FADE INTO FOCUS, FOCUS INTO FADE Nick Armbrister early poems

FADE INTO FOCUS, FOCUS INTO FADE Nick Armbrister

THE OLD COTTAGE

It stood at the base of the mountain for two centuries, unchanging and so very permanent.

Shepherds of times gone by used to live here but now it belongs to a young woman called Emma.

Her friends from the city said, “Oh, Emma, why do you live here?”

She replies, “Just look at it all, isn’t it beautiful?”

Her friends don’t think so. They’d miss the electricity, the busy city and all the

nightlife.

Here Emma is totally at home, all alone on the moor.

IT ALL STARTED AS FUN

When we were both fifteen years old, just kids, we were messing around with one thing or another. We made a small bomb. It was more of a firework, really, all sparks and heat.

We did this all for fun, then we blew up a phone box with a pipe bomb, two years later.

That was a laugh, two kids being idiots. Soon we went our separate ways, ten long years ago.

Now, watching the news after coming in from work, I can’t believe it, I saw your face.

A photo of my old friend and a plane down, over 200 dead.

Oh fuckin’ god, this cant be true. Did you do it? Really, did you bring down the plane?

DREAM SUNLIGHT

A twilight sun shines down colouring the sky with every shade of colour from red to black, blowing your mind away.

We drive our car over the winding moor road, stereo on full blast, eating up the miles like it was fading to zero.

Our car is old but we are young, in our prime, enjoying life, making every moment go on forever.

We come to the town, all quiet in the coming darkness.

I think of how many people have walked over the town square, how many have kissed, fought, dreamed…

Then we are away, leaving the town behind…

ENDLESS SUMMER

This is the endless summer of our youth

a time of music and of fun.

A time of blue skies and cold beer

in pubs in the country.

The sky is always free of clouds

and we fall in love, so heart achingly, to last forever.

Special times, trips to the coast.

It is a time for you and me.

Our friends are always there for us

when we see music festivals, song for our lives.

I met you in a bar, we walked barefoot

through the sand, in our own world.

We may grow older but we’ll

never forget the times we had,

in that endless summer so long ago

in our youth, passionate young lives.

THROUGH MY EYES

I have seen many things through my eyes.

I see magic, mystical places, angels and fighter planes.

I see the magic of a summers day high in the mountains.

I see surreal dreamers flying through the rarefied air.

I see Gothic maidens dressed in long black dresses

dancing under the moon.

I see a Spitfire turning on a knife-edge,

sun reflecting off its wing.

I see Julianne singing crystal songs that shatter

the twilight dawn.

I see a quartz crystal cast a halo of colours.

I see the beauty of the written word through poetry.

I see the heartbeat that is the life of the moon and of

planet earth and I see the beauty of love and the

violence of war.

THE GREY BLACK NIGHT

The grey leaden sky covers the land casting a shadow over this sombre place.

Shadows leap from every tree and boulder until they seem to dance

everywhere you look.

Trees stand in stark silhouette against the sky, the wind makes them sway

and creek like skeletal limbs askew.

This is the gothic night of the beautiful colour of grey.

Grey skies make way for black, darkness starts to colour

the land leaving ghosts and shadows all as one.

Now not even the trees can be seen as everything is coloured black,

the night has come at last…

BOULDER

The massive boulder sits in the lea of the moor; it has been here for a million years

and seen everything that has ever happened.

So many tons of stone made up of all of the elements which make up the very

planet itself.

This piece of stone has been here longer than Man himself and it has seen so many years

come and go, from the harsh cold of winter to the boiling heat of summer, this boulder

has felt them all.

Seasons crack your outer layer with freezing cold and ice, then bake your heart

with the fire of the sun.

You will be here until the weather grinds you down to grains and then the whole

process starts all over again to make a boulder once again.

A COLD WINTER’S MORNING

The air is so clear, you can see for miles.

Clear landscape stands out in stark silhouette

against the icy crystal clear blue sky.

Yellow cold sun stands just above the horizon as the last

of the stars disappear and the moon fades from view.

A cold frost covers the grass making it springy underfoot,

it coats the boughs of the trees glistening silver jewels

before your eyes.

There is nothing quite like a cold Winter’s morning when

everything is still.

As the sun shines over this sleepy world long shadows are

cast over the countryside, along the lanes and fields and villages.

When you walk down a country lane in December, stop to

enjoy the beauty.

SPEEDING ROCKET

Standing huge and massive on the launch pad, so many tons of power

wait to be primed, one way ticket to the stars, waiting to be launched.

It will circle the planet and then land safely, but it wants to go so much further.

This will be the ride of our lives for not many people will do this.

Now as we launch the hot fire pushes us skyward; further we go every second,

the sky goes blue, fading to purple, then black. We can see the stars and the

curve of the earth before us as we fly into space, majestically.

We are as free now as we will ever be on our speeding rocket, spearing through

the heavens, freedom.

RAGING INSOMNIA

Go to bed tired, so tired you want to die,

you’ll kill someone for sleep, oh yes you will.

Just lying there all night just watching the hours

crawl backwards.

Oh God, I’m going fucking insane, please let

me lose consciousness and get away from this

hell of insomnia.

It’s the third day of this and I can’t take it

Anymore, Ill pray for death over insomnia anytime.

I never want to be a prisoner of insomnia again.

I would rather be dead.

THE FARMER

Mr Palmer is a grouchy old farmer; he says, “Get orf my land!”

He carries two barrels of the best British lead in his 12 bore.

He ain’t afraid to use it, oh no. He sells cowpats and horseshit,

twenty pound for a fiva.

Mr Palmer can’t read or write but he can drive a tractor.

He puts horseshit in his wellies so that he can reach the peddles,

yes he does.

He says “’ello” and then he stares at you through his jam jar glasses.

He is now 95 but he has plenty more spunk left in him.

He says, “My dad drove this tractor and Ill leave it to my son

when I have one.”                                         

 

FIRING THOSE ROUNDS OFF

Feel the recoil of the fifty calibre in your gut as the Messerschmitts dart past,

you hit or miss, this is a game of Russian roulette. You’re a gunner in a B-17

shooting shells off to save your soul, kill the Nazi cunts!

You’re a gunner in a Huey gunship blasting the Vietcong – it’s you or them.

The recoil of your gun makes you violently happy as you scythe Charlie down.

You want to rape Dantes’ mistress against the recoil, all those tracers

cutting through the night. Just like July the Fourth.

Heavy calibre bullets mince your guts and wreck your plane, so the wise man says

don’t get in my way or else you’ll pay the price.

MISSILE LAUNCH

Radar lock on, a growl in your ear means the missile sees the Mig,

now a 6 g’s turn and press the tit, see the Sidewinder dart towards the

enemy. For this is his time to die, his seconds tick away like so many

grains of sand in the hour glass.

As the solid fuel rocket motor speeds the missile to Mach 3 the Mig,

your Mig, flies for his life. A crazy turn into range seals his fate,

g-force building up, horizon tumbling madly, this time he gives it his best.

Will American or Russian technology win or lose? Will a pilot and plane die?

The Mig defeats the missile in his life-saving gamble but two more are on the way.

Only his faith in an outlawed God can save him now.

AROUND THE CHIMNEY

Three Messerschmitts fly in formation on this tragic day in Germany’s history,

they’re in formation so fragile and so deadly.

Then the Mustangs strike, fast and without warning. Left and right the wingmen go;

a fuel tank explodes and its jettisoned, saving both pilot and plane.

Deadly chase is now on; lower and lower the 109 and Mustang go, pilot skill counts,

so close to the ground, all that speed. Over the village the 109 hurtles, turning on its wing,

fifty feet above the brewery chimney, four g’s in this gut-wrenching turn.

Then the Mustang’s guns strike home, mortal hit. A third of an aileron flies off the 109.

Flicking upside down, will he die? With so much coolness he flies his plane upwards,

inverted flight, gaining height.

Mustang pilot sees this and waits to claim his kill. With German coolness, the 109

rolls upright and the chase continues – for a while. Force landing his damaged the plane,

the kraut is beaten but alive, skilful and lucky.

TEMPEST PILOT

The world’s best low level piston engine fighter plane flew low and fast with 21-year-old John Andrew at the controls. He was chasing the 190’s over open country.

He had got two and now the third was nearly his when he hit a tree with his wing.

He bailed out of the speeding and tumbling plane with God on his side, alive!

His chute opened and then he was on the ground,

his plane coming down like a fuckin’

meteor in the French churchyard demolishing half the church.

In a dreamlike haze he pulled himself off the ground with nothing but cuts and

Bruises, then passed out.

When he awoke he was in a soft bed with a beautiful young girl gazing deeply at him,

She was called Louisa and in an instant both had fallen in love in the blink of an eye.

So in three weeks John from London, Tempest pilot, had married Louisa, French peasant girl, in the remains of the shattered church where his broken plane lay.

This is one wartime love story, so true and one of hope. Out of the ashes comes re-birth. Wise men say, always fall in love in war.

GHOST DANCERS

Ghost dancing through the night so haunting and so mystical,

ghosts are all around you if you know where to look.

Mysterious ghost ships sail on dark eternal seas forever and ever.

Ghostly figures prance through the dark slender trees on a Winters’

moonlit night.

Maybe one day we too will be ghosts if we die in the right way

but now we can never know.

Some people said they saw a hazy plane on the horizon but when they

looked back it had gone. Who’s to say what it was?

Ghosts maybe amongst us now in all the old houses and castles,

so do prepare when you go to those places.

If you see one, look and remember what you see as you are

the only one to see that special sight.

RELIANT ROBIN

There are forty seven thousand of these plastic pigs on our roads,

if you put four fully equipped Marines in them you have your own

fully equipped invincible army and no one will dare mess with you.

The way forward is with fibreglass and three wheels, the stuff of

legend, an English legend which people will remember forever, just like the Spitfire.

Reliants have sailed over lakes and driven over deserts and had digital computers,

sat nav installed to take them on their quest. They have reached 103 mph and

been fitted with a 1.3 litre engine – come and catch me copper!

Everyone should have one just to be different and to enjoy driving a plastic pig.

Go and get one today.