I’ve decided that, while I want to use my skills for good, life is too short to avoid all mischief.
So I’ve penned a little humorous piece, no harm intended.
She stands on the fresh brickwork, arms wide in disbelief,
“Mum, my future trips to Ibiza are now this driveway!”
Her mother nods, admiring the smooth surface.
“Sweetheart, now you can park those dreams right here.”
(c) BobChristian
A while ago I wrote about Mrs Bob, and the fact she has Ehlers-Danlos syndrome or Hypermobility Spectrum Disorder, as it’s known. This is one of those invisible disabilities that people tend to overlook.
But having seen how bad it can be, and tried to support my wife during terrible flare ups, I wanted to put pen to paper to try to explain the constant (silent) battle that people like Mrs Bob face daily.
Unbroken
In the quiet of the morning,
Before the world stirs awake
She rises, a warrior wrapped in softness,
Carrying the invisible weight of battles
Fought within her own bones.
Her smile is a lighthouse
Casting warmth through the fog
Of a storm that no one else can see.
A beacon of grace and resilience,
Lighting the path she walks alone.
Every step she takes
Is a testament to her courage;
A silent roar of defiance
Against the shadows that cling
To her like an unwelcome cloak.
Pain is her constant companion;
A ghost that lingers, unseen,
Yet she dances with it;
Turns it into a melody…
A tune only she can hear.
In a world that measures strength
In muscle and might,
She redefines it in quiet perseverance;
In the way she lifts others,
Even as she carries her own burden.
Her determination is a river
Carving through rock and resistance;
Flowing with a force that refuses
To be damned or diverted;
Finding its way through the impossible.
She is a tapestry woven
Of fortitude and fire.
Each thread a story of survival;
Each moment a testament
To her unyielding spirit.
And though her battles may be silent,
Hidden beneath the surface,
Her victory is loud…
Echoing in every smile,
Every laugh, every breath she takes.
For she is more than her pain; more than her struggle.
She is a testament to the human spirit.
A reminder that strength is not the absence of weakness,
But the will to stand, again and again,
Undaunted.
Unbroken.
(c)BobChristian
Beneath the bright blue sky
a sudden silence shatters
the ordinary hum of existence.
Steel giants crumble,
a city’s heart stops,
and in that pause,
stories of loss and bravery unfold.
Smoke rises,
a signal of both destruction
and an unyielding spirit.
Hands reach out,
strangers become lifelines,
in the chaos,
we find a shared humanity.
Years pass,
yet the weight of that day
is etched into our collective memory,
a reminder of fragile lives
and the strength that binds us.
We gather the fragments,
piece by piece,
building a narrative
of resilience,
of moving forward,
never forgetting.
(c)BobChristian
Open letter to all my fellow spell-casters, poets, wordsmiths.
We shuffle through the days,
Like we’re on some kind of autopilot,
Eyes glazed, hearts muted,
The world outside begging for our attention
While we scroll, scroll, scroll.
Numb to the chaos.
The injustice.
The cries for help that echo from every corner of our reality.
What are we waiting for?
A sign? A moment of clarity?
Or are we just too comfortable
In our padded prisons of convenience?
Too scared to confront the truth?
That every time we ignore a voice…
A heartbeat…
We are sleepwalking into our own graves?
Every headline that passes us by
Is a call to action.
A challenge to wake up.
But we hit snooze,
Wrap ourselves in the blankets of distraction,
And tell ourselves that tomorrow…
Tomorrow we’ll care.
Tomorrow we’ll rise.
But tomorrow becomes a cycle.
A loop of inaction.
We leave behind footprints of apathy
For future poets, future activists
To sift through like ashes.
Searching for remnants of passion.
For signs that we stood for something.
That we fought for justice.
That we raised our voices against the tide.
So what will they find?
Will they find our silence?
Or will they uncover a legacy?
A fierce declaration that says
We were here? We mattered?
That we refused to be mere spectators
In a world that demanded our engagement?
Let us shatter this trance.
Let us be bold.
Let us scream until our throats are raw.
Until our hearts pound against the walls of indifference.
Let us be the fire that ignites change.
The spark that lights the path for those who follow.
The voices that refuse to fade into the background.
We are not ghosts.
We are warriors.
And our impact can be a tidal wave.
A wave that washes over the injustices,
That lifts the marginalized,
That stands firm against oppression.
We owe it to ourselves,
To those who came before us,
And to those who will come afterwards,
To leave a legacy that demands attention.
That echoes through time.
That says we were here…
We stood for something.
And we dared to wake up.
So let’s rise, together,
And carve our names into the fabric of history.
Let’s be the voices that echo
Long after we’re gone.
Reminding the world
That we were awake,
That we were alive,
And that we chose to fight.
(c) BobChristianmedia
I don’t usually write about current events but in this case I’ll make an exception.
This Mess
“In shadows deep where whispers crawl,
The wealthy laugh while nations fall.
They stoke the flames of ancient hate,
To mask the strings that manipulate.
Puppets dance on gilded stages,
While people rage in scripted cages.
Divided eyes can’t see the hands
That plunder wealth across these lands.
Racial strife, a cunning guise,
For those who win are in disguise.
The true victors are cloaked in gold,
Reaping the spoils of lies retold.”
When I first started writing around the start of the millennium. I wrote a piece called Angels. It was obvious who it was written about. As I’m now a grandfather, and I’ve been going over my very first scribbles to give them a polish,
I’d like to share it with you…
Angels
(Grandad’s Shed edition)
In the depths of my soul, I’ve stumbled and swayed.
As a father, I’m flawed, but my love never strayed.
No blueprint to follow, no roadmap to find,
But my love for you both is clearly defined.
I confess, there were moments when I was unfair.
But my love, dear daughters, was always there.
You are my angels, my guiding stars above,
I’ve always wanted the best for you, my loves.
Ups and downs, we’ve weathered the storms,
A bond unbreakable, my troubles transformed.
So please forgive me for all my mistakes,
And know that my love will never break.
For in every beat of my heart you reside,
With every breath, my love cannot hide.
So trust in my love, and believe that it’s true,
For there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.
(c)BobChristian
As you might be aware by now, I’m working on my last book. While doing so, I decided to look at some of my older scribbles. My style has changed somewhat over the years, and as such I’ve tried to improve on the originals.
So without further ado:
Solutions, 50yr special reserve edition.
One for the road, “I’ll have just one more”.
An excuse I’ve perfected to help numb my core.
Each dram is a promise to drown out the pain;
But deep down inside, I know it’s in vain.
I blame all the stress, all the weight on my shoulders,
On a long day’s work, crushing me like a boulder.
Yet truth be told, it’s an escape I’m seeking,
From the demons within, that I dare not speak of.
One for the road – I’ll forget the past.
And silence the voices; avoid their backblast.
I’ll raise up my glass, though it won’t make things right…
I know my excuses won’t bring back the light.
Words and Illustrations (c)BobChristian
I had a little free time before work today, so I scribbled a few lines.
To Mrs Bob
From darkest night, my love, fear not,
For I am here, your unwavering support.
No matter how rough the road may be,
I’ve got your back, forever, endlessly.
When nightmares haunt your peaceful sleep,
I’ll be there, my love, your solace to keep.
With arms wide open, I’ll chase them away,
For in your dreams, my love, I’ll always stay.
B.W.C
Words and images (c)BobChristian
Anniversary
Ten years, a decade.
3,652 days, 520 weeks or
87,600 hours that
We’ve shared together.
To the mayfly, it’s
An endless eternity.
Yet the mere blink
Of mother nature’s eye.
“How long” should
Never be the question.
Instead it should be:
What have you done with it?
520, the number of times
We’ve danced along
The beach; the sea
Washing our cares away.
39,000 would be the
Number of lunch dates
On the phone, with food
And great conversation.
3,650 I love yous.
One each day. Thought
I’d tell you that it’s
exponentially more.
(c)BobChristian
Greetings and Salutations, to one and all.
As some of you may know, I’ve always loved taking photographs. The camera phone, for me, was the greatest advancement in this field. It meant I didn’t need to worry about missing a random photo session.
Until recently, I’d not really shown any of them off other than to my family and friends… or just myself. A few of them have said I’ve “got a good eye”, which is really kind and a bit surprising to me. So I decided to start looking at it more seriously, experimenting with lenses like a macro, fisheye and a 13x, tripods and all sorts of other goodies.
So, here are a few examples of my work…
The Ramblings of Bob Christian 