Thursday, 26 January 2017

THE COMPLETE NICK ARMBRISTER POETRY COLLECTION Volume 2 1996 - 2013

Age Old

People made of sand now lost in the sand, blowing in the breeze. Dusty grains kicked up by the whirling dank air. A dervish in a swirl. Unrestricted ruins now visible, all that remains of the old city.
Ruins are bones, bones are ruins. Everything beneath, bleach white bones under equally white moon.
Luminous.
Square stone blocks no longer upright. Earthquake tumble. Fragmented roof tiles, fractured mosaics, dried up river. All eaten by sand, an unrelenting advance.
Dust bowl heaven for small scurrying creatures, hiding from the sidewinder snake. Now the only life here.
People are skeletons in the sand. Culture extinct, a memory amongst ghosts. Over now.

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...

Dench

I know it's wrong in seeing beauty in dark things. How serenely stunning the mighty Gustloff looks on her side, sinking. Black Baltic night.
How prettily disfigured is a soldier's face after an illegal explosive bullet connects. One eye function.
See the biker wrapped round the left rear tractor wheel, under the mudguard. Nice fit. What the hell?
Hell on earth. Oxygen and a spark in a space capsule, French fry time. Give them a nitrogen air mix to breathe. Space cadet dead time.
You wanna die? I know a good spot by Uppermill railway tracks. Hide in the bushes and jump on the rails when a train comes. Maybe you're the train driver's third suicide. Can't stop the train or a rear end smash. Next train is five minutes behind. Warm brother style, close.
Nice day sailing. You're rich and an April boy. More cash then sense. When your mast snaps and you're stranded at sea, just think: where's you're radio? Ashore with your bloody brain! You starve to death, seagull food.

So much fun, moving vehicles and darkness.

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