When the wine flows
Many things are said
And the world is reshaped
For better or for worse
The way it is
When we get all juiced up
A litre of wine then some vodka
For a swervy hangover
Go to sleep all thru the day
Then wake up and pop a cold beer
Down the hatch and ten more
Make it a week long session
Anything goes as long as its booze
I started at 12 in Spain
And never stopped
Drunk on 3 halves of lager
I was a girl back then
Now I’m fucking hard core
Pass me a beer…
my poem books
THE COMPLETE NICK ARMBRISTER POETRY COLLECTION Volume 1 covers it all, Nick Armbrister's work from early 1996 right through to late 2013. An epic career of poems on many topics and views. Much of his work has been published in the 'small press' poetry scene over the years and in his previous books. Also included here is new unpublished work. This book will appeal to anyone who wants to read Nick Armbrister's multi emotional work and to new readers who want to read something different and unique.
THE COMPLETE NICK ARMBRISTER POETRY COLLECTION Volume 2 covers it all, Nick Armbrister's work from early 1996 right through to late 2013. An epic career of poems on many topics and views. Much of his work has been published in the 'small press' poetry scene over the years and in his previous books. Also included here is new unpublished work. This book will appeal to anyone who wants to read Nick Armbrister's multi emotional work and to new readers who want to read something different and unique.
The Complete Nick Armbrister Poetry Collection Volume 3 covers it all, Nick Armbrister's work from early 1996 right through to late 2013. An epic career of poems on many topics and views. Much of his work has been published in the 'small press' poetry scene over the years and in his previous books. Also included here is new unpublished work. This book will appeal to anyone who wants to read Nick Armbrister's multi emotional work and to new readers who want to read something different and unique.
https://uglywriters.com/2020/08/23/before-his-time/
Next Times
Noon day sun is by far the hottest
Tune! thought the guy as he danced
Lune is a type of attractive rare bird
Coon! swore the racist before he was shot
Moon hung brightly shining on your face
Swoon went the couples to slow songs
Hewn stone carvings are hard to carve
Prune the garden to remove the weeds
Spoon is needed for eating ice cream
Boon was the car for the local village
Goon commented the old man to the teen
Croon went the lady for her dead love
Dune hiking is not that easy on the feet
Strewn train wreckage hindered rescuers
Rune reading is a divine or acquired skill
June is not always flaming often raining
Hot Italy
Jiva drove his bright blue Fiat Panda madly thru the narrow
streets
Bullets zinged off the concrete behind his nippy car
He raised a middle finger and glanced in the rear
mirror
The pursuing gun man was reloading his piece
With a grimace the shooter leaned out of the side
window
The Panda driver was ready and grinned
He reefed his car round a corner on two wheels
Three pistol shots went wide and hit bystanders
The tailing BMW was actually slower in town
Around the tight corners and alleyways
On the wide roads Jiva was a dead man
But Jiva was in charge and it showed
He plotted the route and avoided being hurt
Not a single 9mm slug had hit home
He’d just ripped off their drug deal and had their
cash
It was millions of Euros and used cash not dirty
In a further swerve Jiva shot down a one way street
Horns blared and oncoming cars just missed him
One hit the speeding BMW head on in a big clang!
One car ended up on its side and the other in s shop
front
Jiva shouted and pumped his fist in triumph
He was already on a biz jet to Antigua and freedom…
Down The Drains
There are underground people who live underground
Both below the surface of the earth
And also inside their own subcultures
They were in a world within a world
They set their own rules and standards
Outsiders were oblivious to this
And wouldn’t understand if they knew
No outsiders were allowed underground
Into the dark labyrinth of tunnels
Or into the secretive dark groups
It was underground and hidden
Simply not in sight or scrutiny by others
This was the best way for everyone
It kept the stupid public safe from harm
And the groups from being observed
The underground double world
It’s so near yet so very remote
Junker Man
This guy was a German national and part Greek and Turk
His mother was from Athens and his father from
Constantinople
He’d been born in Germany and was proud of that
He ran a kebab shop and sold the best kababs in Berlin
All types from mixed meat to vegan to fruit
His cooking style was his own as were the sauces
German Greek and Turkish meals were combined
The recipes were in his head and in a big safe
His workers were proud and hard working like the boss
Who demanded total loyalty and dedication
They had a job for life and none ever left except in
death
I’m off to Berlin for a one off special kebab and side
dish
Come and join me for this luxurious meal and
experience
One of life’s special one off stomached once
Nick Armbrister and other writers
Grape Dog
‘Like a grape?’
There was a dog that ate grapes
The dog was happy eating them
For they tasted so sweet
Especially the black ones
So wonderfully yummy
They were small and seedless
Disappearing with a bite
And a couple of chews
Into the dog’s belly
This was real life
And the dog was a one off
Totally unique in her ways
Any other dog would die
After eating a single grape
Not half a pound of them
Normal dog food was bland
Not even tuna fish
Or chicken breast
Got a sniff or lick
It was only grapes
Now the dog dozed in the sun
Her belly full and hunger gone
She’d sleep all day
Then run and play
And eat some more
She was the grape dog
With a purple head
Red body with lilac spots
Green feet and a blue tail
A rather cool one off
Grape eating dog
She showed me her dead sister’s poems
They filled an old wooden cabinet
There were hundreds no thousands
Each hand written on paper not typed
It was obvious by looking they were skilled
The person who wrote them
I’d actually read a few poems
Not these but the ones in the book
The book published by our company
It was responsible for the airport
They figured publish a book
And print some photos and its fine
The local inhabitants will agree
And move away from their home
After being paid double the value
Of their land and dwellings
It was a terrific offer the best
For the company were the best
That’s why I worked for them
I was the best and got results
They sent me to the village
To finalise the sale and all
Just one little home remained
There was a small problem
The home owner couldn’t sign
Over her house and land
It’s not that she didn’t want to
Or was out of town
She was dead killed outright
It was a car crash and that was that
Her sister was now in charge
Of the affairs and estate
Maybe she planned it or not
I can’t say but hey
What do I really know?
I could’ve easily got her squiggle
On the three forms and then moved onwards
The airport would’ve been built
State of the art and much needed
Tens of thousands of flights a year
Multiple millions of passengers
It was an awesome project
Designed by the best
But those poems were simply…
…I cannot describe them
Or how I felt then or even now
It’s like Mark Twain's dead artist girl
Emmeline Grangerford in Huckleberry Finn
She was alive in her paintings
Something happened and I stalled
Maybe it was a job too far
Or the girl from beyond her grave
Or simply her poems
Or maybe I was human
Or maybe her alive sister
And not killing a pretty village
Ruining their lives completely
What the fuck do I know?
I work in Real Estate and all that
My company is a Forbes Top Ten
But the dead gal’s sister sadly smiled
She passed me nine thousand poems
The house keys and full deeds
And said it’s all mine
And she gave herself to me too
I’m not greedy and need nothing
I’m not money orientated
I close deals and am the best
But I couldn’t close this
Her sister the poems the house
And the date we both had
And following marriage and kids
Cost me my career and reputation
But that never mattered
What mattered was a dead gal
And the poems she did
I fell in love with her
She’s gone but her sis Rosa is here
She intuitively understands
All of it so damn much
I think I do
Do you?
release 2021 MAJOR INSOMNIA CORPORAL SLEEP
Plop
I ask why it feels so fucking good
When I squeeze a big turd out of my arse
It leaves my tubes at full speed
Like a freight train thundering along
And the smell of my own fucking shit
That smells like a real meaty meater
I made that after a damn good feed
Not to forget my farts which waft along
All at to the sweetness of my event
Going for a number two on the bog
I do this every day empty my pipes
Time for a right good shit!
Turd away!
First Song
It’s all rock n roll n goth n metal
Being played from the decks
Oh turn it up loud it’s my song!
That track got me into real music
Time stands still when I hear it
Just like yesterday when it was out
Played on the radio and in pubs
In clubs too when only bands mattered
Soundtrack to my early life
Those were the days and I think
They never ever went away
I still listen when I can to it
That special song that I own it
For I dedicated my life to it
And still do decades later
There will never be a song
On the same level or as good
At least not to me
Crackled
Snail of the lizard
Bottle goose jabberwocky
Speak in riddles
Think in rhymes
Those are hidden
What’s in my head
Not what you see
I’m just me
Word smith guy
Doing his bit
Bit by bit
Till my book is done
Carrot eaten style
Sell a million
Guinea pig full
No starving writer
Do not say that
Her decade legacy
No more words
Me mad at her
She’s moved on
I wanted her in mud
Fuck her doggy
Rag her Cuban pussy
I feel hard
In my pants
In my head
Get ready boogaloo
What and when?
Right bloody now!
