry my dear wife, I won’t be coming home.

I fall down in a burning fighter plane near Belgrade.

I died for you and our Motherland my love.

Let Marshal Tito be proud of me.

Sincerely love me my dear wife,

I’m sorry we fought and you left...

And There Were Three

Late mark Griffon engine Spitfire is sliced apart by German gunfire. Defeat! Spit pilot takes to the silk and bails. He saw his executioner executed. Swift justice handed out by a Tempest. No one said the Salamander was in service.

Volksjager peoples’ fighter, for everyone but only flown by the best, killed a Spitfire before  a Tempest killed him. Did the Nazi pilot perish? Unlike the Spit pilot? Eyewitness to his own shoot down. Advanced air war 1945, Armageddon beckons.

Enough! Time for a coffee and some biscuits, teen combat pilot dreams aside. I close my book and go to make a brew. No decaf for me. Need my caffeine before I battle the Luftwaffe in turbulent European skies. Shame I’ve no beer!

Never mind about being there, seeing history made. German jet genesis, almost mastering state of the art piston engine fighters. Back to my book. At 17 my mates were out chasing girls, I was in the skies.

Dying Pretty

Why now do I look at the Tupolev 160 White Swan and Rockwell B-1B bombers in a new light? Taken aback at how pretty both jet bombers are. Their World War3 mission is a dark job, end of days stuff. Not to be taken lightly, unless you're Dr Strangelove.

Less people die when the American B-1 goes to conventional war. Her nuclear mission is taken over by the B-52 and B-2. Soviet Russia built a design masterpiece by ripping off the B-1, just like they did with Concorde with their Tu-144. Cool jet planes, better than our Western counterparts? Just as cool.

Imagine if the White Swan and Lancer were used in humankind's last battle and that the nuclear mission was given back to the B-1. Each jet carrying twenty four nuclear freefall bombs, one megaton apiece. One million dead per bomb, city killers.

The Russian jets are named after famous pilots. I asked Tupolev why not call one Lilya Litvyak? A lady who I'd like to meet. What she achieved is rather special. See the two swing wing bombers as works of art.

Art not war.

varied poems

I

I have been married,                                                                                                                              

I know how you feel.                                                                                                                                         

Don't patronise me,                                                                                                                                               

I've experienced.                                                                                                                                            

Been there,                                                                                                                                                       seen it before.                                                                                                                                                            

Been in the dock,                                                                                                                                            

right on the edge relationship train wreck.                                                                                                    

I've been there.                                                                                                                                                       

I know gut wrenching anxiety,                                                                                                              dark despair,                                                                                                                                        

delicious forbidden suicide pull.                                                                                                                   

Snap out of it and say sorry!                                                                                                                      

Save your relationship and save face,                                                                                                    

avert a war.                                                                                                                                                       

I was married and understand.

LYNETTE

Not quite sure why your death affected me so much Lynette.                                                     

Left me very upset when I found out.                                                                                              

I'd just been to Tesco’s at Greenfield for Naomi.                                                                              

I checked my messages and Mel told me of your death in a car accident.                                       

Mel was upset and I felt her pain.                                                                                                     

I looked on Mel's profile and saw your name.                                                                                   Why did you have to die?                                                                                                                    I'm unsure why I was sad.                                                                                                                       

It just seemed wrong.                                                                                                                        

I got back to Naomi's to do meditation and you Lynette was on my mind.                                       

We did meditation and I was very sad.                                                                                          

Maria did Reiki healing on me and I told her what happened.                                                   

She said Oh No.                                                                                                                                      I cried then over a gal I'd never known and never would in this world.                                                            

Maybe in the next.                                                                                                                                    I sent healing

to you Lynette, how the hell can I heal you when you're gone?                                       

I sent it to your family and to my dear friend Mel in South Africa, half a world away.                              

I so wish Mel lived nearby, I'd be there for her.                                                                                 

I wonder what you are like Lynette.                                                                                                   What makes you laugh, cry and happy.                                                                                             

NOW I can't coz your gone.                                                                                                                           

I pray to a better place.                                                                                                               

Peace.

Mind Fright Friday Night 

I’d been out to the pub on my own I came back early, it was one of those nights. I walked up the main road a little drunk. It was then I heard a car, it sped away so very fast – getaway? Briefly I saw it, gone. Seconds later I heard two bangs, fireworks? No pretty sky light
display screams! I heard screams of, “Help! Help! My husband’s been shot!”  My drunkenness shoved aside like an unwelcome friend I rushed to the house, got in the back door saw a scene from hell. Why did fate pick me? Why did fate pick me to see a man dying from a gunshot wound one metre from me? Why did fate allow this to happen? I don’t care what he had done no one deserves death by firearm. Blown away they call it. There was nothing I could do, I felt so helpless. I called the medics; silly woman on the phone did stress me out! That night everything changed forever, the last of my innocence died when I tried to help a shocked wife who’s now a widow with her two kids. I wish I could have done more but I feel I failed, being a witness to a dying man’s life, an end. I’ll place flowers at her gate to remember an awful night that washed away my petty problems. Why did a man die? 
Based on real events I sadly came across late summer 2009 no more guns (or knives) on our streets enough is enough. 

poems

WAIT

He stares out to see, searching for his destiny,

knowing one day he will see his kindred again.

Before she went she told him to search the ocean

with his eyes, for there she will be.

A love born out of the insaneness of life and of random

chance, they had each other for awhile

and then had to painfully part.

Life’s pendulum swings forth, one chapter ending

and another being born

in which they’ll meet again, is a mystery.

Even if it’s the next life or in a different place,

nothing will break their love. Not even death,

for time is their ally, each empty hour glass bringing them closer.

Distracted he walks up the beach, caught up in his daily routine.

Something in his mind, hidden, says wait, wait…

OIL WORKER

Leathery skin from a relentless hot desert sun, hard as nails attitude –

don’t give a shit what you think. Work till I get rich or die

doing my job, black gold.

Now just like my daddy, a legend of a man he was,

created me in his image

to work the wells, day and night.

For what it’s worth, I love this job, my life, my black gold.

Cost dad his life when the wellhead blew, fifteen years ago.

Now in his memory I do my graft and put dollars in the bank.

My son will be an oil worker and he’ll remember his granddad,

never met, legacy of the oil fields. Tough work, black gold.

YOUTH TRAGEDY

Many millions strong, an army in the making

of powerful emotions and thoughts.

What is my generation to think of this?

Young in my own eyes, two generations under me

are rising above me right now.

Some make it, some don’t, some are good and do it right,

some are bad and do dark deeds.

They better do it right as soon they’ll be running

this damn country, coming into jobs

and careers – responsible ones.

Laws of averages, rise and fall,

what do we make of the crazy ones?

Stealing cars, selling drugs, mugging pensioners.

What comes around goes around

but right now many fall and some don’t make it.

Teenage suicide, hard times, cost of life.

Only so much prison some can take.

White, black, asian, all creeds.

All the same and an island of emotions,

let loose in an uncertain world.

Good ones are separated by a dividing line,

doing apprenticeships, finding jobs,

a new career. How the gap widens, of no in-betweens,

just people who live their lives and in their own worlds.

ALL OF THE ABOVE

ALL OF THE ABOVE

Girl of the planet come to me now and show me your inner soul,

set my mind on fire with your eternal strength.

Goddess of the oceans and rivers, bathe me

in your watery embrace and solitude.

Queen of the deserts and of the shifting sands, fling

a sandstorm at my door, hide me in your deep Sahara.

Angel of the watery skies, blow me away with your sudden gales

and take my breathe away.

Dark witch of the night, death incarnate, grind

my body down into the dirt and take my soul into your black heart,

now.

Light witch of the day, life creator, strengthen my limbs and heal

my mind. Show me my youth years, gradually.

Girl in my painting, pray for me and let us be together

as I dream of us, now. My fellow spirit, you’re over my heart,

in my mind, all of the above.

His Latest Flame/Fugitive

His Latest Flame/Fugitive

Feel like a fugitive in my own life, kind of use to it and enjoy it. Filling the gap where your life and love should be. Do you know how fucking alone I am now? That doesn't matter. My views go to ink, captured in my poems. What will you think when you read it? I know you exist, somewhere. If you didn't, I'd be totally alone.                                                                                                                    

Like now. What if you don't exist and I'm wrong in believing that you do exist and you actually yearn to be with me? What if I chose to leave here? My choice. No one can stop me. Someone should save me. But who?                                                                                                                                                     

You? An unnamed angel? My latest flame? Dark delicious pull of you being too late tugs at me, like gravity at a comet passing a gas giant. A cataclysm. No worries. Pathways to where?                                                               

I had it all before, a caring witch wife, bakery job, car, holiday a year. That was fifteen years ago. Why do I wish I had it now, not then? Was I young and innocent back then? My life, so back to front. If you do exist, I promise to wait for you, for a while. And when I'm gone, you'll follow me and we'll be together forever, even though I don't know your name. You wanted me to wait for you forever. I need you now.

Oh how Goth.His latest flame dying now....

poems from my new book wrote with Mel Grobler

poems from my new book wrote with Mel Grobler

RANTINGS OF A DAMAGED MIND

is Nick Armbrister's new poetry book jointly written with poetess Mel Grobler. Poetry includes light and dark work covering human emotions and relationships, the death of a northern town and mental health issues to name a few topics. Make up your own minds on this hard hitting and memorable book of modern poetry for modern people.

Poetry is a form of expression. From simple topics to complicated ones, all are here. From Nick's work about England and his life to Mel Grobler's touching poetry from half a world away (South Africa), this is a book with a difference. The cover art by tattooist Ginny (The Inkpot Tattoos, Oldham) adds to that. This is for everyone who has felt love, rage, hope and frustration. It's about the human journey of life, told by two writers who are at opposite ends of the earth. Nick and Mel met online and became close friends. They both share a passion for poetry and writing about their views and life experiences. Each has a unique style and understanding of the world in their writing. The result is here, a collection of memorable poetry. Easy to read and understand yet long lasting and subtly different than other contemporary poetry. Through these pages you enter their world.

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!

Land

All over this land there are people and families living.

Guys and gals living how they do.

Adding to the history of our nation.

In towns and villages, by the coast in small harbours and on isolated islands.

Young and old, happy and sad.

See them in their lives, so many past memories and future dreams.

We are them, they are us.

Some are parents, others kids doing what kids do.

Adults work to support their families, coal miners and soldiers, waitresses and bar girls.

Our country, home to so many people.

Shaped by war and forged in battle.

A third of the world was our empire.

Empire people settled here as decades pass.

Pages add to the story of England.

Day by day, dawn becoming dusk.

What will tomorrow bring for us all.

Joyous family life or perilous battle abroad?

Will you take a summer day trip to Chester or a winter holiday in Durham?

England here for us all to see.

So much to see and do.

You add to our history in your own way.

Long

Everyone's waiting

for the next big thing.

It doesn't have to be big,

as long as it's good...

Bad

On our coach on a fun day out.

Saw a lorry on its side.

Bad.

A car was underneath it.

Were people in it?

Yes.

Two dead.

Our day turned sad.

awesomely cool poems by nick lol

Posh

Posh Goth historian lady walks seductively around the darkly delicious graveyard. Wearing a red tight button skirt, black blouse and bare feet. She waits for me, in vain. I broke it off and went my own way. No more Goth for me or women for me. I ditched being miserable when I met my boyfriend Johan of Hannover. Will my family forgive me for turning gay and breaking a real English rose's heart? I listen to classical music and work for Siemens now. A happy life. Yes I still like my dear Goth historian but as a friend. Please don't be mad. Enjoy your English graveyards. Do visit us in Germany soon my dear to meet my boyfriend and see some history.

West

We head west to our party to have a laff. Beer is free, provided by the host, and food, all you can eat. It's a case of bring your own lady if you want female companionship. Myself, I like to dally with the girls who turn up and act like lads. Single, drinkers, up for a shag and one of the lads, holding their own in drinking games.

We spin the bottle and answer stupid questions on ourselves or do a mad act. One gal gave a lad a blow job right before us! Damn, the guy enjoyed it. I catch her eye after she's made herself decent; I want my claim of her later. The bottle stops at me and I must drink two cans of beer one after the other. I've had seven already, hope I don't pass out or vomit! Need to be able to fuck Elsa later.

By the table an argument over football erupts. Bloody sport! Why can't they just drink and chase gals? Look at the tipsy couple getting it on by the sofa. A real sight. She's got a shaven pussy, when I’m ready I’ll test her out. Party time at my mate's, always fun and never boring.

 

Where

I know she's out there somewhere. Waiting for me to find her. Where is she?

What if we should have met a decade ago and now it's too late? I assume my gut feeling will tell me who she is. I'll see if it's right or not. In the mean time Lady Fate can bring me a lover,

before I meet my life partner. I need some fun!

Lazarus

I wonder where you are right now, at this time. Do you exist as a whole person or have some parts missing? I remember your cool sense of humour, when you put diesel in my petrol tank.                                                  

I was even cooler when I cut your brake lines and you drove off a cliff. It was a six hundred foot drop, straight down. I wanted a big explosion but there was only a thud. Do you still exist, broken and disfigured, amongst the trees in a squashed car?                                                         

Nobody knew you were there, except me. It was a remote mountain road. I jumped out of the car before you soared over the edge, like a flightless bird. My bruises healed and I walked back to town. Any questions on your whereabouts, I'm a seasoned liar. Part of me is unsure though; are you really dead? The car never blew up. Was the drop enough to finish you?                                                                             

I must climb down to check and take my gun, just in case.

9mm

Bullets in a wedding cake. How did they get there? Gothic wedding gone wrong, big time. Bride and groom both dead, full of nine milli bullet holes. Like their precious cake. There was a big row over an affair. You must understand, they were only just married and hadn’t consecrated their marriage yet. So were they really married? Was it official? And can an affair be classed as an affair, if they hadn’t yet made love? Also the affairs weren’t real, they were theoretical arguments on what either would do if the other cheated by an affair. He joked that her sporty sister was fit and he wanted to see her on the side. His wife retaliated by jesting how nice his squaddie cousin was and was he an equal lover? What happened next was a bit of a blur, a gun was produced and shots fired. Four bullets wrecked the wedding cake and one killed the new pagan bride. But who shot the gothic groom? Witnesses swore he had the gun and never turned it on himself. His wife was cold dead on the floor, half her pretty face missing.                                                                                                                

No matter who shot her man, the result was a tragedy. There would be no honeymoon for this dead couple. No going to heavy metal gigs, no trips to art galleries, no themed vampire nights in the local church and no long precious years together. All because of a silly row over affairs that hadn’t yet happened and now never would.

Double Gonk

Double Gonk.

I want Gonk to double his body weight from 9 stone to 18. He's twice the man then and can carry two machine guns instead of one. And between wars when Double Gonk works at Park Cake Bakerie's, he can stick two white chocolate buttons on the arseholes of Colin the Cattapillar cake at the same time. Cos Double Gonk is twice the man that he was before. He can wear two uniforms at once; marine amd Park Cakes. Take your pick: bullets or cakes. In the field of battle Double Gonk can strangle two Rag Heads at once, one a hand. Or deploy two weapons at once, for example, a 50 Cal with fire for effect in his right hand and a 40mm grenade launcher in his left. Then he's Vieto Willy, cutting Charlie down. Give Double Gonk a war and he fights twice as hard than the original Gonk, ending the bloodshed double quick time. He's deployable to two different warzones kicking butt. Watch out Iran and North Korea. Double Gonk is coming. Twice the man he used to be, twice the lover with twice the women. In two places at once. Loving and fighting, what Double Gonk loves doing most. Duane the Marine and Bakery Operative.