The Complete Nick Armbrister Poetry Collection 1996 - 2013 poems

NICK ARMBRISTER/JBS
May 31, 2020
7 min read

The Complete Nick Armbrister Poetry Collection 1996 - 2013

This Time

I’m wondering what it’ll be like this time, how it turned out just like this? How only I know why it’s like this, in the depths of my own mind and in my own heart. I know the names of the girls I’ve dated this year most ending as nothing not even friends, such is the dating game that I loathe. I’ve added a few more online to my profile and I’ve got their numbers and email, I’m doing multiple works in progress so something sho

uld come my way. I wonder looking back in another year how I’ll have done? 2008 was shit with the women and I had no luck then but some casual shagging, you know how it is. Plenty of rough when times are hard, this year I got the gals but no relationship. None of them right for me and I won’t give up my single status just like that though I’ll fuck a slapper and ride he ripple. Coz I’ve had some big ones in my time. One was 22 stone and half a dozen over sixteen. I won’t give my heart to such enormous monsters I like nice slim pale skinned alternative ladies. Where will I find my lady, I’ve waited seventeen long wicked months.

Ice Bubble

I live in an ice cube I’m alive before it freezes in that single frigid bubble of water in the middle.

Nowhere to go but death frozen ice, the death of love life in water frozen solid. Where will this small ice cube end up? In Nick’s Mali and pineapple drink while he chills out watching his Goth film, a cold drama of two people living together but each a million miles apart from the other, dead love. Love is dead as cold as the ice in his drink. Is their love the slowly freezing bubble of water in the middle of the ice cube almost snuffed out? No last chance here?

Don’t Mock Fate

When you think you have it all and you smile knowing you’re the king of your own little world, an empire of your own making made by you, it can crash. You do something that separates you from this life of your own making and what you have – a house with a mortgage paid for by your job in the City, engaged to be married to your best friend’s sister with whom you have a child and a second on the way. A nice German company car, two holidays a year paid for by your City firm job. Your strong house of cards till a gust of wind comes along and levels your life.

You lose everything because you dared mock fate on one cold desolate winter evening. Fate repaid you in kind, now she is no longer with you guiding you and caught in your under dealing with dodgy City firms, leading to their downfall, your downfall. No more City job to pay for your twin holidays or mortgage on your plush Hertfordshire house, your pad.

You lose your nice company car and have to take the bus. And live back at your mothers. Your soon to be wife is at her mates along with your new family, now lost to you. Wanna see your kids? Get a good brief but not a dodgy one like the one who tries to save you from jail due to your lowlife dealings in the financial underworld. Don’t mock fate!

For You

I look at your photo and am so taken aback by your beauty you’re rather special and my simple words can’t capture the lovely image I see of you Michelle. It’s an honour to do this poem for you, that makes me happy but I’m sad that your ex took you for a ride and that is wrong. Be well my dear and I only ever want to see you smile, for to see you sad and cry would break my heart and so upset me. If I was close to you holding you and saw you cry I’d kiss your tears for a woman shouldn’t cry, not over the actions of a man. When your tears make me sad and cry also what would you think of me? Your beauty makes me vulnerable to you, you’re a real English queen from Leeds, old 80s Goth capital. When I listen to Ghost Dance and hear Anne Marie sing of love and innocence I will only think of you and that love can be true and not a commodity to be used and abused. I almost wish you by my side now Michelle but I’d be afraid of crossing bridges into the unknown and calling you a thief when you steal my heart. This is for you my queen...

Gold Wife

I’m looking at a woman who I want as my pagan wife. She’s got long black curly hair, a curvy figure under her long grey jumper and black leggings. I’m out with my friends at the gold mine. I thought it ok but then saw her in the café. I want two sausage rolls (and you), hot or cold? But I don’t understand what my dear says and I’m holding up the queue! She whispers to me three times why don’t I understand? Then my dream ends coz I wake up! I want her as my pagan wife and her sausage rolls! Who is she?

Soldier Boys 1

I went out to Manny to meet a black gal but she never showed. Go to the pub and get pissed, I’m good at it! Then back to town my crap Oldham to another pub to have ale and curry. What’s this? Eight lads surround me at the bar get ready! But no fight, fun!

They try to wind me up do I like men? Yea I like you I tell the big one, all muscle.

I show my WOW tat on my arse and what fun! Party time, we drink as one and I have the big lad’s wine down half a bottle in one, then more beer. And I know I’m right, they’re army lads, how do I know? I just do lol.

Soldier Boys 2

Then down to the Abbey, on the way we play fight with snowballs, what if it was real war, IEDs and rockets? In the Abbey its mad, big lad spies an old hippy with a recorder. He borrows it and up big lad’s arse it goes, I almost cried with laughter! We gave it all waggling devil fingers and partied on. The army lads left and I set off home but I stopped and went to their pub the Hathershaw, we drank till late. I had eight brothers that night. I hope they’re all ok when they get called up to go to Afghan next year. Two of their mates are already gone. I’m just a writer I say.

My New Year’s Day

My loneliness from being single is real. My poverty from having no job is real. My disappointment of the due to having no male mates nearby is real. My let down of a gal called Pippa is real coz she was a drunken cow and reacted badly when she reads my text I sent at 11pm at 4am. My drinking is real as are my scars both inside and out. I’ve no car to travel I’m stuck here bored shitless that’s real. I can go and drink in the same boring pubs with the same cunts and bitches that only want to know me when I’ve got something, that’s real. Happy New Year you cunts!

Fuck Off Sprouts!

My mother tricked me and gave me sprouts in the bubble squeak, no communist cabbage pretending to be Russian peasants. She told me hours after we ate it and I felt sick my guts going queasy at what was inside –awful fucking sprouts! Sliced, diced and chopped up then mixed into the recipe to make this infernal fucking meal that now resides in me. My most hated fucking veg as bad as tripe and dripping sandwiches. I ask why me? Why was I tricked into eating this? Are the entire cabbages frozen solid in the fucking snow hard as rocks? I’d rather eat rocks than sprouts. I know another bitch that did that a few years before and I’ll never forget her heinous crimes either! All sprouts can fuck off back to Brussels I don’t want my guts fucking up with your hot air, you cunting sprouts!

Snot

Walking down the road when I had a blockage up my nose this damn weather was to blame, snow for three weeks solid. Like the snot up my nose stopping me from breathing. I attempted to clear this ungodly obstruction up my nose brought on by the bad weather, with fingers up my snotter I yanked this frozen pieces of snot out. Like an elastic band it bonged and shot back up my nose. I know what I’ll do I thought, get some fucking pliers and this did the trick! I yanked and out came the frozen snot landing on the pavement in the snow, it was an awful green like absinthe in colour and I laughed, look at that Nick’s bit of snot! I thought that was the end of the matter and carried on with my business, swearing under my breath as more snow fell. Two days later a blind pensioner was walking down the road with her white stick, it was too cold for her guide dog it was indoors asleep. The blind woman slipped on my frozen snot and broke her fucking neck! I read it in the daily rag and couldn’t stop laughing but I wondered. Could the rozzers trace me by my DNA from my snot? Would I be charged with the blind old woman’s slaughter by icy snot if they could extract my DNA? Shit I better leave the country, have plastic surgery and live underground for a bit!

Ten Years on the Dole and Proud!

Glory be! I’ve been on and off the dole for ten years all through the noughties! What fun. I’m proud of my time unemployed in every since year including 2001. Sometimes whole years like 03, 4 and most of 5. I’m so happy with my achievement, who’s done the same as me? My time on the dole in the noughties the government paying my wage! I spent my time writing doing my books like this one. I’m the best author of my generation still proudly on the dole. I sell some books but not enough to live off I need a crap day job moving brown boxes from A – B, will you give me a job? I need more beer and tattoos.