MOONRISE

MOONRISE

I see a faint lightness over the black of the hillside.

Stars a million miles overhead lose a slight edge.

Mist dances illuminated by her Moon Goddess.

Clouds high overhead come and go as stars sparkle, iridescent.

Excited I wait, soon she will be here. Patience now…

There! My Moon Goddess lifts my spirits, serene and spiritual.

I drift out of my body, to be up there, free and timeless.

So frail and fragile. Let me take your face in my hands.

Embrace you in your crystal disc, a horizon before me.

Reverie is mine, a memory forever bound by your love and grace.

Moonrise my dear…

Natalie. Forsaken .

Natalie. Forsaken
What They did to Nat's three friends was terrible. Abducted by the authorities in the middle of the night, taken against their will and ending their young existence. Hours of torture to get any info, put onto a plane and then...

Filipe was lying in his mother's arms. A caring embrace. No bond was stronger than a mother's and her child. Especially Catholic. Soon it would be time for his bed time story, after his nap...

Suddenly Filipe was jerked violently awake, his drug induced dream history. A huge noise over came him and he was so cold.  No sight. What? He was blindfolded and his limbs were bound. What was happening? Waves of unconscious started to drag him under again.

He was aware of men shouting and someone kicked him in the side. It didn't hurt due to the drugs. Before he passed out Filipe felt hands drag him to the noise and a feeling of flying engulfed the young political protestor, then swirling blackness claimed him. The drugs kicked in before the freezing ocean smashed his frail body.

Many perished this way. They were The Disappeared and were shot or drugged and thrown out of aircraft into the ocean, far from land. Filipe and his two female friends were only three among one thousand who were murdered this way, along with tens of thousands more who perished...

slightly edited version on display at red cross Disappeared art event, in red cross building, beswick st, ancoats manchester. aug29/30.

What a Plane Day

I came home from work and saw GMP Defender spy plane circling where I live. I heard the turboprops as it did racetrack patterns going into clouds. I also saw a kid's balloon black on grey sky. Did Defender's camera pick it up?

Then I saw a second spy plane! A plastic Diamond DA42 prop plane. Hey, prop jets are more cool. Even crap Defender has them! You two came close in the clouds, almost playing chicken? Steady on lads. Is good Airmanship enough for safety? Your day camera and infra red will be compromised by the soup. Of course, there was no crash.

I was no longer sky bound. Till I saw a twin fin remote control demon screaming jet rip the sky apart. Awesome cool! Then a bent wing model F-4U Corsair chased a small red and white stunt plane. Bet you wish he was a Zero! Odd thing though, Corsair made no noise. An electric fully aerobatic plane?

All I need to see is the Goodyear blimp circling Man City football ground and a helicopter, preferably a Chinook and I'm content.

  

False Tits

You really think you’re something, in your red Ferrari 12 plate black top convertible, don’t you? I see you driving up the road where I live, in my deprived crap town. What do you want up here? Are you buying or renting a house on the cul-de-sac or just showing off your Italian car? Park it up here and it’ll be ashes by the morning. Do you own the car or rent it? You don’t drive fast, keeping it under thirty. What did you drive before? A push bike?

I did a double take, am I still living in fucking Essex mate? This ain’t Loughton High Street love. It’s a road in shithole, our deprived town. I see your dyed blond hair severely tied back, the stern look on you face giving nowt away.

Are you a street escort and looking for a secluded pad for your customers? My mate will have a session with you; he’s into that kind of stuff. Not my cup of tea, thank you very much. Are you charging Essex prices, a ton fifty a pop?

Of course, it’s fuck all to do with me. I just see you out of my window and do this poem about you. If all it seems is true, you’re tits will be plastic, your lips Botox, your arse toned from the gym where other plastic women go and your credit cards will be real. Paid for by daddy.

Is your old man a gangster or legit? Or do you work for charity and donate half your millionaire cash to a good cause? And not have a bad bone in your body? We’ll see how long you last in shithole. You see, we’re old timers here. You’re the new gal, all false tits and blond hair and a red car. An out of towner...

Tattoo Co-Operative

We work together my tattooists and me. New images spring forth out of my imagination. They have the means to create something out of nothing. Amazing arty designs forever on my skin. The girls love them and my mother hates them, way it is. Battle lines.

From tarot card designs by Pixie to Great War warplanes spitting death, my inkers do the best. Nothing else will do, no 2^nd place here when my upper body is nearly covered. Arms, legs, chest, stomach and back. My legs are next. A flaming comet drawn by Ruth.

I had my latest tattoos done by Wes at The Inkpot, Oldham. Only good thing in this mental town. My crazy butterflies on my chest. How it hurt, vodka and coke along with man flu Emla numbing cream hardly helped. Pain for art: Luftwaffe and RAF butterflies.

May to September, each week, I get a new tattoo. My bakery job pays for my ink. Fifty quid a pop. I don’t care, I work with Wes or Ginny and they do their art. A unique design is the result. The pain is often like a tip of pure crystal buy hey, art is born. All real.

What do I do when I run out of space? Grow a third arm or get a genetic body, allowing more coverage? My quest for artful tattoos is ongoing. Many different artists, many different tattoos; all high quality and each mine, to call my own. Decades of ink to go.

Ruth is on my arm, not as my Pagan Bride or intimate lover, no. But in our poem. It reads: ‘Flames are tears, tears are flames. Till the bitter end...’ Isn’t it amazing how a gal can inspire me so? More than art and emotions, what next? Ink this space...

YOUR LETTER

YOUR LETTER

Just your words on paper, nothing much,

random thoughts of daily life.

What if this was the last letter on earth?

Worth the world then or in my possession

if I was stranded far away on the moon

would your words be my lifeline and save me?

Or prolong my agony, make my stay there my Hell?

A curse or a blessing in my hands now.

Dancing with Joan Jett

Dancing close with Joan Jett is so wild, it’s 1988 and we go head to head. I’m the teen kid by the juke box and she is my wet dream in black leather, one foot in front of me. Pure bloody ecstasy. Garage music blares out of the speakers and we spin around, my arm catching her waist. Closer we draw; a kiss. First of many.

Joan and Nick. Who would have thought it? Rock n roll music heroine meets a Lancashire lad in an intimate spit and sawdust gig venue in a nameless town. It happened, was happening now. 25 July 1988. A day before I was seventeen.

By chance I got her gig ticket, last minute rush. Left my crap job and mental northern town and took the train to see Her, Joan Jett. My teen rock goddess singing live. How many guys wanted a piece of her? And a few gals too. Black leather, boots and an awfully short skirt...

And that black hair. Joan looked like a Goth. Her music wasn’t as dark and was more accessible. Darkness would come later, lots of it.

For now, I danced close with Joan Jett. My head in her hair, eyes shut. Holding her like there was no tomorrow. Another kiss and I was smitten. No one would ever believe me, if I told them: ‘Hey, I danced close with Joan Jett. And we kissed...’

Never mind what happened later... that’s our secret. Yes I still do love her, am in love...
...with Joan Jett.

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.

links to my book sites and profiles online where you can buy my books and read my work

links to my book sites and profiles online where you can buy my books and read my work

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

http://writeoutloud.net/profiles/nickarmbrister

http://nickarmbristerwriter.webs.com/

http://www.myspace.com/nickspoetrybooks

http://nickarmbrister.wordpress.com/

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=nick+armbrister&x=6&y=15

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Nick+Armbrister&x=11&y=8

http://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/nick-armbrister/id469211520?mt=11

Italia

Dream of a nation, they built a big airship for Arctic exploration. Things went so well, taking a plethora of readings and photographs till a head wind sprung up. They used most of the fuel battling the wind. Serious technical trouble followed. This would go downhill, fast.

A crash!

Ripping fabric, torn envelope. Smashed control cabin forlorn on the ice. Many dead and injured. Stuck on the ice sheet, forsaken? Airship drifts off to oblivion and death. Lost to this day, many decades later. What were their last moments like? A mystery.

Poor stricken men from the control cabin were rescued after time in an icy Hell. They risked their lives for Italy and exploration. Were the risks worth it? Italia was lost...

THE TRAGEDY OF SONG

THE TRAGEDY OF SONG

She sings in such hushed vocal tones one second,

then she shatters glass in an attack of tragic beauty the next.

The truths and traumas of life seem so real and painful when her voice glides over them,

after all, isn’t this the life that you and I and her live?

We are all in the same boat on this rough ocean at the mercy of the gale.

If we have faith in ourselves we will reach the shore.

Well, like you and me, she has got there and now she sings about the battle to get there and then to live your life when you do.

extract from my new ebook erotic for adults only...

http://www.lulu.com/shop/nick-armbrister/next-jump-erotic-stories/ebook/product-20314781.html my new erotic book...

Next Jump: Erotic Stories

By Nick Armbrister

Office Fun

Louisa was a young secretary with a firm called The Improving Place. Her job was helping people back to work, after many years of being unemployed or on the dole. She was a sexy young lady in her mid twenties, a few pounds over weight. This added to her curves and she was tall enough to carry it. Louisa looked great in a figure hugging dress or low cut blouse and short mini skirt, showing off her legs and cleavage. She used her excellent sexy body whenever she could to get what she wanted. A promotion or pay rise, no problem. A quick flirt, snog or fuck brought results.

With shoulder length brown hair she always wore straight, without mousse or hair lacquer, and kind caring grey eyes that radiated warmth and happiness, Louisa was an ideal lady for her job. She did risk assessments on site when her unemployed work clients had to go on a work placement. Twice a week she drove her German estate car to firms and factories to look at the risks. Wearing smart revealing clothes everybody noticed her and she set a good first impression.

Now she sat at her small computer desk typing away on files and daily reports. Louisa’s crossed her legs. Her knee length skirt rose above her thighs and showed off her smooth legs to co-workers and clients alike. This fact secretly thrilled her.

Also working in the office was a large lady called Miranda, who was thirty, had large breasts and tied back brown hair. Her green eyes flashed with mischief and a love of life. Being a rock chick, Miranda was used to letting it all hang out when she partied long into the night. On a dozen different night outs she had danced and drank with Louisa, sharing the same men in bed in kinky raunchy threesomes on several occasions. Taking turns to fuck him and suck his cock, then doing lesbian sex to give the guy a show he’d never forget. With weekend coming up, a night out was due and more fun lined up for the two girls.

Miranda caught her friend’s eye and winked; her mate nodded and blushed slightly. No doubt she was thinking similar thoughts of going out and having fun. Miranda wore large size black trousers and a tight red blouse that her tits completely filled. She was also a blood donor, into vampire type activities. A niche interest, as she called it.

At coffee break time Louisa went into the small canteen to make coffee for her and Miranda. She clicked the kettle on and prepared the drinks. Just then Miranda walked in, smiled and announced, “Hi Louisa, thanks for doing me coffee. Are you thirsty for some red stuff? Do my coffee nice and strong, just like me!”

“Yes, just like you. Hey, come here and give me a kiss. I’ll have some blood in a bit,” joked Louisa. She remembered her first kiss with her colleague, it seemed like yesterday. Now they were alone it was an ideal opportunity for some fun. Then there was all the other stuff. Unbelievably erotic.

“Oh babe, I thought you’d never ask me. I’ve missed kissing you, it was a long time since we did it before,” laughed the big girl, her enormous boobs wobbling up and down. One of her recent scars still hurt. It was low on her left breast and still visible.

Closing the door, Louisa stepped up to Miranda and kissed her on her lips. She tasted good. Embracing each other, both ladies kissed with closed eyes and moving heads, exchanging spit and probing tongues. A definite buzz. Moving her hand down to Louisa’s leg, Miranda put it on her opposite number’s freshly shaved bare thigh. Gently rubbing and stroking brought low moans from the girl. In return, Louisa bit Miranda’s tongue and both ladies tasted blood as they kissed.

Louisa groped one of Miranda’s big breasts under her thin blouse. Her tit was almost escaping! Giving it a helping hand Lou undid two buttons and inserted a finger to probe and feel the large sexy boob. She noticed the two week old scab from her previous bite, not quite healed. Louisa leant against her friend, enjoying the hand that walked up her own thigh to her special area of enjoyment – her pussy. Soon Miranda would finger Louisa! Now Louisa felt the curve of the boob held in place by a flimsy bra, two sizes too small. Quickly she flipped the left tit out of the bra and undid a third button exposing Miranda’s cleavage and breast. Still kissing, she massaged the boob working her way round the curve to the nipple which was firm and erect. I really love kissing Miranda and she has such nice tits, thought Louisa. She nipped the dark red scab and tasted blood.

Miranda’s hand was now at the top of Louisa’s thigh and her mini skirt rose all the way up to her upper leg. Everything was visible. Moving her hand round the lovely smooth flesh slowly needing it with her fingers, she came to her pal’s pussy which was wet and dripping with pussy juice. Louisa was very turned on and randy, she obviously wanted it bad! There was some stubble where her pubes had been, her cunt needed shaving again. Miranda put a single finger up, slowly pushing it all the way up and wiggling it about, bringing a shudder from her colleague’s body. Doing it again brought more squirms and groans of enjoyment. Finger and pussy, hand in glove.

Breaking their embrace and bowing her head, Lou sucked Miranda’s exposed tit licking the nipple and nibbling the end. She kissed the bloody part. Her own body felt like it was on fire, her pussy being fingered by a single finger bringing great joy, making her legs weak and tremble. A bigger shudder surged through her body. Involuntarily she bit Miranda’s nipple, causing her friend to swear. “Oh you fucking bitch, you bit me on my nip! That hurt, do it again. Draw blood this time while I finger your cunt. Don’t bite if off though!”

“Okay Miranda, you asked for it,” Louisa goaded her large mate, sinking her teeth into the flesh of Miranda’s boob around the nipple; one bite, a second and third, breaking the skin and drawing blood. It slowly seeped from the teeth marks and ran down her tit, dripping onto Louisa’s hand. Smiling savagely with blood on her teeth, Lou looked like a gothic deviant. She drank a quantity of it.

Miranda saw this and kissed her friend again, tasting her own blood. Louisa had a few drops on her tongue. She let her lover kiss, lick and drink. More blood seeped from her the bitten tit. The slim girl licked it and tasted it, again kissing the big titted gal who smiled and drank bits of her own blood. Coffee was now forgotten!

Fingering Louisa very hard, Miranda put two more fingers up her tight cunt and brought screams from her pal. Miranda smiled and licked blood from her bottom lip. Lifting her mate’s head up, she kissed her and it felt amazing. After ten minutes of this, Miranda lifted Louisa up onto the kitchen worktop in a swift action, like her friend was weightless. Moving the mini skirt out of the way and taking down her white panties, it was action time! A nice shaved cunt was visible. Miranda got down to it – licking her mate out!

“Ah babe, that feels fucking lush,” Lou whispered. She’s going to make me cum by licking me out. I was almost there when she was fingering me. It won’t take long, dreamed Louisa.

Blood slowly dried on Louisa’s chin from the bites on Miranda’s breast. Opening her legs fully so her lover could do her job, she closed her eyes and groaned loudly, starting her orgasm. She felt delicate licks on the edge of her pussy and two fingers entered her cunt, messing with her most private bits. Her body jerked and juddered when her orgasm came. She screamed and shook her head, on and on went her orgasm, not stopping but increasing and getting more intense. Lou shouted, “Miranda, Miranda oh baby don’t stop! I’m coming, oh babe I’m coming!”

Loss of the Icequeen out now

Loss of the Icequeen out now

Intro

She stood on the frozen surface. Snow, freshly fallen, gave way to her gentle steps. Harder, frozen snow, already turned to ice, remained solid. Ice, two metres thick, formed a barrier to the water beneath but she wasn’t aware of any of this. Instead she screamed, long and hard. In fear, simple animal fear. Until her breath left her and again, her loud high-pitched scream echoed through the falling snow, over the ice. For she was alone, totally alone. It was this one thought that registered again and again in her mind. And a new scream came forth, until, exhausted, she fell to her knees. Broken, exhausted and defeated. Quiet sobs wracked her body, she was spent, a former image of her beautiful Scandinavian self. Almost involuntarily she collapsed in slow motion and lay down on the cold surface, the falling snow turning her pure white. She was lost – her mind had retreated to some other place, not here, far away from here and this ice cold world. Where her dead lost love was, where she was, where they are together. Giving up hope, she prepared to die, to freeze to death, an empty shell of a girl, finally sleeping, her pain and loss and anguish taken away, momentarily…

 A distant noise came through the snow, almost non-existent – maybe it was nothing. Did nothing have a sound? Slightly louder, it came again. There was something there, not natural, a man-made sound of a machine in distress. It to was dying; something else was coming to this godforsaken place of death to die. Was it a Norwegian God, coming to claim the lost girl’s soul before she passed – as was alleged to happen in the Viking days? Then it was here, huge black, on fire and dying. The crippled Halifax bomber almost fell onto the ice surface, slicing through the snow blizzard…

In the distant depths of her mind the young Norse girl dreamed, of warmth that wasn’t here, that was now, of a man who she had lost some summers before. A cold, a cold so razor sharp that it threatened to drag her back to some place she wanted to escape from, grabbed hold of her body. Back to the cold place, her dream said. She wanted to reach the warm place, for there she would find him, be with him. Yet she needed the cold that would take her to him, her dead love, because it would freeze her to death on the ice. For how could he have survived the bullets that had pierced his heart, for he was hers? Murdered by her own kind because he was different, was the enemy. Because he wasn’t of the Satanic Church, because they thought he was too good, too pure, to even exist in their world? He dared to fight his common enemies, the Nazis, and the Satanic Black Magicians in the total war that engulfed the whole world. They had guessed his purpose, that he was a Pagan Warrior who had ended his mission; he had failed like all his comrades had. So he had to die, for in war, any war, there is no second place for the defeated.

In her dream, as she drifted towards him, something tried to pull her away, even as she could see him beckoning her to him. Something not of this place pulled her back, even as her body had started to freeze, her body and systems shutting down. Something unknown stirred and an even deeper thing came to her. Quite clearly considering her state. It said, don’t die, don’t die, but another voice in her soul said, I must, to be with him for this world has too much pain. My homeland is overrun by Nazis, my lover is gone and those of my own kind have turned against me. I have nothing, am nothing.

It was not enough: the other thing remained there, refusing to be quiet. In effect it lifted her up from the paralysis that engulfed her mind. Something snapped and caused her to open her eyes, frozen shut with tears, how did she do it? She saw the lake surface, white, fluffy and cold, at a vertical angle. Her brain registered this but remained numb, and then she saw the snowflakes falling, like cold Norwegian tears, her tears, her country’s tears.

Then she heard it, an unearthly roar of an unknown thing not from here and a huge grey shadow passed over her. It touched her, something in her damaged mind whispered, and then it was gone, replaced by a vibration felt through her body. A huge eagle smashed onto the ice, dying, crying in pain, torn asunder. Most important of all, this fallen eagle, this thing carried something for her, very important. Before unconsciousness claimed her once again, ending her mortal fight, she knew that everything was okay, it really was. Blackness came, a welcome friend – she was going, forever from this world…

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/loss-of-the-icequeen/12703242

various mad 2008 poems lol

FLYING LOTTO

Airline pilot dreams of winning the lotto as he reads “Yachting News”,

Cruises with the autopilot on. Aerobatic pilot thinks of post lotto life—

if I want to fly a 737 I’ll buy one. A 747? 14 hours in the air?

I don’t think so! My flight—seven minutes of aerobatic flight.

In a one kilometre box, puzzle in the sky picture perfect.

Don’t need no airline heavy metal here!

CLEAN ME

Hey cleaning lady, you look fuckable with your brush handle.

Leave your black bags alone, come to me, I’ll make you cum.

You should be with Essex Wideboyz next door, not here

Shifting shit. Am I a better lover than Aston Martin driving

Essex Wideboy? I’m from the north, got the gob there but I

Don’t speak like you. I’ll look after you, be my slave till I

Die and go to kinky land!

REB TREE

Rebel tree, not going to cut me down no way!

I’m head above you all, you lost your flowers

to the snail clippers.

Evil council men butchered you all but you.

Tell me brave one, how did you survive the strimmer?

Rotating triple tungsten blade. No answer but miracle

of mother nature. What’s your plan, single top flower?

World domination by your pollen, no GM crop crap here.

Tell the people of strimmer beating flower,

nothing going to stop you now.

Not the council or man with a dog pissing on your brethren.

FUCK UP FAIRY

What an amazing site I behold –

Confederate and Damnyankee armies locked in battle,

Pittsburgh burns and war visits everyone.

Ruined houses, burning tanks, screaming airplanes, bursting bombs.

A hand waves in death as a tank moves forward,

bloodily glued to the tracks. Cannons roar

and men in butternut defend each and every house in morbid violence.

Grey men advance and fall back under fire,

Asskicker dive bombers clawing away their numbers.

Soon this attack is over, men re-group,

injured are tended, dead left immobile.

Ammunition is brought to the front,

each side prepares for battle again.

Who will win? Yankee or Confederate,

the fuck up fairy rolls her dice

once more in America’s second civil war.

RANCID

I could say I hate you all, that I want you all smoked by 50 nukes –

hundred million dead. That we must all learn the harshest of lessons,

to all lose a relative in limited nukes go pop. I know we’ll fail.

One option, huge meteor from the dark reaches of space.

Final total fucking obliteration, annihilation, elimination,

extermination, devastation, destruction of us, rancid humankind.

SKYFALL

Big massive piling machine hammers thumps huge steel

iron girders into evil rancid ground. Tree spiralling behemoth rams

dead tree stumps into bare earth to hold up falling cracked sky.

Without them we’d be crushed dead. Empty heavy sky forces on me, us.

HEADY

Dizzy heady rush leaves me gagging for more—

this’s something new.

Deepest memories and then some.

We’re up at your place, years fall away, dizzyingly.

Now I can’t think what we said. Do we do it? We leave.

Your gal’s here, I can’t talk to you with her here.

I want her to join us, not to fuck, day out.

Heady rush. I speak. Betray her. Effects. She shudders,

stops, talks in Welsh. I did it. Leaves Eyes, leaves us.

It will be okay won’t it? I don’t care! We go. Walk on,

see view which took my breath away all those years ago.

Different, yet real. Walk down steps, trees overhead.

Arms interlinked, you and her, me and you? Go down.

Halfway down I see yellow long grass like nowhere else on earth.

It’s chilly but humid, what the fuck? To the road, touch of snow.

Past pubs and houses. Dream image moves, in the car

I’m driving so fast, not lost my edge? Fast, down Rippy road, too closed?

Got your phone, is that a camera? Mum used to have a Cortina GT like it.

It’s too fast, will we hit white van, get my pie, die?

I’m going to cut up my licence. Where we going?

I’m not thinking straight, heady memories tug at me all at once.

Got real enemies to watch. Yet we have fun.

I’m back at Moorside. I used to live here…

my new hot erotic ebook is out

http://www.lulu.com/content/e-book/next-jump-erotic-stories/13095423 my new erotic ebook.

join this event...

this is worth contributing to...


The British Red Cross in Manchester is organising a Community Arts Exhibition, to take place on WEDNESDAY 29TH and THURSDAY 30TH AUGUST at BRIDGE 5 MILL, (22a Beswick Street, Ancoats, Manchester, M1 7HR) in order to commemorate the International Day of the Disappeared, which takes place on August 30th. There will also be a special Opening event held at the same venue on WEDNESDAY AUGUST 29TH.

The International Day of the Disappeared on August 30th is a United Nations recognised annual commemoration day for individuals who have gone missing in armed conflicts or other situations of violence and whose fate is unresolved. These missing people may be civilians who have been abducted and are being detained, other times they may have been separated from their families while fleeing the conflict, or they might be soldiers or civilians who have been killed and their remains improperly disposed of.

We would like members of the local community, particularly young people although the exhibition is open to everyone, to contribute art work/performances along the theme of ‘The Missing’ to the exhibition. We are looking for a variety of art work (e.g. paintings, drawings, photos, poems, stories) to display in the exhibition. We are also looking for groups to contribute short performances (e.g. songs, dances, spoken word performances) for the opening event on WEDNESDAY AUGUST 29TH.

Please find attached further information on the International Day of the Disappeared, the Exhibition, and a submission form. I would be really grateful if you could pass this information and opportunity onto any of your clients/groups who you think might like to contribute.

If you, or your members, would like to contribute please return the submission form(s) to Tracy Rowlinson (TRowlinson@redcross.org.uk, fax 0161 888 8901) ASAP, ideally before August 10th 2012.

If you have any further questions about the Exhibition and events, International Day of the Disappeared, or International Tracing and Message Service please do not hesitate to get in touch with Tracy Rowlinson (Project Coordinator) on 0161 888 8900/8900, or via email.

I look forward to hearing from you soon,

Tracy Rowlinson