DESTINY CALLS

Rising higher and higher the warplane climbs

through the hazy sky, sun reflecting off the distant water

far below through a gap in the clouds.

Missiles hang under delta wings

ready for instant launch when an enemy

is spotted across the distant sky.

An inhuman machine with the looks of a goddess

and the power of a god, this is a thing of mans own creation

yet almost with a life of its own and an electronic soul.

Radar eyes see a hundred miles and infrared sensors scan

the ice cool sky, fuel drinking engines push Mach2 forth

onward and upwards to the battle area, the whole sky.

Night falls and stars glint like diamonds on black velvet,

light years distant. A faint glimpse on the radar,

a skin paint tens of miles distant, missile seekers focus

a needle of energy. Enough!

A white incandescent light and a whoosh of flame

and the missile is on the way, out of sight in seconds,

a faint glow dimming. In an enemy cockpit a similar scene

is being played out in this high tech duel of chess.

Rapid manoeuvres to defeat the devil’s missile

and maybe a chance to meet him if you fail.

As  g-forces crush you and the stars go vertical

do you think of your wife or pray you can win

this dangerous battle where you are meant to be the best?

War in the air, ruthless and utterly cold blooded

five miles above the earth.

Poodle Band

Poodle Band
I hear the purple poodle dog playing the recorder. Such a lovely sound. Not a wrong note. His white Norwegian poodle friend plays the piano. A white one, like the snow. A haunting melody of love, loss and self renewal. Adding to the musical mix is the black goth poodle and his electric guitar. Cranked up to lucky 13. Blows the speakers. The green army poodle sings. A song of war, death, carnage and bloodlust glory. Each poodle head bangs; the blue poodle drummer adds aggression. Thumping his tubs like a devil. Together they're in a band called The Devil Snails. Catch them at a gig near you.

JUNIPER'S DAUGHTER - The Final War

JUNIPER'S DAUGHTER - The Final War

They reached Broadway without incident. Again checking that the area was clear they took up position and waited, Sarah on one side of the road behind a concrete bollard, Lee and John did likewise further down, on the other side. This ensured that no one would be hit by their mates’ crossfire, plus gave a deadly field of fire. Three hours later the low hum of an engine came through the night, out of the cold night air at speed came an armoured car, its dark grey camouflage making it barely visible. As it slowed slightly at the junction Sarah fired her all use rocket launcher, she programmed the smart warhead to miss the vehicle by fifty yards to explode in front of it as it drove forward, to stun the crew. In a whoosh of rocket flame lighting up the entire scene, the rocket propelled warhead shot on its way, in a cacophony of noise and violence it hit the tarmac in a searing blast of yellow flame. Bits of tarmac, rubble and concrete flew in all directions, closely followed by shrapnel singing through the air. The armoured car skidded into the crater as bits of falling debris rattled and banged onto the armour and the ground, luckily the vehicle didn’t roll over writing it off. If the warhead exploded any closer and had not dug into the road surface sending the blast up and down, the car would be fucked with a cooked crew. Deafening silence was now destroyed by John and Lee running from their positions firing off their Uzi’s from the hip on full auto, muzzle flashes framed each figure like a photo flash gone mad. Nine milli rounds sparked and bounced off the armoured hull, anyone left alive would be keeping their heads down and hatches shut. Lee reached the askew vehicle and climbed onto the commanders position on the turret top, he threw the hatch open after turning the emergency access handle, grunting with exertion at the heavy hatch. The thick cunts hadn’t disabled the system from the inside. It didn’t need blasting open. A shocked face came into view, frightened wide eyes staring up from the command position, framed by a bloody head wound. Lee stared in horror at the raised pistol in the officer’s hand; Lee was just about to say, “Get out!” when the gun went off. A loud bang and the round caught Lee in the chest, a scream of pain came out of his clenched jaws as he fell backwards onto the debris filled road, then rolled slowly into the crater.
“You fuckin’ cunt, I’ll kill you! English army scum!” an outraged John shouted.
“Lee are you okay?” from a concerned Sarah. John fired his last of his mag at the armoured car, hid by the side and reloaded, jumped up onto the front wing, onto the turret and aimed gun into the open hatch, firing the full clip into the enclosed space. His rounds ricocheted down into open compartment, hit in the face by the spinning bullets the desperately brave officer was killed outright after trying to save himself. For his folly he paid the ultimate price, death. John dragged the bloody corpse out of the car and threw him down next to Lee, as Sarah rushed over to check him out.
“That was close. Fuck me, how lucky you are, any higher and you’d be fuckin’ dead! Your bulletproof vest Lee stopped the round. Good job you had it on. Other than the wind knocked out of you, you’ll be fine. There’ll be some bad bruising in a few hours but count yourself lucky!” she said.
Lee managed to stand and was unsure of himself; he slowly became aware of what happened. “I thought that was it then, I was so sure that I’d get him first but he got me instead. Aaah, it fuckin’ hurts like a cunt. It aches like fuck and hurts at the same time. At least he’s dead now but he could have told us some useful info. Fuck it!”
John answered, “I had no choice, he would have been more dangerous and used the cars guns on us. I’ll check to see if anyone else is alive, if there is they wont catch me out, no bloody way!”
He reached into his inside pocket and pulled a single stun grenade out, pulled the pin, counted to three and tossed the grenade into the armoured car. Nothing happened but a clank as it bounced around, then Flash! Bang! Smoke wafted up and out of the hatch. As it cleared John placed his Uzi next to a large piece of tarmac and withdrew his pistol, a 9mm Walther, flicked off the safety catch and chambered a round. When it was clear John climbed up onto the wing in an athletic movement, onto the sloping front, into the hatch to see who had survived. For a couple of minutes he was inside the tilted vehicle, till he opened the side door with a clang that had Sarah aiming her Uzi at it, just for anything out of the ordinary. Everything was okay it was John. She lowered her gun.
“The driver is dead. His neck is broken, nothing but silence from him. The inside seems okay Sarah. Can you please help me move his body; he’s wedged over the controls. We can get going then,” John spoke loudly, “How’s Lee? Is he okay?”
“Yes I’ll help you move the body. Lee’s okay, he’ll have some great bruises in a bit!” she replied. They both moved the dead body together with his dead comrade, dragging them over to a storm drain by the side of the road, out of sight except in a proper search. They frisked the bodies for useful items, found some documents that contained maps and text, took spare ammo, a pistol and a small knife. With the crater and spent shell cases it was obvious that something had gone down. But what? Lee was okay but sore. Sarah took up the driving position after they had loaded their gear into the vehicle by the side door. Lee stayed in the hull behind her John manned the command position, keeping his rocket launchers at the ready, it outranged the armoured cars cannon by a mile, such was modern technology. Even so the thirty millimetre cannon could shoot out to two miles with a multi use night sight, similar to the one on the rocket launcher but much larger. Yes they had been lucky.
Sarah spoke in a matter of fact voice: “Cycle the gas system, pressure up, start. Here we go. Automatic gear forward. Three speeds. Power steering on all four wheels. We have over three quarters of a tank of gas. Lets do it.”
She expertly reversed out of the crater without wheel spinning, engaging forward gear like a seasoned driver, “I don’t believe it! We did it, fuckin’ ace. Where shall we go? We have a range of a hundred and fifty miles, maybe more. And if we can find more liquefied gas…” she said.
“What about that armoured petrol tank at the end of Broadway down that rough road. I don’t know what road it is but you must know where I mean Sarah?” Lee asked painfully.
“This thing will only run on liquefied gas unless it has an engine and tank modification. So at the mo it won’t run petrol. Good idea though Lee,” Sarah answered him.
“Oh, right. Hey… lets blow the fuckin’ thing up! It can be payback for that twat winging me. What do you reckon?” Lee went on. John overheard them and he decided the issue, “Yes, we’ll blow it to fuckin’ pieces! I know where the hardened tank is, I’ll direct you Sarah. It’s only ten minutes away.”
So down Broadway and along a rough road that led to an old industrial estate and the target if you didn’t know what to look for then you’d easily miss it, the trio of fighters knew most of the secrets of the area though so now it was target practice. John eyed the squat tank up. It was half buried in a bed of thick concrete. He would take the first shot at it, with the cannon on single shot to see what effect it had, then Lee to take it to full auto, Sarah the first rocket round…
John readied himself behind the gun, adjusted the seat for his height, flipped the infrared sight on and fine-tuned the sight to the target, selected Armour Piercing ammo. And fired one round in a loud Bang! That had the cannon barrel pumping inwards like a mans cock with the recoil. On target the round hit the side of the tank and dug into the concrete in a small cloud of dust and concrete chippings. Nothing – it failed to penetrate three feet of concrete.
Lee was next. He looked at the cannon controls, John showed him how to work the sight and away he went, selecting High Explosive shells on full auto. He held the trigger and aimed, firing after long moments staring through the sight. His quick pull on the trigger sent fifteen rounds at a mile a second forward to explode on target, digging up more concrete in wicked explosions of explosive gasses as the small amount of HE in the shells went off. Anyone near would have serious shrapnel wounds, blast injuries or be blown to pieces if hit. The dust cleared, the tank was intact.
Sarah took up position with the rocket launcher, opening the top hatch to aim it. She looked down at John. “I’ve shot one before. Why don’t you do it?”
He didn’t need asking twice, “Okay, I’d love to. Pass me the weapon.” She did so.
John eyed up the squat shape that misled the eye on its size. From thirty yards away he would take his shot, he took up position, programmed the launcher for depth penetration and aimed carefully. With a press on the trigger the warhead shot forth, illuminating the desolate scene with flame, impact was instantaneous, nothing happening at first but fragments of concrete kicking up. Then Sarah and Lee, who saw the shot from the observation window, cowered in the glare of a mini volcano. John in the turret ducked as the blast wave from the penetrating rocket touched off fifty tons of stored petrol, concrete flew in all directions and a huge stream of petrol fanned across the ground in all directions. Including towards them.
“Sarah get us the fuck outta here, quick or we’ll be burned alive! I don’t wanna die just yet!” John shouted in awe at the scene that he created.
Sarah started the engine wheel spinning in reverse out of the way of flowing, burning gasoline. “I’m on it John, don’t panic, I’m on it,” she replied, the panic clear in her voice.
“What a bonfire fuckin’ ace!” from Lee.
They quickly left the destruction and flames heading back the way they came, even ten minutes and several miles later the burning tank was clearly visible. They had created a small hell and deprived the English army from the main local petrol store for its petrol vehicles. This wouldn’t be the last of this.
“So where shall we head for then guys?” Sarah asked, her voice now calm.
“Leeds. I heard it took a French nuke. I want to see what it’s like,” Lee decided for them all.
“Okay I’ll take you up there. We have radiation meters to see how hot it gets. You fine with Leeds John?” she said. John nodded to himself and shouted down to Sarah from the turret, “Yes, okay with that.”

Idiotic

Message to idiots everywhere. You can run but can't hide. We'll find you and expose you for the idiots you are. Idiot alert on the TV. Full of idiots. We're going to find you and expunge you. Consider yourselves targets of the state. We don't want idiots in our country. Oh no. We want an idiot free zone. No Putin's or slackers allowed. Idiots in the newspapers. You're number 2 in line to get it. Bad reporting and slander won't be tolerated. After you, it's the turn of the back stabbing workers who spread gossip and name call. A special fate awaits you. Get ready to be zonked. Idiots beware! Those online are in for it too. You cause mayhem and hacking. It's a secret what awaits you. We dare you to run. It'll make our game all the more rewarding. The extermination of idiots, wherever you are. If you lie to us, we'll see right thru you. We have the God eye. Prepare you be found out, you bunch of idiots.

Finest Hour

Glasgow guitar band His latest Flame                                                                                                                        

singing about love and conflict.                                                                                                                                         

Feel joy and pain,                                                                                                                                               sing poignantly on The Troubles.                                                                                                                     

Trish writes and Moira sings, great live gigs.                                                                                                                 

Sadly cancelled their Manchester Boardwalk gig in 1989.                                                                                             

Maybe Trish and Moira will reunite in 2012, with the other gals. Jangling guitars and vocal harmonies, relevant now as in 89. You could find their singles on sale second hand in 1987.

Early years. Rare music.

jimmy boom semtex new mad poems

jimmy boom semtex new mad poems

De-icer
Idolise the salt. Idolise the salt. Idolise the salt. Cold water pipe hot under the sun. Burn your hands. Pretend you’re rich and live like Lord Lucan. Eat the salt. Lick it all up like a gun dog lapping blood. Salt lick, salt lick. Bit by bit you become a pillar of salt. Not for blasphemy. No. For being the salt idoliser. All the crap boy bands and freaky singers. You did me a favour and turned them to salt. And shipped it off to Walmart. Selling 25 kilo bags cheap. Boy band salt to de-ice your drive. Idolise the salt as you wheel spin thru it. Slush puppy hot water pipe frozen solid. Sun drenched cold water pipe now a heat sink. Mix the water with idolised boy band salt. Run them down the drain fast. For they’re all fucking shit. All fucking salt now. Salty penis up salty pussy. Even the bent ones. Onwards goes the salt conversion. Roll up roll up, bring your shit boy bands. Then we’ll go to Sodom and Gomorrah to party our salt business profits away. If we’re lucky we can endure the nuclear attacks. And kiss nuclear ash like idolised salty boy bands. Now de-icing your drive way. Best use for them.

Apple Shit
There is a man who looks very ordinary. He’s got a special secret. Only he knows it. Do you know what it is? Have a guess. No, he doesn’t have a 12 inch black cock; nor a billion in a Swiss bank; no hidden contact with aliens; he’s not a KGB spy. None of you are even close. I’ll tell you his secret. It’s this:

his shit smells of apples!

Now you know. Feel free to tell your mum, blog it online, write it as graffiti, inform the cops. The man with the apple smelling shit is secret no more. So when you yourself take a shit, imagine it smells of apples and you’re that special man. The man with apple smelling shit.

Oldest Battle 

Now the forces of war are being drawn together, facing each other in history’s unending struggle for supremacy and victory. Would the pendulum swing in favour of the dark, evil forces that now briefly allied themselves together?  Would the Nazi master race build weapons that had the power to destroy an enemy army, a city? Was there Satanist devil worshippers praying and striving to bring darkness, a new Ragnarok, an end to the world, the start of a new one, full of evil and death?

Only one nation could stop this madness, which would engulf Europe, destroy the Allies. England held the answers, the small power to end the coming nightmare.

The time of battle drew close. No one but a select few knew the real truth, through the smoke and mirrors of real deception. A fog of war would soon engulf everyone, atomic fire sweeping the land, Nazi and Satanist ruling absolute – unless England could prevail, with vulnerable heavy bombers.

Mystery unsolved

She disappeared aged 3. Everyone looked for her. People went from shop to shop asking have you seen this girl? No was the reply. Others searched woodland, fields, by the river. Soon people all over the country joined the hunt for the missing child. No luck. It was like she never existed. Her parents never gave up hope nor stopped looking. 3 dates are the worst: the anniversary of her disappearance, her birthday and Xmas. 14 years later she's still missing. No one has spotted her. She'd be 17 now. Almost an adult. But she's a statistic. A 3 year old girl missing 14 years. Her picture on milk cartons. Mystery unsolved.

Harpy Girl

You girl are a harpy. A woman who steals from those with nothing to take. You always find something to harvest. If you robbed a rich man, you'd leave him in debt. How do you do it and why?

Becoming the femme fatal injured beach siren. How many ships have you wrecked? Sailors think you're a cheap whore. You target their basic desires. How smart. Not.

And when you become the pretty air stewardess lady, no one is safe. You slit the pilot's throat and Jumbo jets fall like shot crows. Only you walk away unscathed.

I came across you once. People ask why I'm alive? That's easy. I ran like the wind and am paranoid to hell. I know we'll meet again. Till then dear harpy, the news headlines are full of your work.

Death, mayhem, maiming, destruction.

Even when you sleep it continues. I wonder if you'll ever get bored of this harpy lifestyle? Take time out to talk to my friend. He's a shrink; the best. Hey, he cured me. But back then, I was sane compared to you, the harpy girl.

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. 

Juniper’s Daughter: The Final War, A novel by Nick Armbrister

Juniper’s Daughter:

                    The Final War,

           A novel by Nick Armbrister

With a claw like hand she grabbed Sarah’s hands and quietly spoke in a voice with death hovering over it, “I don’t have much time, I’m dying and I feel pain now. I have waited many months now for you young innocents to come here. Tell me, did you know about her arrival, Juniper’s Daughter? She will soon be amongst us. She has special powers; she is a teacher, a healer, a spiritual guide. She is our last chance, before we all perish. She is here to stop that and to show us the way from evil and to protect us from Satan. You must watch out for her and work with her. Or we’re all doomed.”

   Sarah nodded, her eyes clouding over with tears that streamed down her cheeks, giving her pretty face a tragic look. Emotions she forgot she had filled her entire being – joy, love, pain, loss, hope, sadness and above all, a sense of humanity.

   “I know. I believe now what you say is true. I do,” cried Sarah.

   Silently, the old woman’s gaze stared into space and her grip on Sarah’s young hands lessened. She was gone from this horrible world to a better place full of unconditional love and forgiveness.

   The guys just stared into space, not able to understand their role in this or the reasons why, actors in a scene beyond their control in a script out of madness. In a calmness that bordered on the weird the three freedom fighters drove back out of Leeds, took a small side road to another abandoned village where they buried the unknown unnamed woman. For the first time since the civil war and nuclear exchange all three prayed to an uncaring God, asking for hope and forgiveness and for a lost soul to be taken into heaven. No epitaph was given, none was asked and no mere words would ever be enough for what had just happened – a reason now existed to live. It filled John, Lee and Sarah with something more than survival. They had to get back to Oldham to tell everyone, to be ready for this new visitor from an unknown place, who would do a role unknown. It had to be better than this evil world, right?

   One last challenge remained on the winding moor road past the old battle scenes of the outgoing journey; an ambush was in place with more than just machine guns. The rocket-propelled grenade hit the armoured car on the turret side, exploding in a shower of sparks and flame and fragments. An expanding jet of gas penetrated the steel outer hull, burnt through the Kevlar inner armour and sprayed Lee with red-hot shrapnel wounding him in the upper right arm, right leg and cheek. He screamed like a wounded lion, attempting to slew the turret over despite his wounds and damage to the systems. The turret moved and jammed facing sideways, away from the hidden enemies ambush position, even so he fired both guns on full auto before passing out. His shells scythed through the air hitting nothing but trees and hillside, they never saw their attackers. Only one round was fired in revenge for earlier defeats but it was enough.

   Sarah kept driving her skill getting them away from the enemy, be it Satanists or war vets. She pulled over a mile and a half away. She quickly checked Lee out, applied a bandage to his arm, a tourniquet to his leg and a dressing to his check and gave him the okay. A shot of rare morphine would dull his pain.

   John readied his two rocket launchers. He programmed the display for long-range fragmentation to fire back at the position of their ambushers. This was like an old artillery bombardment on a grid square map reference, an area target with no forward observer calling down the fire. He checked the small computer in the driver’s position and got their exact location and entered it into the launchers. He worked out the enemy position and keyed it in too. Rockets would land there and kill anyone still there. Was the enemy complacent?

   Sarah joined John, holding a launcher pointing it up to the heavens. He gave a command and both fired together into the afternoon sky, whooshing rocket fire on a fleeing enemy. They fired every single round emptying the ammo boxes and used Lee’s launcher and supply of rockets. They’d never know if they killed their enemy but they certainly would have scared them. No one intended going back to check, not with a wounded man and a damaged armoured car that couldn’t fight back.

   The trip back was uneventful after that but on John’s and Sarah’s minds something stayed there, actions like this were meant to stop. Juniper’s Daughter would see to that, right? Peace replacing war?

God

'They' did their best to fuck up our yesterday. We all looked forward to a happy tomorrow. We never got that. We got a today that's just like yesterday. Because 'They' want their old ways of terror back from a time where 'They' wanted to be God...

HORNET RESURRECTION

Lady of the sky, flying so high up into the blue,

all silver, a cloud’s silver lining. Now nothing

but a ghost, image on an old photo, in memories.

My aching dream to resurrect the lady of the skies

and let her exist again. I know I will fail.

I am a mere man. Lady of the sky, where are you now?

Lady of the lake, under fresh water waiting to be found.

Lady of the desert, sand blasted bare all alone.

Lady of the mountain, high and desolate,

captured by a mountain peak. Lady of the ice sheet,

frozen in time and in an icy grace preserved.

Where can I find you? I’ll do a magic spell to find you,

make you real. Take to the skies again, not just in my mind.

You are the most beautiful airplane and the best of them all—

de Haviland Hornet.

juniper

JUNIPER

   The three great tribes were at war, many hundreds of people had perished in the huge conflict. It wasn’t clear who would win. It could easily end up with only three men remaining, each a warrior of the warring tribes. After that, there would be no one left. Juniper had let the war go on long enough, now she had to act. If not, she would be guilty of letting the slaughter get out of hand. The tribal warriors had killed and been killed enough times, their lesson had been learnt. It was time to stop the killing. She picked the strongest tribe to be the fulcrum of the event.

   Juniper was always earthbound, doing her roles of healer, witch and warrior woman. She was divinely worshipped as a Mother Goddess of fertility and a dozen other things. Her battle skills were equal to her life giving skills; she needed to fight to defeat her stubborn opponents when her magic wouldn’t work. Skilled in arcane arts, she was a spell weaver and magician of supreme power. Her hands could give life and take it away. Her crystals were her magical key and her bows and arrows were her life taker. A weapon she crafted herself and used with deadly efficiency. Dressed in animal skins, Juniper was an athletic figure of intelligence and emotions. She understood herself, her world and her subject. There was nothing she didn’t know. Experience taught her everything and knowledge was her key in winning her battles against the darkness. Dark energy balanced out the light side and goodness, like the day replacing the night. Such was Stone Age life in what would become Europe many aeons later.

   She could travel by foot, silently and stealthily, to surprise her enemies and bring them to heel. Or she was able to travel instantly from one place to another by using her magic power channelled through her crystal wand. This was a skill she used sparingly, early humans were very superstitious and their fear of the witch could overcome their desire to be led. Moving from place to place, the witch did her job. When the war broke out, this threatened to undo her previous efforts at keeping the peace and healing. She had to act now.

***

   Overlooking the flat plain on two sides, the low hills gave whoever held them command of the area. They were occupied by the stronger tribe called the White Spears. Their enemies were living uneasily side by side on the grasslands below, often fighting one another or attempting to take the high ground. Many warriors were killed in these forays. The coming battle would decide the issue of who kept the hills and also the low ground; there was a danger the two opposing tribes would be wiped out by the stronger enemy. Could Juniper stop this? She crept up the hill, keeping low to blend into the metre tall wild grass. Her bow and arrow were ready to be used in anger. With her senses keyed up, she was ready for anything; this was her time. Up ahead she saw camp fires and heard voices, several warriors were on guard and would be armed. She slowly advanced.

   In the White Spear camp a warrior named Nian held his spear to his chest. His weapon shone in the firelight. He hadn’t killed a man yet but he had been involved in several skirmishes with the tribes on the flatlands. It was a matter of time before he got his first kill and became a seasoned warrior veteran, one of the men. Then he could claim a wife and build his own dwelling for his family. He itched for war and to kill an enemy, he felt it in his veins; they ran hot with a lust for action that often overwhelmed him. Nian wanted to go down the hill alone and wipe his enemies out all by himself. His warrior elders warned him not to do this, he would be cast out of the tribe and be an enemy then. There were ways of doing things. Just then, he saw movement in the grass, past the flames of the dying fire. He instinctively knew something or someone was there. Maybe an enemy or a wild beast. He judged the distance and threw his white spear into the grass where he saw movement. His sleek two metre spear arced out and into the grass. A scream of pain was Nian’s reward. He got up and ran to the grass, shouting to his brethren to join him, that there was an enemy in their midst.

   Juniper had fucked up; she moved too close to the edge of the camp and was spotted. The spear caught her in her thigh. It was a bad wound and bled profusely. She knew she was beaten before her battle had begun and this changed everything. Suddenly there were figures standing before her, towering over the grass, shouting and pointing. Before she passed out, she felt them roughly lifting her and taking her to their camp. Mercifully she felt no more pain. Juniper never even got a single arrow off.

   Later Juniper awoke. It was dark. She was in a cave. They hadn’t covered her eyes but had gagged her and bound her hands behind her. Looking down she saw her thigh was roughly bandaged with dried leaves and animal fur to stop the blood. Moving her injured leg, she bit into her gag and fell back against the wall. It hurt like hell. Juniper was about to do a healing spell upon herself to take the pain away when she stopped. If I heal myself or stop the pain, they may know that I’m more than I seem, that I’m a witch, she thought. If they found out, she could be put to death and sacrificed. Or revered as a queen. One thing at once, thought Juniper, lying back and closing her eyes. The pain receded to a dull ache and she slept.

   Daylight shone in through the cave entrance, waking the witch. She groaned and sat upright. Her body ached due to the awkward position she was in. Her hands were numb and her wounded leg was sore. Suddenly the daylight was blocked out; there was someone there. A man, a warrior, stood by the entrance. He studied the witch and she did him. She recognised him as the spear thrower. He nodded and walked over to her. In his hand he held a white spear, stained black with blood. Her blood.

   “I see you’re awake,” commented the young warrior. Slowly he walked over and keeping his distance, he pulled down her gag with one hand.

   “Yes, I am,” confirmed the witch, when she could speak. She spat on the floor and took a deep breath.

   “How is your leg? Does it hurt?”

   “No, it doesn’t,” Juniper replied, looking down to her wound.

   “Really? You’re a bad liar. I spared your life so we could capture you. We know who you are and what your intentions are,” the man boasted, nodding. He had his own plans for her.

   “What do you mean? What is this you say? I was hungry and came up here looking for food. I was about to make myself known to you and ask for some food when you speared me.”

   “You want food? Here, have some of this.”

   “What is it?”

   “Cooked flesh from a prisoner we caught from the Red Stone tribe. He was a brave fighter, now he feeds our tribe. Eat.”

   The warrior placed his white spear carefully against the wall, out of reach of the witch, and knelt down. In his hand he held a piece of blackened meat, scorched by the fire. He broke some off and put it in the prisoner’s mouth.

   “Don’t bite me or I’ll knock your teeth out. You like it?”

   Juniper nodded compliance and chewed the tough flesh. It was muscle. Its owner must have been a fine warrior. Yes, its okay, thought the witch. She had to eat, she was famished and had to win her captors respect. Eating the flesh would achieve just that. She swallowed it.

   “That’s good. Thank you. May I have some more?”

   “Yes, you may.”

   Again the warrior gave his prisoner some meat. He noticed she liked it and he smiled his approval. He gave her the last bit and said he had to check her leg, to see if it was infected. Very carefully, he removed the dressing of leaves and skin.

   Juniper winced when the leaves were removed, some clotted blood was pulled free and it stung. A bit of blood bled from the edge of the wound. The rest was closed up. It wasn’t as bad as she had feared. She needed to kiss his arse; her plan had to work especially now she was hurt. It was a high price to pay.

   “You’re a fine spear thrower; you got me with a good throw. You could have killed me,” she said.

   “Yes, I’m the finest spear thrower of our tribe and I’ve killed many enemies of our tribe. I could have killed you from fifty paces. You’re very lucky,” the warrior replied. He sprinkled some herbs onto her wound and put a new dressing of dried leaves and animal skin in place.

   “I am lucky, you’re right. You could have. How is my wound? Is that Night Fire you’re putting on to stop the infection?” she wanted to show him respect and that she had a little knowledge of herbs, to show she understood him and his actions. She knew he was lying about killing anyone, it wasn’t in his eyes. He was the one for her. He was pure and untouched by the Devil. She could steer him away from war and death.

   “You’re wound will heal with no problem. The leg will be stiff for a few days while the skin joins together. Yes, the herb what you call Night Fire. We call it River Blood. It will stop any infection and dull the pain. Only a small amount is needed. How do you know about herbs?”

   “That’s good about my leg; I don’t want to be lame. I’d starve to death then. I wouldn’t be able to hunt with my bow and arrow. I’ve used some herbs for cooking and to heal minor cuts when I’ve been chasing animals to kill one.”

   “We don’t want you lame, there’s no danger of that. My spear throw was perfect. You can use your herbal skills when you’re well to heal our tribe and make our warriors stronger and better killers. As for your archery skills, I want to see them for myself.”

   “I will help you with my herbal skills. Looking at what you just did to my leg, I think you have much better knowledge than I do though. I agree to show you my bow skills when I can. I hope it’s not too long,” Juniper commented, knowing that the warrior now trusted her.

   “Good, I’m glad you agree. I won’t have to use any of my other skills on you then, to persuade you. You can stay here till you’re well. I’ll untie your hands and bring you some water. Your weapon is fine and in a safe place by the way,” the warrior replied. He motioned for the witch to lean forward so he could undo her bonds. He smelled her dirt and her essence, it turned him on and he wanted her. His cock twitched under his animal skin. Did she see it?

   “That’s very kind of you. I promise not to escape or be a burden to you. Thank you for tending my wound, for the food and keeping my weapon safe. When I’m well, you may have me and take me for your wife. If you want to,” she said. She knew she had him now; she held the power but did her best not to show it. She offered him everything.

   “Yes, when you’re well, I’ll take you and make you my wife. You can give me many strong sons to be future warriors for our tribe. What’s your name?”

   “I’m Juniper.”

   “Juniper... I’m Nian. It means Warrior of the Sky.”

   “Well Nian, I promise to be a good wife to you and I’ll give you many strong sons.”

   “Good Juniper. Now I’ll fetch you some water and let you rest.”

   “Thank you my warrior.” Juniper knew her mission was beginning, she was in the tribe!

***

   When Juniper had healed, she was allowed to walk about the tribe’s camp. She saw many brave warriors and many women with child, carrying the next generation of warriors. A limp still troubled her but she slowly made good progress and hobbled round best she could using a crude wooden crutch. Juniper sat on a wooden chair one of the tribal elders made for her to rest her leg. This allowed her to show the White Spear tribe her archery skills and how to make a strong but lightweight bow and equally reliable arrows. Only certain wood would do, some were too heavy or would snap under the strain. The witch fashioned six good bows and fifty arrows, each was functional and could fire an arrow accurately up to three times the range of a thrown spear. She showed the male warriors how to aim and hit targets. They struggled with the pull of the bow string; it took a certain skill to master. Juniper was a good teacher. A bow and arrow were superior weapon systems when compared to the other tribes on the plain. Secretly the witch enchanted the bows to only be used for hunting, not to kill other humans or wage war. No one was aware that Juniper did this. She was cunning and slowly changing the destiny of the tribe, away from the war with the low land tribes. It was all part of her job. After one week of tuition and two weeks of practise, two of the warriors were competent in archery. One of these men was Nian. He killed a huge wild bison with three arrows. In celebration of this stunning feat, a feast was planned.

   A strong sense of cohesion ran through the camp. It was brought about by Juniper’s presence and her teaching of a new set of skills, allowing the tribe to hunt big game safely and efficiently. Planning for the feast was rapid. Tribal women painted themselves with red ochre to represent their connection to the earth and their Mother Goddess. Juniper herself was part of this. Male warriors donned ceremonial head gear and masks to appear as creatures of the night, supernatural beings called Elementals. The tribal elders and witch doctors went into trances and talked to those who had passed to the spirit world. Juniper secretly cast spells to allow for a good feast day and she knew it would rain, to bring atmosphere and allow the nearby river to quench the tribe’s thirst.

   Soon feast day was here. Juniper was able to walk unaided now. She wore a ceremonial dress made of woven animal pelts. She appeared as a symbolic witch. Did the tribe know what she really was? They’d soon find out. Nian’s bison was roasted on a spit and the feast began.

   “I see you’re dressed as a witch Juniper. That’s a good omen for you and the rest of us, yes indeed,” commented Nian, looking the slim woman up and down.

   “Thank you my warrior. My skills are little when compared to your own, especially your spear throwing ability,” Juniper humbly replied, looking at Nian’s chest.

   “Come witch woman, you’re my equal. You can use a bow; you taught our tribe some of your skills. For that, you’re my equal. Maybe in time you’ll be my wife and teach me everything you know. Yes you bare the scar of my spear skills, for that I’m truly sorry,” whispered the warrior. He knelt down and placed his head upon Juniper’s slim toned belly. She touched his head and soothed him.

   “It’s true I bare your scar upon my skin that marks me as yours. Yes I will be your wife and teach you all my skills. I will help your tribe and be your humble wife and their wise woman. Thank you, it would be an honour to be by your side as your wife Nian.”

   Nian looked up and smiled. He stood up and nodded agreement. “Thank you Juniper. For everything. Let’s celebrate even more.”

   “For a better future,” the witch said, happy her plan was working. “I love you Nian.”

   “Yes, we’ll make things better. I love you Juniper,” Nian confirmed. Opening his arms and looking at the other tribe members who danced and smoked ceremonial pipes, Nian shouted: “Hear this. Hear this White Spear tribe. Juniper has agreed to be my wife and teach myself and the rest of you, everything she knows. This feast will be the first of three to celebrate our wedding.”

   A huge cheer went up and dozens of people shouted and screamed in happiness. Many came over to Nian and Juniper and lifted them up above their shoulders. Pieces of cooked meat were passed up to them, as was locally made wine. The duo took all that was offered and their bellies became full. On went the party, all through the night. Two more feasts would follow and a huge wedding ceremony would bring harmony to the White Spear tribe. Their aggressive acts against the two low land tribes would fizzle out, bringing peace and stability. With the main war faring tribe ceasing its attacks upon the two lesser tribes, battle would end and trading could begin, when the time was right. Juniper was on the way to be a good peacemaker. Would she be a good mother when Nian gave her many sons and maybe a daughter? Time would tell, before then it was party time!

Situation

There's a man who lives under the bridge. His home is a small concrete hiding place. It's angled just so. The slightly sloping road bed is the top and a support the wall. By stuffing blankets and quilts inside the space, he made is quite comfy.

With a cardboard floor, a bag of clothes and supplies, this is home. Free food from supermarket skips. Washing in the river or in the gangster's shower. Tramp is his street eyes and ears.

Three cosy years under the bridge. Sound of traffic whirring quietly overhead lulls him to asleep. If anyone tries to rob him, a big iron bar is defence. As is his gangster. How many other homeless people have lived in this small space? Who will live here next?

London winters can be cold but snuggling up to another tramp has its uses. Especially a female one. Other sleeper's here wait their turn to join in with the street hooker. The only cost, a can of beer.

Summer is cool. Drinking Special Brew, paid for by begging, and stroking his mate's dog on a string. Life under the bridge. One lives under the bridge in his hole, others sleep on wood and cardboard nearby. Almost homely, tramp community.

poem book update jimmy boom semtex

on my new jimmy boom semtex poem book, im 3/4 thru writing it. the poems are many varied topix, see my jimmy boom semtex page on here for samples and other work like my jelma short stories series. my poem book will be out in late jan/early feb. i feel that timeline is right on. got the cover photo and title. just a few more weeks/months of writing. am enjoying doing it. with each poem/book, i grow as a person/writer...

tattoo poem

from my book and inspired by personal experiences

THE COMPLETE NICK ARMBRISTER POETRY COLLECTION Volume 1 1996 - 2013

Copyright 2014 Nick Armbrister
ISBN - 978-1-326-06399-3

MUM, I WANT A TATTOO

“Can I have a tattoo mum?”
That was the question I asked
and the response was unprintable.

I only want one or maybe three or four.
All my mates have them
and most of theirs are home-made messes.

I want a proper one by a talented tattooist.
I don’t want “Love and Hate” or “I love mum”.
I want a panther or a soaring eagle.

I believe it’s called body art today.
It’s so brilliant: all I want is to be part of it.
Well, screw it, I’ll have one done anyhow!

An Ocean of Fish by Jimmy Boom Semtex

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/an-ocean-of-fish/id902486277?mt=11


An Ocean of Fish
by Jimmy Boom Semtex

Copyright Jimmy Boom Semtex 2014 all rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-291-93812-8


Music flowed out of the speakers. Many guests had arrived. Some were close friends of the four girls, others were influential people in the fashion industry and others family members. A variety of Asian and Western foods were on offer along with alcoholic and non alcoholic drinks. The atmosphere was light and relaxed. A double sided display board, uncovered, showed off Kazuki's latest designs and future ideas. Two dresses were fine evening dresses, three were casual day dresses and there was a smart trouser suit, stylishly cut. Every fashion project released by Kazuki had sold well, bringing in a nice profit. The future designs looked to do likewise.
Jelma was in conversation with a Chinese businessman. He was two years older than Jelma's twenty four years. Unlike his contemporaries, he was dressed casually in a London Bridge t-shirt, blue cotton trousers and sandals. His chilled outlook tricked the eye; he'd made his first million dollar profit age nineteen and his first billion at twenty two. His name was Chen and he owned six fashion houses, an automobile plant inherited from his father and lastly, a music business that comprised two record labels and five record stores. Things were on the up for Chen. He'd heard about Jelma and her friends' new fashion house and wanted to check it out. The party was an ideal ice breaker. Would both young business people see eye to eye and make a deal? China was a huge and expanding market with a large middle class with cash to spend. If Kazuki could break into China it would mean new orders, big profits, expansion and much more.

Scab

Their words stung like ice in the wounds of a dead man. Go on, admit you're a scab. There was 5 of them stood there. They were meant to be my mates. In that moment it changed forever.

Scab.

Do you know what that word means? I do. I remember the 1983/4 miners strike. You were mostly older than me so you will to. You got the meaning wrong; I never crossed a picket line. No. I did overtime to pay to get married. It was August 95. I was de-boxing fat on the mixing deck in the bakery. Normally I was a storeman or stacker driver. Years before I worked in both depts. Guess the lads didn't want me there. I never talked to them after that incident. It wasn't a joke, not funny.

Scab.

People were killed over that word 30 or so years ago. It still divides communities today - who passed the picket line, who didn't. If someone called you a scab, what would you do? Maybe I should of reported it, given them a history lesson on what a cunt Thatcher was or stabbed them up with the butter knife.

Scab.

I was called it. A nasty word like cunt. Would they remember doing it? Admit or deny? It doesn't matter now. Jimmy forgives and moves on in life but he won't forget. He says don't ever let anyone call you scab. Fuck them up if they do.

Juniper’s Daughter: The Final War by Nick Armbrister

Juniper’s Daughter: The Final War by Nick Armbrister

It was celebration time; this was Captain Cocksucker’s idea for his men to have a festive event and his revenge on Sarah for the nuke trick that cost him so dearly. Fifty good men and half a dozen vehicles lost. A room was set-aside for the party, large enough to hold the entire garrison of 300 men, at the vehicle garage where it was a tight fit but that’s how he liked it. Vehicles were moved onto the parade ground, chairs brought in for seating, a military band hastily put together to do songs titled “Fuck me all at once,” “I’ll be as slack as a whore” and “All at once boys”.

   On the question of protection? Not guns or soldiers but Durex, hundreds were needed so his soldiers wouldn’t complain of a sloppy pussy. Cocksucker knew Sarah’s pussy very well now and she had no STDs but he wanted it done professionally. His room was sorted, the band was ready, food and beer provided by top English army chefs – the favourite of chicken tikka, kebabs, chips and gravy, marmite sandwiches, Lancashire hotpot and Eccles cakes. Beer was brand new English army beer made just for them. Not one bottle was out of date.

   Soldiers filed into the hall in an orderly manner wearing shirtsleeves with combat trousers. Sarah was brought in after being ordered to shower, personally administrated by Cocksucker, she under gunpoint from two soldiers. He spent extra time cleaning her pussy. She was given a nice little red number to wear showing plenty of leg up to her ass, low cut with ample cleavage and bare shoulders. Her long brown hair was neatly tied back giving her a real lady like look, very sexy. She didn’t need underwear. On her feet she wore a pair of stiletto shoes, which she struggled to walk in and forcing her to hold Cocksucker’s hand. Two armed troops accompanied them onto the stage.

   He wore his famous pink summer dress which was daringly short, all his men cheered and stood to clap and the noise filled the huge building like a concert encore from back in the day when the world was normal.

   Sarah saw all of the men and thought what the fuck? This motherfucker was very serious!

   Cocksucker reassured her, this was a social event and she was the leisure centre to be used by his troops, she would make love to them all, over 300 in total. She had said fuck you and your army.

   She didn’t believe this cunts cunningness, seeing all this changed her view. She had no doubt at all; Cocksucker was serious of sexually erotic subterfuge. Why shoot her for the nuke trick when everyone could fuck her instead? This was the 21^st century, not the dark ages.

   Cocksucker led Sarah to a massive super king size bed 7ft by 7ft, here he would fuck her while a soldier filmed the event for posterity, he went first as he was in charge. She climbed onto the bed; her skirt rose up past her thighs to her ass and pussy. Cocksucker got his cock out and slowly made love to Sarah, his men cheered and clapped.

   Sarah moved with his rhythm, loving it, to show them all she enjoyed every thrust, by this mindset she told them she couldn’t be broken, that it was only sex. She had fucked 4 men before, what was an extra 300? She was a willing participant in this macabre act; the band played “Lets all fuck together,” when Cocksucker’s cock thrust in and out of Sarah’s nice pussy. She moved with him in perfect timing, coming as he did.

   He didn’t stop but continued for ten more minutes and came a second time. Withdrawing, he removed his condom and threw it into the crowd, signalling for the second soldier to mount Sarah. A line of anxious randy men formed, bulges with in their trousers. Cocksucker loved it, he drank it all in, his pink dress adding to the gaiety of the event and he wore his size ten English army boots with long black Mia socks stolen from Albanian communist/socialist military elements in 1996 but no tights, an odd combination.

   Sarah fucked the soldiers on her back, now and again sitting up for a drink of beer. She was happy this wasn’t too bad. Her pussy was a bit sore by the time she reached the halfway mark; a soldier gave her some Lube 2000 and antiseptic cream for redness and soreness. She would do the full 300 or it was bullet time, in the back of her shapely head. Slowly but surely she did it, making love to a full army base of tough soldiers. She made love to 304; she was the girl who fucked the English army. In her head she knew she would really fuck them all later, she promised herself this. Rising up from the bed she smiled and waved before collapsing to oblivion. That bit was finally over.

   In the days following the event where Sarah was raped, she was allowed three days to recover, get fed and watered, bathed and allowed to regain her strength, all under supervision of Captain Alun Cook. On the fourth day she was interrogated on freedom fighter secrets, set up, networks, on the structure during the civil war with Wales and Scotland, how many members were alive, the number willing to fight and what training and weapons they had. From her questions Sarah guessed something big was going to happen if not already, was Oldham a blue print for other strong holds? She knew it was. She wasn’t questioned under the truth drug at first; she cunningly lied and gave answers on fighter strength when it was a weakness and vice versa.

   Cocksucker believed her at first but he became suspicious when Sarah slipped up, one time, on the strength of fighters in Ashton. The English army had attacked and took this town much like they had Oldham, wiping out fifty or so freedom fighters present for only three dead of their own.

   Sarah was injected with more truth serum, Cocksucker ranted and raved, he wouldn’t tolerate liars, he would get the truth this time, then he would rape her and shoot her himself. She talked in a rambling half dead voice, mental collapse held at bay by mind-altering drugs; secrets flowed like red wine on desert sand.

   There was one little problem from before? How had she not mentioned the nuke? Did she know it was there? Was she stronger than the drugs to hide it? No, she never knew of it. Cocksucker knew for a fact, trusting his judgement in such situations. He demanded to know where her remaining comrades in arms where hiding, who escaped from the attack, where they would go? To Rochdale? It was the nearest large town just out of the English army attack lines, the next to be attacked when sufficient troop numbers were free to be moved up. He would kill them with his own bare hands, after torturing them; he wanted to know where the nuke came from. He wanted his own for attacking the Scots and then the Welsh. He wanted to be Commander of the Mainland; he would be as ruthless as Adolf Hitler and as powerful as God. Unless someone stopped him…

new jimmy boom semtex story blurb

Endure the Wave
This Jelma's 4th story about her life. Join her as she falls in love with Chinese businessman Chen. Celebrate when they get married. Follow their dangerous flights in Chen's biz jet in the face of war, No Fly Zones and imminent danger. All for love and fashion and freedom. Catch up with Jelma's friends working at Kazuki and their new dress designs. With dreams, hopes and new married life, Jelma and Chen have it all. But all can be lost in the blink of an eye. What will happen? Will new dresses be made or will Asia erupt in war?

Chemical Fire

Burn baby and give me some sulphuric hydrochloric acid smoke,

your fire gives me toasted testicles and crisps me up nicely.

Boom goes the roof when 55 gallon drums go flying and it’s all ballistic.

The money shot is when the boss’s office goes up like a fucking rocket.

He was sat at his desk and went to the moon.

Chemical Ali won’t be coming back anytime soon.

Question is where is his ten million dollar profit?

Was it hidden in an empty oil drum on a pallet of dangerous chemicals?

All the factory is ablaze, three workers died and two were injured.

They should have got blood money for working there,

no risk to life was greater and no boss more meaner.

As flames reach a hundred feet and smoke a mile in the sky,

hindsight is way too late.

East German Whore

Saw the communist girl again from the shadows. I dared not emerge from my alleyway hiding place. Being spotted would be my end. I remember when she used to crawl on all fours towards me. Acting like a cheap fucking whore. Skirt up around her thighs, black tights ripped, tits out, gagging for it grin. And those sexy secretary glasses and pout.

She was anything but cheap. Dear old Kit Kat. Charging ten thousand roubles for a suck and five times that for a fuck. I got it free at gunpoint. The ex Nazi Walther pistol, cocked and aimed at her skull, persuaded her. As did my hand on her throat as I fucked her like the dog she was.

Did she bother that I was an intelligentsia? A poet in exile. And not a top Party banana? Paying her and using her for the whore she was. I see she hasn't changed. I've got my piano ready for after I fuck her one last time. Then I'll cross into West Berlin and freedom. Get my writing published. Piece of cake.

MONASTERY

A grey stone monastery perched atop the rocks.

It’s so remote, so high, so old. I can see it from my

plane as I dip my wing and turn ever so steeply,

jagged rocks throw themselves at me, it’s like I can

touch them.

I see winding steps leading to the summit, just think who’s

been up there.

In a blur the monastery is gone and I fly into the valley full

of misty villages far below.

I’m on a wing and a prayer seeing things I’d never thought possible.

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?

BEDLAM WAR SATIRE

 

 

BEDLAM WAR SATIRE

 

Spring here in all her glory.
Bedlams in a field with mummy munching grass,
fresh green shots in small bellies. What is this?
One bedlam has blood round her mouth.

Been eating severed fingers of dead soldiers, still fresh.
Not the bedlam’s fault that war came

to their field killing daddy bedlam stone dead.

Maybe this finger pulled the trigger

on the gun that killed him.

Stupid soldiers, all dead.

Best to be a life bedlam.