Haunted


Haunted

By Bob W Christian

If this place could talk,
The stories it would tell!
Trapped within these
Walls for their eternity,
Gliding along corridors.

Pictures gathering dust,
Snapshots of the past.
This gallery of memories,
Life frozen, doomed to be
Repeated on an endless loop.

Voices call to me from
Empty rooms. Ghostly
Echoes from the past.
Whispers from beyond
My reality, now falling silent.

Memories, emotions,
Regrets. Forever
Haunting me.

(c)BobChristianpoetry

Panic Disorder

“Panic Disorder”

By Bob W Christian

I’d like to say hello, old friend of mine.
You’ve given me so many nightmares,
Waking up sweating, dark and horrific
Memories stuck in my head on repeat.
Try as I might, can’t erase or forget them.

I’m supposed to be a grown-up now
Not scared to be home alone inside
My head; that’s when it’s the worst.
Your images haunting me over the years.
We’ve grown up together side by side.

Even tried evicting you a few times.
You’re back in, throwing your friends
A pity party. I can’t remember the first
Time, you attacked; that knife in my gut,
Fingers on my neck, stopping my scream.

Still, you’re my oldest companion. I’ve tried
Staying awake, hoping you’d sleep before
Me. Tried drowning – you’ve learnt to swim.
Waiting for your return … I guess then
With us, it’s ‘till death do us part.

(c)BobChristianpoetry

Here lies

“Here Lies”

By Bob W Christian

I remember the day that
Time, like your life,
Stopped. Your body,
Laid out like your
Obituary.

Paragraphs of your
Life for all to read.
Documenting the lies
The excuses, the games,
Played.

Hide and seek champ
37 years running
Away. Stretching
Truths, ducking all
Responsibilities.

When it’s my time,
I’ll can rest in peace
knowing, I may be no
angel. Still, I’m nothing
Like you.

(c) BobChristianpoetry

Hoarding

“Hoarding”
By Bob W Christian.

Misplaced. Stashed. A collection
There’s a use for everything here –
Lost but never forgotten.

It’s here somewhere, Amongst
Ceiling-high papers, seemingly
Empty boxes, or In a cupboard.

Searching room by room, almost
Drowning in a labyrinth of memories.
It’s here somewhere, I know it is.

I can’t dispose of it, I might
Need it one day. Until then it
Sits with the rest, gathering dust.

Memories, heartache, evidence of
Past mistakes stack up Hoarding
Emotions, never letting go of pain.

No longer needed, still I’m unable
to discard them. Until they’re too much –
Crashing over, pulling me under.

It started way back in high school. A break
up, losing a loved one. I
Kept them all, not wanting to lose anything.

Ever again, no matter what, how ever
Much it hurt. But it’s time let go now. To Spring
Clean – declutter, before it’s too late.

(C) BobChristianpoetry

Time, Gentlemen, please …

I’ve spent most of the last decade trying to make a career in an industry in which, let’s be frank, someone on the autism spectrum like me probably doesn’t belong.


Working in customer-facing roles in hospitality, has pushed me way out of my comfort zone, and at times it’s been a huge struggle. Sometimes I’ve been pushed to the point of physical and mental exhaustion, especially during the extremely busy times in summer, But I’ve never given up – I have kept trying and I’ve worked hard at trying to understand all the subtle social stuff: facial expressions, workplace politics and all the things that your average neurotypical person seems to find so easy to understand.
I am proud to say that during my time in this demanding industry, I’ve managed to hold managerial positions. The thing with being in that type of position is that I find some things very difficult.
One – the hours: I’ve been at work for an average of ten and half hours a day, five days a week, always working evenings and Bank Holidays, and often, weekends too. This may not sound much, but when you’re constantly having to socialise – or to “people” as I like to put it – this can be incredibly draining.


Two – the “Peopling” itself. I pride myself on being able to interact with the public – trying to understand them and the subtle hints they drop about things. It’s another thing entirely to spend all day trying to mask and pass yourself off as neurotypical. It makes it even harder when you find that customers have left reviews commenting on my inability to hold eye contact or taste the beer myself (as I’m coeliac and therefore allergic to wheat and barley).
Three – I find it difficult to understand some rather fluid rules. Normally rules are easy to follow. It’s not hard to understand that if you drive drunk, you’ll be arrested and lose your license. But some rules in the hospitality trade seem to be very flexible, and if you get it wrong, it can be a massive deal. Rules that apply to most customers, don’t apply to regulars, or those who the owners know and like. It’s like saying that on certain days, or in a particular coloured car, speeding is acceptable, but those special days and colours can change, without warning. That’s how I feel when I’m told we have certain rules then I’m expected to be able to know when and who those do and don’t apply to. I think even a neurotypical would struggle with this.


All of these things cause me to realise that maybe I would be better in a role where there are set (but not too many) hours, and the rules apply to everyone and everything. I think I could also do better in any given job if people above me were not just aware I’m autistic, but also know how to manage it and maybe even help me develop. I can show them what qualities and positives someone on the spectrum can bring to the table.


So, in light of the current pandemic situation, and the fact that both Mrs Bob & I are at high risk due to lung issues, I’ve made the difficult & emotional decision that it’s time to call last orders on this chapter in my life. It’s a time I will look back on with great nostalgia and a sense of accomplishment that I’ve managed to achieve things that years earlier I would have never thought possible.


I would like to thank those people who took a chance on me and allowed me to show them (and myself) what I am capable of.
It’s time now for a complete career change, and possibly a return to my science and aerospace engineering background. I’m not sure yet. So stay tuned and above all…
Stay Safe X

Credit where it’s due

If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you’ll know that I write scribbles, or – as some people call them – poems. I have produced four anthologies so far.

  • Behind the Mask (2010 & 2014)
  • Scribblology V2 (2018)
  • Alexithymia (2019)
  • (Re)Mixtapes (2020)

Alongside these, I’ve written a few other scribbles and have ghost written some, not because they’re terrible, but because there are times when I want to say things or touch on subjects that my regular readers might not like or appreciate. I’ve also submitted pieces for online and written articles, and have been interviewed several times, once for a book about autistic adults. I’ve performed live, too, and this is something I find very scary; if I’m honest, I can’t eat or sleep properly for a couple of days before a gig and I usually have to wear sunnies to help with stage fright. But it’s a small price to pay to help promote my work, and even more importantly, to raise awareness of autism.

One thing I still find very difficult to deal with is complimentary comments about my writing. Mrs Bob will always tell me honestly what she thinks about my work; if it’s not as good as it could be, she’ll say so, and I value her input. She’s my second biggest critic (after myself) so I don’t tend to pay much attention to her praise, if I’m honest (sorry princess) It’s when I get members of the public saying nice things about my work that I struggle.

So imagine my shock and surprise when I got this message from someone who’s read my last book. “Mate that’s your best book yet!! 🤙🏼 I read some to the Mrs and she really liked them too.” “Honestly mate it is your best work. So many of them are very relatable and that helps.”

This actually left me speechless and unable to function properly, which as Mrs Bob will confirm, is quite a feat. I usually don’t shut up. I’m not sure why compliments have such an effect on me? Could it be that I’m suffering from imposter syndrome or is my autism making it impossible for me to take compliments… Mrs Bob says she has a feeling it stems back to my schooldays.

Either way, I must say that I’m going to just say to anyone who is kind enough to take the time to let me know that they enjoyed it “thank you for your very kind words” and learn to accept that some people are going to like my work. That I have worked very hard and I am worthy of the compliments I receive. It’s not easy, that’s for sure.

I haven’t written a blog for a while, as I’ve been focussed on my latest book. Above all thank you very much, each and every one of you, for your continued love and support over the years. I may not be able to verbalise it, but it means so much to me.

Stay Safe X

Old School

Old School

by BobChristianPoetry

I’m an OG

I was a geek before 

chic. 8-bit, pre-Sega

Mega driving games

On 48k tapes

Spending weekends 

In the school dungeon

With Dragons, Space

Marines, paint and dice.

Mayor West, Batman.

A team of superheroes

Villains. A playground 

Galaxy far, far away.

I’m an D20 wearing,

Sindarin speaking, 

Comic book reading,

MMORPG playing

Original geek.

NB You can also call me Rhiluron of Rivendell

(C) Bob Christian  

Poetry 101

(C)Bob Christian Poetry

Searching deep within me.
Down, where the light has never reached.

Searching my memories,
Looking for one of who I used to be.

Exploring, revisiting,
Reliving feelings lost. Recording them anew.

Words flowing out, Crimson on metallic paper. Like that night.

Standing, vocalising, terrible feelings, laid bare for your approval.

Head down, leaving the stage, it’s over I’ve given it my all.

Antisocial Media

Did you know that, on average, we spend two and half hours each day looking down at our phone screens?


That’s over nine hundred hours or 38 days that we lose each year in a corporately created black hole.

In this digital era of smart phones and touch screens, we are drifting apart, losing touch with the reality of each other.


This place where a person’s worth is measuredIn likes on (anti)social media platforms It’s all about our digital self – our selfies.

Popularity is measured in followers or how long our friends list is, while in real Life, most of these people are lonely.

Why don’t we take that time to hug some real people who LIKE the real us not some virtual doppelgänger.

18 Minutes

The earth is 4.543 billion years old. Man, as a species, is a baby at only 200 thousand years old. This means that if you were to take that time, Condense it down into a single year, then man has existed for hardly any time. Just a little over 18 minutes.

What have we done in those 18 minutes? Arrogantly declared ourselves to be alpha species in a world full of incredible plants and creatures that all existed peacefully for aeons before we arrived. Those we don’t destroy will outlive us. Yet we humans believe we are clever?

Maybe we are. Some intelligence is good, but not too much. We’ve recently made leaps and bounds in science, technology – spending billions searching for a new planet to Call home. To ravage. While using Our “intelligence” to destroy this one.

In 18 minutes we have wiped vast numbers of beloved animals off this planet. We have accelerated the extinction rate to a staggering 10,000 times above the base rate. These creatures connected to us all in DNA. How many must disappear off this planet.

Before we open our ears to mother nature’s screams for help? All the while continuing the constant neglect and mistreatment. Open your eyes to all her warning signs. Global warming. Larger storms than ever. Rising drought. Deforestation. Acid rain. The cause of this destruction? It’s us.

Thankfully, this tale is not completely bleak or apocalyptic. Some people are waking up, realising there’s a sacred connection between Mother Earth and mankind. They refuse to Let it be destroyed – for its beauty to be ruined -For future generations. Can she be saved? Or are we responsible for writing her eulogy?