We Did This In Eighteen Minutes
The Earth has been writing her storyfor around four and a half billion years. Mountains have risen,oceans have learned the language of the moon,forests have breathed in silence,and life has patiently rehearsedevery possible wayto exist. Then we arrived. If all that timewere folded neatlyinto a single year, humanitywouldn’t appear in January,or July,or even Christmas morning.…
The Tenant in My Chest Doesn’t Believe in Moving Out
“What if I invited you in? Sat you down. Poured you tea. Listened.”
I Keep Counting Anyway
Every morningbefore the sun stretches itself across my window,before my coffee tastes like anything but bitter,happiness hides. She’s crouched behind the blinds,folded into the corner of yesterday’s pillow,laughing quietly at meas if I don’t know how to look for her. I try. I try like I know her favorite hiding spots,like I know the exact…
How to Build a Coffin Out of Silence
They keep saying “Man Up” Like silence is some kind of sacrament. Like swallowing your grief whole Is how you earn your stripes. But I’ve seen what that silence does. I’ve seen it wrap around a neck, Like a necktie turned noose. I’ve seen boys hide their hearts, and call it manhood. “Boys don’t cry.”…
AEOS 1-5
The lovely folks at AEOS are running a Bank Holiday discount over the long weekend, where you can grab 50% off the cover price of this brilliant literature & culture magazine. There are some great issues to choose from and, not to brag, but I’ve been fortunate enough to have a piece featured in each…
Fragments of Light & Unfamiliar Roads
What a strange and wonderful day it’s been. First, I found out I’d received another accolade from the Dark Poets Club, which honestly means a great deal to me. Then, almost out of nowhere, I was offered the chance to be an official photographer for this year’s Torbay Pride event. Photography is still very new…
Hands in Both our Pockets
They point at the shorelinelike the country is drowning in rubber boats.Like the reason your rent fills you with panicis a man crossing the sea, with wet shoesand a phone number stitched into his jacket. Meanwhile, somewhere far from the food bank queue,a billionaire laughs into a glass of champagneon a yacht big enough to…
Life of Shadows
Working on something a little darker than my usual scribbles lately, as I prepare for a possible upcoming competition. Failing that, I’m thinking of gathering the whole collection together into a chapbook called Life Of Shadows — which, if I’m honest, feels like the perfect title for where my head’s been wandering creatively of late.…
Issue 5 Out Now
Issue Five of AEOS Magazine is out now.Its bold collection of art, literature, and original talents. There’s even a poem of mine nestled in the pages. Grab your copy today from AEOS. https://aeos.bigcartel.com/ and step into something different.
The Gospel According to No-One
If you’re reading this, it’s probably because the world has grown teeth again. Sharp ones. And someone, somewhere, has mistaken their fear for scripture. I want to tell you something, and I want you to remember it like your own name in your own voice. You are not a mistake. You are not a contradiction.…
Love, After Life
We died. Which is wild because death is way too organized for something that dramatic. Clipboards. Carbon copies. A final “sign here please” on the dotted line of our chests. Turns out “‘til death do us part” wasn’t a metaphor – it was a legally binding break-up clause. Nobody warned me that love came with…
To The Mothers They Don’t Make Cards For
Today the stores are full of flowerswrapped in plastic smiles. Card aisles rehearsing a scriptabout what a mother is supposed to be—soft hands, warm hugs,unconditionalwritten in pink cursive like it’s a guarantee. But I know kidswho learned the word mumby pointingat someonewho didn’t give birth to them. And nobody prints cards for that. Nobody prints a…
The Garden Stirs
Last year I entered the Dark Poets Prize IV, with a poem called “The Garden Stirs”. This is the sequel to my award-winning piece, called “The Eternal Garden of Shadows”. Both of these pieces are part of my Life of Shadows series, which is currently a collection of seven poems, and I am adding to…
“This Poem Ends every 40 Seconds”
Years ago, I learned some truly shocking statistics about suicide—800,000 lives lost every year. That’s one life every 40 seconds. It’s a deeply uncomfortable topic, but it’s one we can’t keep ignoring. The truth is, suicide is the leading cause of death for men between 20 and 49. And while this affects all men, over…
“How My Wife Completes Me”
To Mrs Bob. I thought I was wholebecause I managed to stay alive in my own skin,because I learned how to stand without shaking,but I was wrong. Endurance isn’t the same thing as arrival.I didn’t know that then.I thought standing alone was strength,like isolation was proof I could never break.Like I didn’t need anyoneto catch…
The Duvet Heist (Togs 11)
It’s the middle of the night,And I’m here, half-frozen,Lying in the icy abyss of my side of the bed,While sheThe Duvet BanditSleeps like a queen on her fluffy throne,Curled up in the warmth of her stolen kingdom,Oblivious to the tundra she’s left behind. Each night it’s the same.I think tonight,Maybe tonight,I’ll win the war.I’ll slip…
“How to Disappear Without Anyone Calling the Cops”
We let the morning ring outlike an alarm clock that learned our namesand decided not to embarrass us.Sunlight leans through the blindspitching productivity like a pyramid scheme.We mute it.Your shoulder is a countryI keep renewing my passport for.We inventory the silence,find it fully stocked. I practice stillnesslike it’s a vow I plan to keep.Outside, errands…
Your Smile is The First Majick I Ever Belived In
As we near the shortest day of the year, The Winter Solstice, and, more importantly (to me) my wedding anniversary, I usually write a scribble with Mrs Bob in mind. After all, a poem is for anniversaries, not just for valentines. So with that in mind, I give you… Your Smile, the First Magic I…
Mrs Bob
As we near the shortest day of the year, The Winter Solstice, and, more importantly (to me) my wedding anniversary, I usually write a scribble with Mrs Bob in mind. After all, a poem is for anniversaries, not just for valentines. So with that in mind, I give you… Your Smile, the First Magic I…
Dark poets “Track 13”
This year, The Dark Poets Club had a new and interesting competition. The rules are simple… impress the judges with a dark poem, using fifty words or less. This was a serious challenge for me as I’m usually quite loquacious in my pieces! I had to take a scalpel out and cut the words to…
Echoes of a Sky We Can’t Forget
The sky cracks open like an old photograph, each flash a sharp reminder of the silence we can’t outrun. Fireworks are just bombs with better PR, but we still stand, mouths agape, staring at the chaos above, wondering if we’ll ever look at the sky without waiting for it to fall. (c)BobChristian
Whispers of The Veil
(A Samhain Invocation) The veil thins like torn silk, Frayed at the edges where shadows crawl, Night spills its ink across the sky, And for once, just this once, We are not afraid of the dark. The air crackles with an ancient breath, Whispers from the underworld rise like smoke, Curling through the cracks in…
“Hello Old Friend”
This piece was originally written for the Dark Poets competition III where it went on to achieve a shortlist. It’s an incredibly personal scribble, but my dark poetry is like that; I guess it’s a form of therapy. (Since then it’s been featured in a number of other publications.) Hello Old Friend “Hello Old Friend”…
The Unfiltered Reality of Love
Love isn’t a highlight reel, Or snapshots of sunsets and brunches, Not the perfectly staged, ‘spontaneous’ moments With hashtags like #SoBlessed, #LivingMyBestLife As if happiness can be filtered. As if joy can be photoshopped. It’s the messy, gritty reality. The late-night debates That spiral into arguments. Where voices rise and hearts race. Two souls colliding in a…
Not All Fires Burn In The Streets
They told us the revolution wouldn’t be televised, But they forgot to mention it might be live-streamed. Might be a screenshot, reposted, tagged. Buried beneath brunch photos, Then resurrected by a hashtag. Truth is, sometimes the front line has a comments section. We used to pass flyers. Now, we pass tweets. Used to march down…
Every Forty Seconds
Years ago, I learned some truly shocking statistics about suicide – 800,000 lives lost every year. That’s one life every 40 seconds. It’s a deeply uncomfortable topic for many, but it’s one we simply can’t keep ignoring. The truth is, suicide is the leading cause of death for men between 20 and 49. And while…
The Art of Being Unapologetically Me”
You see, I navigate the world like a cat in a dog park, With a GPS that only knows the route to my comfort zone. Conversations are like trying to solve a Rubiks cube While riding a rollercoaster; Colourful, chaotic, and I’m holding on for dear life. People say: “Just look me in the eye”…
The Art of Letting Go
Some problemsAre like stones in your pocket.You’ve carried them so long,They’ve started to feel like lint.Familiar. Small. Permanent.But just because something feels like homeDoesn’t mean it’s not hurting you. Sometimes,Healing starts with a questionAsked at 3am, in a whisper:”Why am I still holding this?”And maybe your hands don’t answer,But they tremble.And that’s enough. So you reach…
Halfway to a Hundred
I turned 50 today, Which means I’m halfway to 100. I’m still arguing with my knees About whose great idea it was To chase my dreams barefoot on concrete. I woke up this morning With a wrinkle, I don’t remember meeting. A grey hair in my beard that calls me ‘sir’, And a back that…
The Ramblings of Bob Christian 