the afters
scattered at ankle height.
bodies and turkeys and bottles
litter the 26th midday.
you’re still not here,
Saint Nick. Last year I drove you
to the north
but you said I couldn’t stay. duty called
& you wanted Christmas
with another loved one.

so I left my flat at midnight
with sweetness in my hands
raised;
to the sky watching
for a red light streaking unashamedly,
but the front of the doorstep
was not
darkened by a jolly frame.

the snow
withheld at cloud height.
maybe 8 billion people means
overtime.
maybe a no show means
it’s over time.
and writing a letter 9 hours after
you put the reins down
seems a bit desperate, don’t you think, Saint Nick?

the not days to new years
rupture at heart height.
the workshop’s shut, elves on annual leave. Loving like this means waiting
on an 11 month reprieve.
now the fireworks have started
Auld lang syne sung
but my arms hold the departed,
Saint Nick, perhaps is done.

so now im waiting
for another ** ** ***
and maybe
this one won’t love me enough
also.

Forlorn,
I sit and mourn
What could have been,
From the boundary, trying not to be seen.

Misanthropic.
A tiny nick
Has snuffed out my life,
Success always resting on the edge of a knife.

Melancholy,
I sit here pondering, sorry.
Should be out there fighting.
Every strike sounding like lighting.

Company,
I rushed too hurriedly,
Spurned our honour
And became connon fodder,

Because I got the plan wrong,
Sung the wrong song,
Overstretched,
Regret etched

Across my face,
Death dressed in lace,
Struggling on a sticky wicket,
I guess that is just cricket.

Talk to me, talk to me of Old St. Nick
Talk to me of Sinterclaus
Of Mikulas, Pere Noel, or Babbo Natale

Talk to me of candles, christingle and a silent night
Talk to me of crackers, carols and calamities
Talk to me of snow, sleighs, and stars
Talk to me of Christmas cards, wrapping paper
Talk to me of gold, old spice and mice
Talk to me of icing, icicles
igloos, ivy
Holly
Oh sweet Hollie
Tots of Drambuie
Marmalade and toast

Talk to me of Philip Scholfield
Carols From Kings
Mary Poppins
Scrooge
Festive films
Radio Times
And things that are too pretty
Lights, nights
Hark, Dark
barking dogs
tinsel
Tinsel Town
Wolves at the door
Salvation Army playing once more

Talk to me
Talk to me
Cream Crackers, cheese
Frosty mornings, old knees

Talk to me of snow covered alpine forests
Gateaux
Cherries
walnuts and berries
Festive fun,
A seasonal run
Of All Gold telly
With a full belly
Farts, sprouts
Turkey that tastes just like chicken
Oh talk to me of
Terry Wogan
Rosh Jogan
Grogan Josh
Last minute deals
Black Friday
White Friday
And all the Cyber Mondays

Talk to me of
Happy Mondays
Dancing Bez
In a Festive Fez

Talk to me
Talk to me
Of Festive time
Late nights
Early mornings
Beer
Cheer
All in entertainment

Oh talk, TALK to me
Of hangovers,
sleep overs
gloves
mittens
and cute kittens

Oh talk to me of
fake Chanel
Faux Fur and underwear
Celvin Klein

Talk to me , Talk to me of
Jonah Lewie
Bony M
The Pogues
and all those rogues
Fairy tale of New York
Stop the Cavalry
Mary's Boy Child
And the
Spaceman who came riding by

Oh talk, Talk , Talk to me
of places, and spaces We all know
Christmas markets
Tesco, Aldi and John Lewis Adverts showing
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
Chris
Oh talk to me
Oh talk to me of old St. Nick

Talk to me
Talk to me
Eggnog
Talk to me
Talk to me
Bah humbug
Talk to me
Talk to me
Happy Christmas

There was once a wealthy man who was a *****
that loves to play games which are cruel and sick
he did that with impunity for
many years without thought of fear
until the "Me too" movement put him in the nick

Field Day
Take a walk in the summer meadow and tell me
What do you see?
Different coloured flowers and countless insects
Pollinating their flowers and plants
Several different herbs and grasses
All verdant and of living colour
An artist called Mother Nature
Created her canvas and smiled
Giving life to a once barren field
A hedgerow and copse of trees
Add heartbeats to this living miracle
Where words and clichés are impossible
You have to take a stroll here and marvel
Dream it all in and stop time dead
Become the moment and live it forever
Over and over again flowery meadow design







******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

Off the Back of a Truck
The black painted truck drives about the country doing its job
Moving things from A to B and losing them in-between
Passing thru Chorley it drops a mountain bike without wheels
Going past Leeds it discards a new microwave oven minus door
In the middle of Rochdale it dumps a crate of empty beer bottles
Speeding in Yeovil the truck gives out used bullet proof vests
And at Aberdeen it abandons some PCs minus hard drives
For Cardiff the lorry leaves hundreds of out of date pizzas
Hours later in Birmingham hooded tops with just one arm are left
The ******* trail goes to Whitby where books of fake stamps fall
Onwards to York to discard plastic crosses with half a Nazarene
Back to Dover to chuck a hundred coffee flasks with drilled hole
On and on drives the strange lorry with its load of goodies
All are useless and no use to anybody except a fool or idiot
Like the one driving the truck on his nationwide dumping trip
Ticking each place off his list as he follows his map
A to ****** Z...




******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

Fish Food
They build their little tin can ships
So they can be seen to be strong
With new destroyers to take a cruise on
Along with big cruisers to fire missiles
And submarines to dive deep and follow dolphins
Not to forget aircraft carriers and their planes
Each of these shiny new ships is useless
If you put even a tiny hole in it
Down to the seabed it goes
The crew becoming fish food
Just what is needed for national progression
They should have built hospitals instead




******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

My First Tattoo
There was an 80s goth band who I used to love
All About Eve dragged to the 90s oh so cool
Touched By Jesus was their new album
I saw them gig twice and bought the t-shirt
And even got the tattoo on my right arm
All About Eve in September 1991
I still love their music today...



******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

Phase 1.
He will be missed.

that's what they'll write on your Facebook
tombstone,
after they'll scatter your ashes
all over the big blue virtual ocean.

small pieces of your memory
will end up on people's profile pictures
(the full black ones
are small parts of your
Nick Cave t-shirt).

they'll suddenly remember
that you once existed and
that they had the honor
of not picking up YOUR phone calls.
they'll share all your favorite songs
on their side of the wall,
saying this and that
and how you inspired them
through your nonsense.
they'll hashtag your big fat ***
with that special #RIP *******,
knowing that you haven't
slept well in a while.


Phase 2.
Something's missing.

that's what they'll say
after a couple of months,
when they'll look at the empty places
in their bookcases
and realize that,
indeed,
it wasn't a good idea to lend their books
to a depressed as **** *******.

they'll go online
and order new books
and try to forget your absence;
your song will be played again.
you'll be an echo one more time,
water under their bridge,
a white paint mark that they leave behind on the road,
on their way to the seaside,
a decent line
in a Romanian new wave movie
that makes them smile for a second
and then, after the screening's over, try to remember..

you had the choice of carving smiles into stone or
that of throwing stones into smiles.
what do you think people saw?

Phase 0.**

you don't have to live a great life.
you just have to die a simple death.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBlNUkEVA4A]

With bare feet and heavy eyes
the river draws me out of our
love stained sheets to swallow me
whole and straighten my minds eye.
Your half conscious whispers and
Nick Drake spin around my skull
as the sun desiccates my paper soul
to be consecrated in a mason jar
left in the cupboard.