SONG

A haunting melody of song flowing

through the airwaves

making time stop dead.

You know the song

but can’t put a name to it.

It takes you back to a love

long lost and to a friend

who died ten years ago.

As it ends you jerk back

to reality with more than one tear

in your eye and memories

fading away.

JIMMY BOOM SEMTEX on itunes

https://itunes.apple.com/gb/artist/jimmy-boom-semtex/id546786931?mt=11

Empty

In the nascent

empty vessels of time,

I hear your voice.

dovestone link vid other 1

http://youtu.be/Yn9OBoo5MyI

dovestone vid link

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSzCIh0cwxM

jimmy boom semtex

http://www.lulu.com/shop/jimmy-boom-semtex/times-of-nonchalance/paperback/product-21536201.html

my tumblr link

http://nickgothposts.tumblr.com/

Sky Fight

What makes the game even more interesting is that you can never win.

Or if you know you’ll lose from the start and you still enter the game, to lose.

As a student of air warfare, never ever fight the enemy on their rules.

But what happens if you do?

There’s a gothic saying...

‘Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons...’

Goth or no Goth, those words are the real deal.

Your comment reminds me of a crazy

but fascinating dog fight of an English Electric Lighting jet fighter

and a late Mark Griffon engine Spitfire, maybe Mk24.

Was in the late 50s.

Spit could never win even tho it could do 450mph level flight and dive past 600mph. Lightning was 1500mph jet.

The Spit could out turn the jet.

Jet could climb from below, hit from above, high speed slash attack.

You get the idea.

Yet they did this fight.

Shame both weren’t armed...

The Lightning pilot had a bang seat,

the Spit pilot a chute... 

AUTUMN

AUTUMN

So here comes Autumn, late October, falling leaves, bitter wind with Nature’s slumber.

Now I’m here on the bus, off to foreign parts with rain cascading battling the howling wind.

I hear it whistling through the gaps blowing leaves like confetti from a belated wedding.

Cars at the garage sit like icebergs stranded foretelling of Winter to come. I think of

Autumn, of turbulent weather, of times to come, of the year gone by as I journey to Autumn. Will my life be turbulent free or like the blowing leaves, in motion?

The 7^th City 

The warplane lay broken on the barren desert floor utterly broken, forgotten and forlorn. Painted on her side are the names of six cities; next to each is a faint but distinct image of a mushroom cloud. There were six in all each next to a city name written in their native language they read: Moscow, Berlin, London, Shanghai, New York and Rio de Janeiro. Next to the shattered warplane rested a damaged cylinder two metres long, white and glowing faintly in the twilight. It was a bomb like each that had been dropped onto the flattened cities long ago. Where would number seven have been dropped? Before the warplane had been broken herself and where were the two crew? Were the weathered bones on the sand they? Kahlia Akasha was no more just a decaying unwanted fighter plane partly covered by the shifting desert sands soon lost forever more, part of a war forgotten one thousand years past. 

THE POETRY, PROSE AND QUOTES OF JMS AND OTHER WRITERS Edited by Jimmy Boom Semtex out now

THE POETRY, PROSE AND QUOTES OF JMS AND OTHER WRITERS
Edited by Jimmy Boom Semtex

out now

 

Back To Arisaig

I must go back to Arisaig,                                                                                                                                            

To my caravan by the sea.                                                                                                            ...                                                    

Where the morning mist,                                                                                                                                                 

Shrouds like mountains high.                                                                                                                                                

Where the river flows full,                                                                                                   

With the incoming tide,                                                                                                                                              

And the seagulls wheel and cry.                                                                

Where the horses feed and play,                                                                                                                                                          

By the stacks of new mown hay.                                                                                                                                                                                        

Where cowslips, clover and daisy grows.                                                                                                                                                       

And celandine and sweet wild rose.                                                                                                                                                                            

Where multi hued heathers bloom,                                                                                                                                         

And spiky yellow broom. Yes, I must go back to Arisaig,                                                                                                                                        

To my caravan by the sea.                                                                                                                                                                              

Where Rhum and Eigg, Canna and Skye,                                                                                                             

Lie to the west of me.                                                                                                                                                

At sunset all crimson and gold.                                                                                                                                         

Or hidden from view in a swirling mist,                                                                                                                          

When the grey clouds fall into the sea. To walk the Glen road to Borrodale,                                                                                      

By the tumbling stream and shady trees.                                                                                                               

To a friendly welcome and to sit by the fire,                                                                                                              

Or walk to the shore. Yes, I must go back to Arisaig,                                                                                                                                      

To my caravan by the sea.                                                                                                                                         

Though sometimes the wind howls round the door,                                                                                                                    

And the windows are lashed by the rain.  

Wow! Tattoo My Butt - More Mad Poems and Verse by Nick By Nick Armbrister out now

Wow! Tattoo My Butt - More Mad Poems and Verse by Nick
By Nick Armbrister

out now

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.

CLUSTER

See you praying in the church heads bowed

for the god you pretend to worship.

Does it do you any good?

Get into your friends nickers?

Bring payrise so you can pay mortgage?

I’m up in the bellfry with my radio,

I can see you below if I look down.

Ahead I see the roof, inverted red tiled vee.

I speak clearly and the devil does his evil act in your eyes.

For me business as usual.

A small dot approaches in silence,

becoming larger every second.

Now! See four dark shapes fall free and tumble

downwards. Stopping in mid air bits break

away and things fall forth, hundreds!

Onto red tiled roof, breaking several tiles,

exploding in a crazy rush of noise, violence and war.

Bits of tiles slip down forty five degree roof, freefall.

Some cluster bomblets punch through unbroken tiles

to the parishoners inside, heaven!

Others destroy the roof and rain debris and shrapnel

below injuring some. Discarded bomb casing drops

to earth, deadly cargo placed on the church.

I duck behind the wall as more bolblets explode.

Most made it inside and hell has opened forth.inside,

confined space adds to a cacophony of an event.

Sliced flesh, torn clothes, bloodied severed limbs,

disregard for god's lambs in total action and ending.

Death does not rule here absolute.

In time some will be crippled, end up in wheel chairs

or in homes or asylums. As for the priest –

he refused my wedding plans so I ripped him off,

wrecked his church and killed a selection of his oppressed flock.

His bloodied robes blow in the breeze as a man in black

walks forth. His foot fall silent leaving footsteps in blood.

Broken glass crunches and a severed limb twitches.

Old Nick was here!

Hunter Becomes the Hunted

World War 2 is still relevant in 2014. Widow of a Kriegsmarine Captain's U-boat still misses her husband. How she wishes he'd had a shore posting and not gone to sea. When he died in his steel coffin, he left a wife and a child. His last resting place is now known off the Cornish coast with two other subs.

All crew killed, sunk by a deep British minefield, 70 foot down. The subs were after coastal convoys, open ocean hunting was too dangerous. As it turned out so was near the shore.

Today in the clear blue water lie three shattered U-boats:

U-325, U-400 and U-1021.

Two are hundreds of miles where they should be. For decades family members knew the wrong location. Now the mystery is solved. All sunk by Type 17 mines. The widow's flowers float on the sea where her husband died. His remains and his crew lie dozens of metres down. The sub crews varied from inexperienced to war vets. At rest together.

The uncle of one submariner still grieves and says we never learn from past events, do we?

JUNIPER'S DAUGHTER - THE FINAL WAR by nick armbrister

   John tried the light switch in the front room it came on! What the fuck? Outside it was night the light would be visible for miles, Sarah drew the dusty curtains coughing and sneezing due to years of crap. In the corner was the reason why the light worked, a car battery rigged up to give current mounted on an old metal TV stand, what an ingenious idea! Each other room was the same under closer inspection; spare batteries were stored in a big floor to ceiling cupboard in the kitchen. There was a multi media centre in the room, Sarah messed around with it and loud music came out of the speakers, a song about failed poignant romance sung by a female singer with a stunning voice. A dusty CD cover was on the shelf, John picked it up, it read Nightwish, “Once” album. Sarah turned the music down to a bearable level and looked at the other equipment here – 36inch plasma TV, 17inch pc monitor with dust covered keyboard and pc tower nearby, cordless phone, digital camera with printer and other gadgets. Sarah turned on the computer, a Mac model from over a decade ago; she used a similar one at college so long ago. The screen glowed green through the dust as the Mac booted up, then black, grey and finally white as software loaded up, anti virus, firewalls and other crap. On the desktop a host of icons glowed showing many uses, Sarah clicked on one with the mouse trying the internet. It came up after endless minutes of waiting bringing real opportunities to see what was happening in the world; news had been so hard to come by and was often old or just hearsay. On the main page she took her bearings – news, bizz, Myspace (still going now?), Europe online and more. She checked the date “3.32am Friday June 13 2015”, yes up to date and working, the news feed streamed up, she hadn’t used the internet (still called that after all these years?) in a decade. It was still the same or was it coz of the old computer? There was a UK news bit, she clicked it, nothing came up this bit was blank with only a white screen. Why? The English army keeping everyone in the dark? Or had everyone crashed back into the Stone Age after the wars? Then it hit her; there was no United Kingdom anymore after the civil wars. Fuck that! Onto the world news bit covering Europe, there a bit on France! After the terrible nuclear war was there anything or anyone left? Three news headlines read: “Reconstruction begins as France re-joins Europe and the World community”, “Money from America rebuilds France and bordering countries” and “UFO seen in many areas over France, strange lights in the sky and ghostly lady of the mist seen”. For ten minutes Sarah and John read the news on France. Rebuilding had to happen one day they had to build up and rejoin Europe, it was the only option wasn’t it? What was this odd report on lights, UFOs and a ghost woman? Could it be Juniper’s Daughter? After the weird talk of a woman, a leader coming to help, dismissed as hearsay, was she in the land of the frog, before coming here? Who could say? John thought it was all bullshit that people had regressed to superstition and rumour. Onto world news, a war reigned between India and China allied with Pakistan with millions of casualties. Other trouble with mad tribal leaders in South America, an American invasion of South Africa, etc, etc, the world hadn’t changed at all, just the year. War ruled the planet, as before, Sarah was about to break the connection when John stopped her, “Do a search for Juniper’s Daughter.” She did so, one hundred and eighty seven million results showed, “Fuckin’ Hell! This cant be right,” he gasped. Sarah redid it, it was correct. She clicked onto the first link, it loaded and opened and blurred photos appeared of a woman walking down a derelict road. More photos and text, she scrolled down and read the words, “Rumour and counter rumour of a second coming, of the end of the world, of a saviour of the human race. No firm evidence is available only speculation, conjecture and mystery. Just who is Juniper’s Daughter?”

   On and on they both read, John left the room to get some fresh air, this was all too much. A world still at war, UFOs, this strange woman, all madness! It was then he looked up; he saw a light move across the heavens, a shooting star… then it turned and shot back the other way. What the fuck? You gotta be shitting me! “Sarah, Sarah get your fuckin’ ass outa here, come and see this!” he screamed. In seconds she was there, the sky was dark nothing was there. Then it appeared, she swore and held her breath for a full minute watching it, a dark red light pulsating and growing larger, shooting over their heads before vanishing.

Stupid Fucking Idiots

Stupid Fucking Idiots

WW1 starts when prince Ferdinand was killed in Sarajevo,

domino affect total war.

Germany defeated, humiliated by Treaty of Versailles.

Re-armament, rise of Nazism in the 30s. WW2 starts, total war again.

Ends with Germany’s utter defeat, closure from WW1 to 2.

Start of Cold War East v West, won’t this be fun!

Inc Yugoslavia under Soviet influence, often shady and distant

but more Sov than West.

Cold War dies, break up of Yugo land, 40,000 missing

being ID by DNA. Trace it back to WW1, one big circle.

Trouble in the future? When closure, again?

Stupid Fucking Idiots!

WOW! TATTOO MY BUTT PART 2 - WHERE DO YOU THINK WE ALL WILL BE TOMORROW? By Nick Armbrister.

WOW! TATTOO MY BUTT PART 2 - WHERE DO YOU THINK WE ALL WILL BE TOMORROW?

By Nick Armbrister.

Ariel Sharon

On this world of 7 billion souls,                                                                                          every single one of them is as guilty of sin.                                                                                 All are as bad as the next.                                                                                                        Come judgment day, the scribes will be working overtime.                                                                                                             What will I be judged on?                                                                                                 What will the petty gals who let me down be judged on?                                                   Don't you know, my last five years has been like a fucking war?                                                          Oh, I've taken losses.                                                                                                       More than any army and its general could ever endure.                                                               Don't think I'm innocent. I'm not.                                                                                          I hurt them just as much as they hurt me.                                                                         What an evil fucking war.                                                                                                            Five year war for me, still ongoing.                                                                                        What my life has become.                                                                                                                               You know my symptoms and effects,                                                                                          affecting me like a variety of weapons going off.                                                                         Each slowly fucking me up, destroying me bit by bit.                                                                  One girl at a time opening fire.                                                                                                      I forgot how to fire back...

my new anti war book with andy n out now link and poem

http://www.lulu.com/shop/andy-n-and-nick-armbrister/europa-in-the-dark-valley-between-the-world-wars/paperback/product-21540523.html

Train Trip

I'm sat idly on the train, going to Manchester, having a beer.                                                 

I see a poster on the wall of a cop, safety.                                                                          

What if it was 70 years ago and I was on a train going to Berlin?                                             

What would the poster show?                                                                                                

Square headed Nazis proclaiming: 'March on Master Race!'?                                                             

Or SS or 'stapo taking Untermensch to their doom?                                                                                                  

One wrong word and you're on another train to KZ.

The Poetry, Prose and Quotes of JMS and Other Writers Edited by Jimmy Boom Semtex

The Poetry, Prose and Quotes of JMS and Other Writers

Edited by Jimmy Boom Semtex

Row upon row they stood to sing,                                                                                                                          

A thousand at a word.                                                                                                                                      

And loud arose, "God Save the King".                                                                                                                                                            

But as I watched and heard                                                                                                                                              

The upturned faces in the light                                                                                                                                                          

of the early afternoon,                                                                                                                                         

Reminded me of the crosses of white                                                                                                          

beneath a silent moon.

From 'Casting Off' (1939) Enoch Powell.

my old writing bio

Nick moved from Oldham in December 2005 to the Essex/London area for a change of scenery. When Nick has any book sales any cash raised goes to beer and tattoos.

Nick continuously writes up to today (March 08). He has three self-published books out with iUniverse of America. The first two are poetry collections, Fade into Focus, Focus into Fade, released in 2006, and Skeward Images, released in 2007. This was his early poetry. A short story collection followed titled A Nation in Flames, which comprised his stories on war, planes, Goth, horror and more. It was released in 2008. Also in this year Nick compiled a further third volume of poetry for a future release under the title Her Name is Hope – Life Force. This will contain the rest of his poetry from 1996-2008 that never made his first two poem books. All are published by iUniverse.

Nick is working on a novel for 2009/10 release called Juniper’s Daughter, a war/mystical book.

As a child Nick wanted to join the Royal Air Force due to his love of aviation and planes but he was put off by the strict discipline. He tried to join a band but couldn’t sing or play any instrument so that put an end to that ambition. He loves music like gothic bands of the 1980s like The Mission, All About Eve, The Cult, The Sisters of Mercy and more. He also enjoys 80s pop like The Bangles and Berlin and some metal bands like Metallica, Guns ’n Roses. He got into gothic metal from Europe and Scandinavia in 2001 when a pen pal sent him a tape of The Gathering and Lacuna Coil. Nick has tattoos of these two bands and some other band names and other tattoos. All of this inspires his writing and feature in some of his poems. He has seen many gigs live and this inspires his poetry too. One day Nick would like to do a spoken word performance and also work with a singer/band on a song and to perform in front of a live audience.

Nick still works fulltime at a factory in Waltham Abbey, Essex, near where he lives, but he wants to give this up and write full time. This is his long term goal.

Free

Free

My name is juvenile delinquent

I’m losing my mind now,

it happens again and I can’t do anything about it.

Anxiety, anger, confusion, depression and loneliness

fight to get a foothold in my beleaguered mind.

Just about to go mad, insanity beckons,

don’t let my neurosis lead to psychosis.

I don’t want to be a Section 20, locked up forever

with only bars as my companions.

How do I cope with this? Let it pass and try not to lose

it, to take my shit out on an innocent.

But Satan help anyone who crosses me,

a release will happen and maybe then I’ll be free,

a bullet in my head or rope around me neck.

link to my best ever poem book??

http://www.lulu.com/shop/nick-armbrister/her-name-is-hope-life-force/ebook/product-17428816.html

new ebook by jimmy merc cia pilots in x planes...

http://www.lulu.com/shop/jimmy-boom-semtex/merc-secret-plane-stories/ebook/product-21537079.html

edited book by jimmy...

http://www.lulu.com/shop/jimmy-boom-semtex/times-of-nonchalance/paperback/product-21536201.html

Tinned Area

Tinned Area

Menace in a supermarket coming to a store near you,

all of it now in real surreal experience.

Now I hide as my mind descends to that of a child

like depths where only an innocent’s night terrors dwell.

I build a hide of tins on the shelf to keep eyes

of physical terror out of my view.

Yet they see me behind my Heinz 57 beans,

sense my presence as they rape my mind.

Defenceless yet again this is my lot as I hide

in the dark on a narrow shelf in a supermarket.

Crazy spectres are the only customers, me the only purchase.

berlin tokyo warhearts ebook link

http://www.lulu.com/shop/nick-armbrister/berlin-tokyo-war-hearts/ebook/product-20124339.html

LL

LIZARD LICK LIZARD LICK WHERES MY GIUNEA PIG? LIZARD LICK LIZARD LICK WHERES MY GIUNEA PIG? LIZARD LICK LIZARD LICK WHERES MY GIUNEA PIG? LIZARD LICK LIZARD LICK WHERES MY GIUNEA PIG? LIZARD LICK LIZARD LICK STROKE MY GIUNEA PIG!

jimmy boom semtex cool new books

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Boom1

Black Blood Banner l the universe.

Black Blood Banner

Terrorists marching under the black blood banner advance on all fronts.                                  

No one is safe.                                                                                                                            

At all points of the compass there is danger.                                                                              

Car bombs in the north, IEDs in the east, Muslim terrorists in the south and holy fighters in the west.                                                                                                             

Every country faces attack.                                                                                           

Civilians easy targets.                                                                                                        

Trains de-railed with a hundred dead, buses blown up, jets brought down, banks raided for bomb making funds, key people kidnapped and held for ransom.                    

Military units ambushed, soldiers families slaughtered and terror reigns everywhere. 

Sleeper units are activated, striking in the night.                                                                  

Moving like ghosts.                                                                                                               

When the army fights back, local victories are won but the conflict is lost, terrorists holy war won.                                                                                                                              

Black banner troops sweep into power, nation by nation till they control the world. 

How did they do it?                                                                                                                          

Now Earth is a holy jihadist world, controlled by terrorists.                                            

Space programmes are being developed.                                                                              

Soon Muslim terrorists will advance to the stars and a new dark force will control the universe.                                                                                                                         

Making Darth Vader look like a pussy.

Nearly There

Nearly There

In less than an hour it will be 1997.

In this short time do you remember?

Do you shrug off the past to make way for the future

or do you hold on to the dying year

seeing every minute disappear before your eyes?

On this, the last day we have been covered by snow

and frozen by the cold as the old God Cronus turns

his hour glass over for another year.

He carries a scythe in his other hand and has a laugh

that turns us to dust.

We stand tall and are proud to welcome the new year.

I remember my other years falling by the wayside one by one.

I know it’s wrong to wish away the days

for if we do we won’t have any left until…?

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER - FRAGMENTED WHOLE Short Stories And JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER - BLACK LENSE Poetry By Nick Armbrister OUT NOW ON AMAZON AND OTHER SITES.

JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER - FRAGMENTED WHOLE Short Stories
And
JUNIPER’S DAUGHTER - BLACK LENSE Poetry
By Nick Armbrister


ORBIT
One million hearts speak as one; I listen to the solitary one who cries out in eloquent despair. That single wounded heart will claim me by her right and ensnare me and save me from me and I’ll never break it. She’ll bring me happiness after years of sorrow. Her name is?
Rockets are for the benefit of the human race taking us to the stars or for the worst, blowing us to bits. My poem book is heavy upon my back; I’ve been through so much shit in life. Who’s innocent in this game of madness? You, me, him, her? No one is. Some people collect issues like others do stamps.
Life was easier when I was young, no clue on girls so I kept away. Who do I gain knowledge as I age? Shame I can’t go back and use some of it in my younger days. We mustn’t play games with peoples’ lives and they mustn’t reciprocate. I want to move a long way from this town, like before. It’s my orbit.


OUT NOW ON AMAZON AND OTHER SITES.

OVER

OVER

Fallen warriors of all nations, now only bones and memories, I remember you.

In your hour of need you became great for a moment, doing your duty for a higher power, you, just mere men.

Being asked to do the unthinkable, to kill or be killed in the glaring cauldron of battle.

I will never know what it was like, to be good or bad, to be in battle. All I can do is to

Remember the fallen warriors of times gone by and to visit distant battle sites where once men fought and died for forgotten causes and lost ideals.

The guns are silent, ships on the seabed, warplanes lie broken. Now all is quiet,

A surreal peace rules the landmass but in the generations’ memories an old flame flickers, a conscience says, I was once there, I fought there for my own cause and my country’s.

Times of Nonchalance By Jimmy Boom Semtex

1. Times of Nonchalance
   By Jimmy Boom Semtex
   
   Zumba
   The Zeus Pig goes Grrrr! And licks his arsehole. Then he gives you a big fucking kiss. ... On your hairy lips. Call yourself a man? You've a fair pair of tits there. Let me suck them and gain insanity. As I become number two Zeus Pig. Nibble my testicle you rogue trader. Cornholio goes Beavis and Butthead. Down the toilet goes the shit Simpsons.

FRAGILE FOREST

FRAGILE FOREST

The forest is quiet, all in peace with birds flying between the trees and rabbits hiding in the grass.

Butterflies of all colours glide from flower to flower, wings alight in a glittering display of colour.

A heady scent of nectar is in the air all around like a forbidden aroma.

A small pond is in the shadow of a grove of trees, frogs and fish swim peacefully in the clear, clean water.

This is the fragile forest in its colours of summer; all the colours of the rainbow can be seen if you know where to look.

taiwan 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.                                        
Her 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 still they came, unstoppable.                  
A single Taiwan jet carried one secret bomb heads to Shanghai.                                  
The end… 

How We Danced

Around and round we danced in an exotic Asian club to pounding alternative music. Who said they couldn’t party? Like it’s their, our, last night on earth. Little did we all know that this prophecy was true? One night if fun with a Taiwanese lady, only dancing you understand. They are not like Western ladies. On and on we danced feeling alive, when we kissed it was like fire of the positive kind. Neither of us knew we were being watched, that a huge military machine was about to strike. Hours later our nightclub was destroyed; I never did see my Taiwan lady again. I only know her name and have precious memories of that last night before war engulfed our whole fragile world. World War 3…