Think of the *****,
The hobo,
The Great American Travlin' Man,
Seeing the sights,
The great spans of this weird and wonderful county,
Taking in places that will never be seen by you or me.

We look down upon them,
Or with indifference,
Content with our homes, cars, and jobs,
But consider this you,
With these things would we really be considered free?

Chained by loans,
By the banks,
By a mortgage or three?
Who's more at liberty,
Us or the ***** travlin' the street?

***** trapped home
Desastruous feel
Need, struggle, work,
Liberty restored.

If I'm  the drag would you be

                                          my queen?


Yes I maybe a bit of a drama queen,

    but we know

who sits on the throne..

I took more time on my hair,
         than you did on your make up.

But you know that all my time is  yours.

I may be a drag,
but we know who hold the title of beauty.

    I'm just the ***** and your the lady,

              be my woman and ill always love you.

And I'll never drag you down,


                                           but lift you higher up.

Man Living in the Dustbin
There is a man who lives in a trash can
He’s a funny old character
Telling jokes and dancing a gig
Always happy and funky
He’s become a legend in his head
Something bigger than nothing
Following you to the store
And saying Hi then turning to go
Hoping you follow him
Then give him kindness
A sausage roll or bottled beer
The dustbin man who we see
Wondering why he lives this way
Sleeping in the bin his home
Very cosy if he ay say so
His dustbin down the alleyway
Where nobody will bug him
An ideal example of humanity
Living with a smile in his head
And setting the example
To always smile :)

from my new book out 2020

Upside ******* Down in a Blazing Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More by Nick Armbrister

Upon a bed of newspapers lay a creased red cotton shirt.
No fixed abode
Dirt appears on dirt
Grind teeth.
Got any change said man with can in hand.
Card and blanket with dog curled underneath.
Comatosed body rigid from a fix.
Brandished **** and theif.
Patchwork multicoloured polyester tents adorn a high end shop.

walking around the *****
walking around stones
walking around the *****
odyssey was today or now

walking around the *****
and in the bushes and cacti and words
walking around the *****
as if in stone sands

odyssey poured like tap water
odyssey raced like rain in april
walking around ***** yes
walking around a stroller with stones

21.12.18

Sad and sunken, sloppy
Reclining in their paperback seats
Heads lolling forward like they are made of
The rags they are clothed in.

Rags they sleep with. Clutched like a child's
Blankie to hold them down on the
Concrete bed made from their cold and hard
Voice,
But soft words, that built their bones
And concaved skulls, empty but

Open like a bowl to be filled,
Like their stomachs will remain unfilled,
Like their stomachs
Decaying,
Un-used and un-taught.

Soft, sloping, shoulders,
Slick but slump tongue,
Too heavy at the base of their throats
To speak and sigh,
They sway in their hollow frames
And sink lower in the cold.

You look surprised that you were gorged
By that little beast, that *****
All along you knew she was a *****
Hell, on her back it's plainly  stamped

So now your stuck upon her horns
In her clutches  of sharpened thorns
As piece by piece, she'll take you apart
You'll know when she's done, you'll be missing your heart

You put physically beauty, before the beauty in the heart
So you got exactly what you sought

I watch and I snicker
Because your cranium was thicker
Than the words that I said
Not a syllable reached a brain cell in that head

I don't feel a twinge of guilt
You can live in what you built
I'll watch it crumble down
With a smile on my lips, as you are forced to wear that crown.