I once heard a voicemail,

A ghostly whisper through static.

My grandfather’s voice,

Heavy from the weight of hospital walls.

“Hey son,” he said,

“Thanks for stopping by that day,

It meant the world to me.“

His words rolled in like thunder,

Drowning out the sterile quiet of my room,

A storm of his pride,

The kind that wraps around you like a warm coat.

“You made me proud,” he continued,

“You’ve grown into someone

I always knew you could be.”

Time collapsed.

His words built bridges,

And I could see his smile

Like a lighthouse, cutting through the fog.

He spoke of moments

Captured in the soft click of a camera.

In the warmth of a hug.

In the bittersweet taste of goodbye.

“Keep remembering,” he urged,

Inviting me to linger

In the chapters of his stories;

The pages of our shared history.

The message ended.

But the silence felt heavier than absence,

And I clung to his words like a lifeline.

So here I stand in the shadow of his voice,

Knowing he listens.

As I hear the voice again,

I find reasons to believe

In the strength of a visit…

In the echo of love that never really dies.

(c)BobChristian2025

I stand here, 

My promise hanging in the air

Like a ghost. 

My words echoing in my mind 

“I’ll see you again, I promise.” 

But life has a way of rewriting our scripts, 

And I never got the chance to say 

Goodbye.

You were the man 

Who taught me the art of stories.

Who could weave magic with paint.

Your laughter a warm blanket 

On cold winter nights, and now…

There’s an empty chair at the table.

An absence that feels like a weight 

That I can’t shake.

I thought we had time.

I thought there would be more moments.

More days filled with your wisdom.

But time slipped through my fingers, 

Like sand; like your last breath 

I never got to witness.

And I’m left here, clinging to memories 

That feel too fragile to hold.

The hurt wraps around me, 

A heavy cloak of guilt, 

Because I promised you, 

And I wonder if you heard me?

If you knew I meant it.

If you felt my heart breaking from a distance.

If you smiled that knowing smile 

And whispered, “It’s okay.”

But what if it’s not okay? 

What if the weight of my absence 

Is something you carry, too? 

What if the silence between us 

Is filled with unspoken words?

With the “I love yous” 

That got lost in the shuffle of life?

I’m haunted by the doubt, 

The what-ifs that circle like vultures:

What if I had been there? 

What if I had made that call? 

What if I had held your hand 

Just one more time 

And whispered all the things 

That now hang heavy in my chest?

But deep down, 

I know you’d forgive me. 

You always did. 

You were a man of grace, 

A wellspring of understanding, 

And I can almost hear your voice, 

Soft and steady, saying, 

“Don’t carry that burden, let it go son.”

It’s hard to let it go, grandad.

It’s hard to release the guilt.

To accept that life is unpredictable;

That love doesn’t always come with guarantees.

But I carry you with me.

In every laugh, 

In every tear, and in every moment

I feel the weight of your absence.

I remember you, 

And I find comfort in the thought 

That you’re watching, 

That you’re still here, 

In the spaces between breaths, 

In the love I give,

In the stories I tell, 

In your name.

So I’ll carry you with me, 

Not as a weight, but as a reminder 

That promises might falter, 

But love endures.

That forgiveness is a gift we give ourselves, 

And that one day, when the time is right, 

I’ll see you again.

Not as a ghost, but as a part of everything I’ve become.

(c)BobChristian2020

A while ago I told you that I’d entered a competition being held by the Dark Poets Club. I was very pleased to be given an honourable mention and publication on social media by them.

It’s a piece called “Eternal Garden of Shadows”, which is from a collection of pieces that I’ve called “Life of Shadows“.

These are some my darker scribbles, and this particular piece is very dark… it contains references to violence, torture and murder, which some people will find distressing. Please be aware of this.

Eternal Garden of Shadows

Forty years, an eternity carved into flesh,

Each second a ghost haunting the corners of my mind.
In the mirror, I see the boy who never was,
Eyes hollowed, innocence gutted by your hands.

The old white farmhouse, its paint faded,
A tombstone for a childhood lost.
You, a spectre of rot and decay,
The monster I vowed to unearth.

Your voice, a sickening melody,
Tries to weave webs of pity and remorse.
But I am no longer that broken child,
I am vengeance personified; relentless; unyielding.

Dragging you through the threshold,
The air thick with memories of screams,
Your body, frail and trembling,
The fear in your eyes gives a dark satisfaction.

Each blow, a symphony of bone and blood,
Your flesh a canvas for my rage.
You convulse, a marionette on frayed strings,
Every scream a note in the requiem of your sins.

In the barn, tools of torment rusted by time,
I find new purpose, each blade a deliverance.
I carve your guilt into your skin,
Every cut a ledger of pain unpaid.

You beg, a pitiful creature,
Words slurred through shattered teeth.
But mercy died with my innocence,
And I am the hollow echo of your cruelty.

Dragging you to the garden,
The earth cold, unfeeling, like my heart.
The shovel, heavy with intent,
Tears into the ground, a grave yawning open.

Your pleas – desperate, animalistic,
Fall on ears deafened by torment.
Buried alive, the soil swallowing your terror,
Hands clawing the earth, your futile grasp at salvation.

In the silence, I hear your muffled screams,
A symphony of suffering, eternal.
The flowers above, nourished by your decay,
Bloom in grotesque irony; beauty born from horror.

The farmhouse remains a monument to retribution,
Its silence a testament to justice served.
Forty years of shadows dispelled by your cries,
Now buried in the garden, your purgatory. My peace.

(C)BobChristianpoetry

I’m very proud to announce that my next book of poetry is now available on Amazon; in both old school paperback, and kindle format. It’s also on Kindle Unlimited.

This book has been around four years in the making, and I’m certainly looking forward to seeing what you think of it. People that have read bits have loved it, but as it’s not what I’ve done previously, I’m interested to see how it’s received.

I’m also getting my work published now, and scored an honourable mention and published piece for a Dark Poetry competition. I’m pleased, as it was (as the name suggests) for dark subjects. I still like to write that style of scribbles every so often.

2025 sees my fiftieth birthday, which I’m excited about, and I wanted this book to mark that.

So I present to you, “Solace & Light” (Fifty trips around the sun). Please let me know what you think.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DS9J4XYP?ref=cm_sw_r_ffobk_mwn_dp_ARPRQTGCEWC8QD493HMK&ref_=cm_sw_r_ffobk_mwn_dp_ARPRQTGCEWC8QD493HMK&social_share=cm_sw_r_ffobk_mwn_dp_ARPRQTGCEWC8QD493HMK&language=en_US&skipTwisterOG=1&bestFormat=true

This is a brand new literary and culture magazine who have kindly included one of my pieces in their first issue.

I’m thrilled to bits! If you’d like to take a look, you can purchase it from their online store, below:

https://aeos.bigcartel.com/

The place where I work is by the side of a river (The Dart). There are many trees along the bank, so we have lots of wildlife, including a group of squirrels. They all have their own characters; that being said, I was trying to work on Friday morning when there was an awful racket coming from the trees outside.

There was a squirrel sat on a branch outside my window, shouting at me!

I’m guessing he was cross, but as I’m not fluent in squirrel, I’m going to say he was emotional and passionate about something. I threw some squirrel peanuts in shells down for him, and he gathered them up and scampered off. I scribbled some ideas down.

Squirrel – Part One

A squirrel outside my office window, a tiny dictator,  
Perched on the ledge, tail twitching with indignation,

Eyes locked on me, his tiny paws gesturing wildly,  
Like a furry Napoleon demanding a donation, nuts his only currency.  
“Hey, human!” his chittering seems to say,  
“Did you forget our contract? I provide the entertainment,  
You provide the peanuts. Now, look at this empty tray!  
Am I a joke to you? My acrobatics aren’t free, you know!”

Part Two

In the corner of the warehouse,  
A squirrel perches, unseen.
Tail flicking like a metronome,  
Watching the human tap away,  
Wondering if this is what freedom looks like?  
A desk, papers, and a coffee cup,
While he has acorns to bury,  
And dreams of having more than he can eat.

(C)BobChristian