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About Bob W Christian

I’m Bob Christian; a husband, father, grandfather and cat dad. I’m a dyslexic poet. I am on the Autism Spectrum and I started writing poetry, or scribbles as I’ve always referred to them, to help me to process my thoughts and emotions. It’s also helped with my PTSD. It’s gone from there and after over 20 years is still going strong, I’m now finally dabbling in to photography as I’ve been told I have a good eye.

Open letter to a deadbeat dad

This is an open letter, I sent to my sperm donor sorry biological father, after years of wanting to say how I felt towards him. (Note I’ve edited out names & places to protect innocent parties)

Father

Well, I say ‘father’, but let’s face it, you haven’t been a father to me, have you?  You walked out on us all, but worse, only a few years ago, I was told that after Grandad, your father, died, you had instructed your legal official that I am “not a member of the family, he’s just someone who’s tacked my name onto the front of his surname, for financial gains”. You formally disowned me as your child. 

My only memories of you are of an almost bipolar-type parent. One minute you were coming in from work all smiles and laughter – play fighting; the next, throwing plates at the wall and using it as an excuse to storm out and go to back to the pub. The rages and violence to mum and me only stopped  when you finally snuck out of the family home while I slept, on the night before Mother’s Day. A nice touch. 

You had left to go to your new family – your new girlfriend, her kids and my half-sister. You let me stay with you, until she made you choose between them and me. Of course, you chose them, and you left me at my mother’s, in the garage, with a damaged watch and some money to ring you if mum didn’t turn up. She did, of course. She always did turn up. 

I’m angry that you discarded me so easily, without a thought.

I’m angry at the repeated broken promises you made to me as a young child. Repeatedly failing to show up to spend time with me at weekends. I’m sure you always had an excuse handy, but I waited for hours for you and you never showed up.

You refused to pay your fair share for your children… me and my little sister. I remember so clearly how you would wait until the very last point… until the bailiffs were taking action to make you pay the maintenance you were required to pay. Then, and only then, making the minimum payment, so that the games could continue.

When I split from the mother of my two children, I went without food to make sure they had what they needed. That’s what a decent parent does, but I guess you don’t understand that.


All that combined is pretty low by anyone’s standards, but to have yet another child by a third woman, and tell her she’s an only child when she is actually one of FOUR, is simply cowardly and disgraceful. Your own parents told me they thought that was despicable.

I’ve nothing against my half sisters, it’s not their fault. It’s yours. You have denied your children the chance to know each other as children, and fed misinformation to the youngest. Fake news has nothing on you.

Anyone might think that I’d be messed up by all these things and your serious drink problem. I’m the eldest and remember much more about your behaviour than my little sister. Well, I’d like to say two things to you……

1) Thank you, for showing me how NOT to do things as a parent. I’m by no means the perfect father – I have made mistakes like any man. But I have learned from my mistakes and accept responsibility for them. You do not, and never have. I have learnt from all of your vile behaviour about how to look after and support my offspring financially and emotionally. I know how to be a decent and loving father and grandfather. You have missed out on so much.

2) Despite everything negative that you’ve done, and all the things you haven’t done as a father, grandfather and great grandfather, I wish you no ill will. I’ve had my own tough times but I’ve become a well-balanced, happy and stable individual. I’ve made a successful career, have a wonderful life near the sea.

I want you to know that I forgive you. I feel sorry for you and your struggles with alcohol. It’s a battle you’ve fought hard since I was a small child and it’s an illness. I hope that one day you’ll get some help, and maybe find clarity, strength and some inner peace from the demons that still haunt you.

Twenty-Five Past Eternity.

Staring at the clock, it mocks my plight.
Five minutes left, or so it claims,  
But time has turned to molasses;
Every tick a tiny giggle,  
As my coffee grows cold,  and
My chair re-forms to my shape.  
It’s then that I ponder
The deeper questions,
Like if I can train my stapler to fetch,  
Or if the printer is secretly plotting against me?

Words, & Illustrations (c)BobChristian

Dullahan 

In the ink of night, where shadows dance like whispers,  
Rides the Dullahan, headless, relentless.
Upon a steed as black as the void it carries.  
Eyes that are not there, see everything.
A mouth that does not speak screams silently.
For he is the herald of death,  
The unyielding messenger of the inevitable.

The road stretches endlessly under the moon’s cold gaze,  
As if the earth itself shudders at his coming.  
The Dullahan rides, a figure draped in darkness,  
Where laughter dies in the throat,  
Where hope flees like a hunted thing.  
He holds his head high, cradled like a grotesque lantern,  
Its grin wide, eyes rolling… searching
For the soul he seeks; for the life he will claim.

The air hangs heavy with the weight of his curse.
The clatter of hooves a dirge,  
An echo of finality that chills the marrow.  
Villages dare not whisper his name,  
Lest they summon his wrath;
Lest they feel the sweep of his unseen gaze.

No lock can bar his path.
No gate can halt his ride.  
For the Dullahan is unbound by the chains of the living,  
A spectre of grim purpose;
A harbinger of the end we all must meet.

And when he halts,  
When his steed rears before a trembling door,  

Silence falls like a shroud,  
And the air thickens with dread.

Yet, even as the Dullahan rides on,  
There is a flicker of something more.  
A mirror to our own mortality;
A reminder that the end is not an end,  
But merely the dark side of the moon.
A passage to the unknown.

So, listen for the hooves in the night.
Feel the chill that climbs your spine,  
And remember:  
The Dullahan rides for us all,  

One by one,  
Until the end of time.

(c)BobChristian

You did what?

 

I once told my wife she was wrong. Yeah, that only 

happened once.  

The walls took a deep breath like they were about to dive into drama,  

The clock decided to take a coffee break.

Even the cat gave me that “Dude?” look  

before moonwalking out of the room.

(c)BobChristian

N00d7es

A fluffy feline, all cuteness and coos,

Lulls the world with her innocent ruse.

But when the lights dim, a switch she flicks

Her furry façade hides her secrets and tricks.


For under the moonlight this agent elite

Prowls with a purpose, a master of sneak.

Leaping through shadows, her movements so fleet,

Unraveling mysteries, the world at her feet.


This furry ‘James Bond’, this cat of intrigue,

Keeps the world safe, though she acts like a geek.

By day she’s a kitten, all purrs and delight,

But by night she’s a warrior ready to fight!

(C)BobChristian

Mirror-Ball

Yesterday evening I saw a reel. Or short video, on Facebook.

It explains how to make a mirror-ball, you have to break lots of pieces of glass to create a beautiful item that shines beautifully.

So when you think you’re broken. Your not broken, your a just sparkly mirror-ball.

I then reimagined what was said, into this

Disco resurrection

Shattered shards, once discarded and forgotten,
Now gathered, polished, and reborn.
A disco ball, a beacon in the night,
Flashing, flirting, a mesmerizing sight.
Fractured fragments, their edges sharp and true,
Transformed into something wondrous, anew.
A symbol of resilience, a dance of light,
Your flishy, flashy, sparkling splendour, a dazzling delight.

(c)BobChristian

Enchanted Grove

While Mrs Bob is putting the finishing touches to my next book. I was looking at all the scribbles, and part finished pieces etc I have to see how many more I had left. I came across this piece that I’d not included in my next book. Obviously as I’m sure you’re all aware, we sadly had to say goodbye to Ollie a week ago. While he was the bravest cat I’ve had the privilege of knowing, I didn’t want to just discard this scribble, so I thought I’d share it with you all.

Ollie (Tuxedo) and Noodles (Tabby)

Enchanted Grove

In a mystical garden, where the world unfolds its secrets like ancient scrolls, there are two young dragons Ollie and Noodles with bravery stitched into their scales. They shimmer and shine, a spectacle of brilliance in this enchanted realm, a sanctuary where reality dances with dreams.

They find rest in plant pots, nestled deep, dreaming of adventures yet to be written across the sky. When dawn breaks, they rise with the sun, eager to explore, untamed and free, as if the universe itself is calling them by name.

They chase each other through the garden, their fiery joy a tapestry of laughter echoing in the air. Ollie’s wings, vibrant and bold, carry stories of strength, while Noodles’s eyes, like stars, capture every moment with a sparkle that speaks of wonder.

This magical haven becomes their playground, a stage for their spirits to soar, where they frolic and fill the air with joy and light. With them walks the old grey witch, a sage full of wisdom, alongside Nethiel, gentle, refined a harmony of souls crafting a symphony of discovery.

Together, they wander, a crew bound by curiosity, unearthing secrets both ancient and new. In the garden’s embrace, they find peace, a sanctuary where love and enchantment weave their timeless spell.

Ollie and Nelly, with hearts wide open, discover their place in this world, with the old grey witch and Nethiel by their side. It’s a bond woven by magic, a connection that defies time and space.

Let their story travel through the winds, a tale of Ollie and Nelly a whimsical band of dreamers. In the garden, they dwell, forever entwined, a narrative of friendship where love finds its true definition.

(c)BobChristian

Bedknobs & Broomsticks

The afternoon sun spills across the room,  

Casting golden shadows on our intertwined bodies,  

As our kitten curls between us,  

A soft reminder of joy in the quiet moments.  

In this stillness, the world fades,  

And love wraps around us like a warm blanket.

(c)BobChristian

The King of Chaos: A Penguin’s Guide to Office Life

In the kingdom of office cubicles,  

there’s Andy, our unorganized brash king penguin,  

waddling through the chaos, wearing mismatched socks,  

confusing spreadsheets with snack sheets—  

the only guy who can turn a meeting into a fishing trip.  

He flaps his flappers in excitement,  

“Who needs preparation when we have enthusiasm?”  

And we nod, trying to find our missing stapler, wondering if it swam south for the winter.

(c)BobChristian

Spellbinding

In the quiet of dusk, I whisper my desires.
Fingers tracing sigils in the air,
Each breath a spell, a gentle nudge,
Waves of intention curling through the cosmos,
Stars shift, aligning with my heart’s wish,
And the universe leans in, listening.

(Words and Images (c)BobChristian)