PANDORA’S BOX

PANDORA’S BOX

A dull tarnished box was found out amongst the rubbish. No one knew how it had got there; it could have been lost or stolen, but an old tramp came across it. On a cold night he found it while looking for something to eat. He went down an alley and opened the box up. Inside was lined with gold; in the gold a young girl’s face was reflected. She said I’ll give you three wishes. The tramp’s first wish was for some food, which appeared in front of him as if by magic. His second wish was to be happy and his mood changed in the blink of an eye. His third wish was to be with his dead wife; in a second he was in heaven by her side, to be in a place of love for all eternity. 

A NATION IN FLAMES NICK ARMBRISTER

Unconscious, he soon drowned in the cold sea, the Nazi’s first loss. The doomed fighter flew several more miles out of sight and splashed down in shallow water further down the coast, breaking into three pieces. Desperate radio calls from Black Shark Leader received no answer. Angry at their loss, the leader and his number two scythed down, this time head on, firing at close range into the cockpit area to kill the pilot and front gun position. This was dangerous and had to be done right, a single mistake would be deadly. British tracers shot out from the single nose gun and four upper turret guns, crossing German gunfire which sparked and exploded on the bigger targets. One Halifax swerved to starboard, the pilot having lost his head to a cannon shell, a dead hand on the controls. His wingman saw this too late! He attempted to turn but stood no chance, with a massive bang! Both bombers collided and blew to pieces, nothing remaining but smoke, broken metal and bits of falling bodies.

Aeroplane Poems 2 By Nick Armbrister

Norwegian Hills

Back in 2004 two men met. A unique meeting then, in that year. Yet the event that led up to that meeting, the actual cause, was something else. Do I call it majestic? No.

YOU decide what to call it.

A burning Halifax bomber fell in flames between two hills. Two or three engines on fire. Raped by Nazi gunfire. What happened to the other six men?

So many lost, dead.

I wish I could see the scene the Norwegian man saw. Or not. Did he pull the sole English survivor out of the wreckage?

LOST SOULS

The crime is with the leaders, 
you caused the death of thousands, 
destroyed two cities. 
Cursed your generation 
so it became the guinea pig, 
the atomic generation. 
You all glow in the dark, 
legacy lasting to my life. 
Now more have the bomb, 
ten thousand times bigger than the Hiroshima firecracker, 
that destroyed your city. 
Old people walk happily down the street, 
look them in the eye, they don’t blink. 
See into their soul and witness what they saw. 
Beside them young people holding hands, 
And enjoying each other’s conversation, 
no cares in the world. 
New generation, innocent? 
Children holding their parents’ hands 
and looking happy. 
Will they ever experience those awful scenes and events from sixty years ago? 
What do they think of their relatives who lost their lives? 
Do they think to themselves, what was all that? 
Did it really happen? 
Time moves on 
but one question hangs in the air, 
breathlessly, still poignant: 
Will it happen again? 
Who, what will start the madness, how many will die 
in the next mushroom cloud? 
You, me, my family, our world?

It is a dark poem from my poem book "Dark Delectable Delicious Destructive"-Poems For Goths, Gangsters and Other Mysterious Souls (20 Years of Nick Armbrister's Dark Poems)

Mall Rats

Mall Rats
The naughty teenager stole a bulldozer off a building site. 
He drove it to the shopping mall and went on a squashing spree. 
His victims ran this way and that to escape. 

Some made it, many didn't. 

The heavy metal machine did its master's work well. 
Pulping flesh, severing limbs, twitching nerves, crushing bodies. 

A real fricking blood fest. 

It was a wonderful event, thought the drugged up teen. 
He drove slowly, picked his targets well and got on with it. 
Acrid diesel fumes clouded the air and the revving engine drowned out the desperate shouts. 

Screams of mercy went unanswered. 

God didn't help on this day. 
The wide tracks were slick with blood. 
A trail of maimed and mangled corpses told their own story. 

The mall was a mile long. 

Our dozer killer was only a third of the way along. 
His fuel tank was full, his heart evil and his intent total. 
This was the day he had lived for. 

Slowly squashing hundreds of white meat to death. 

And a few mixed races too. 
Where's the cops when you need them? 
He was the bulldozer killer! 

Coming to a mall near you.

Thai By

Thai By
This place gets under your skin. Slowly creeping in like black Texas gold. I said I'd never partake in the cat house girls. Seeing them each day for eighteen months was routine. Walking past the 'venues' to my shop. Usual hi's and hello's. 

Then one fine humid day, bang! I happened. I changed. Cabin fever? I walked into Suzi's Place. I put my cash on the counter and grinded the mamasan first. Then her two daughters followed by every other girl in there. It took thirteen hours. 

I totalled twenty eight girls. Most were nice. I can't tell my wife. My mate could, his wife's cool. Mine isn't. I'll say I was busy inking from dawn to dusk. I'm not sure what came over me. The Thai air got under my skin. That day tattooing could wait. 

Maybe I'll do it again. Invite my wife and her toy boy. Did I say that people are strange here? I fit in well...

How do you fancy your Chinese?

How do you fancy your Chinese?

It was finally September. The Mediterranean adventure that Joe wanted was here. He went on his eagerly awaited Spanish holiday to Mallorca, the island of beer, wild sex and good times. He had time to himself to do whatever he wanted. Joe saved five hundred quid spending money and his holiday cost another four hundred. He’d worked overtime in the tire factory, including some weekends. Now it was time to rock n roll.

He stayed in Magalluf, the main town on the island. It was full of bars, clubs and other entertainment places. He’d booked his trip with Club 18-30, a company that catered for young people. Travelling alone, he was put in a room with some other English guys. They all got on and went drinking together on the first night. That night set the scene for what was to come. Drink and drink and drink.

Joe liked music so he went to the Hard Rock Café. He went there a few times. On the last occasion, there was trouble of the German kind. Being English, there was a thing about two World Wars and a World Cup. Joe was one man, the Germans were several. He was head banging on the dancefloor when someone tapped him on the shoulder. At first, being drunk, he ignored it. Then he opened his eyes and looked. He saw a chest. And then looked up… There was a Nazi Stormtrooper from Hell! The enemy bastard was six foot four and broad. In guttural English, the kraut shouted: ‘This is our bar! English! You leave now!’

Joe left, the dancefloor, and went to the bar for his beer. He took a drink and ordered a new one. When the first was finished, he started the second and went head banging again. Time passed and songs played, nothing happened. Then there was the same tap on the shoulder; Joe opened his eyes and now three enemy kraut bastards were there. Joe looked at them, at the big glass ashtrays on the bar and then at his beer. He made eye contact, nodded and watching his back, went to the bar. He finished his drink and left the bar. He went back to the hotel to rouse the Yorkshire lads; they were pissed and wanted no trouble. They warned Joe on Spanish jails. He thought fuck it and went to bed.