Bobster Blog

A universe rests on the wrist of night, no larger than a bead threaded by time’s thin wire.   It clinks softly against its neighbours— a clu...

In the cathedral of damp earth I stretch my fingers, groping, following the dark’s slow music.   Stone is my scripture, worms my witnesses. ...

Cradled in the ancient murmur, we are archives of fire: helixes folded as choirs, each base a note, each spiral a score composed in the sile...

It squats there, a stubborn, chrome-bellied thing— water pooled in its gut, silent, sulking.   I press the switch, red eye glaring back, but...

Terry the tortoise would sigh, “I’m slow as the clouds drifting by. The rabbits all race, The swallows all chase, While I only plod, step an...

A poet set out to contrive, A limerick lively, alive. He started off neat, With a clever light beat, Then—oh, bother, he lost it.  —— A poet...

The Ministry owns every syllable. The fountain sings freely, water speaking for us. A brass meter ticks on my throat, a clock wound too tigh...

I chased the shadow I once cast the way you look for keys— checking old rooms, turning cushions, peering under the bed of years.   But the t...

My chair is old, a ragged sight, Its stuffing spills to left and right, The fabric’s torn, the woodwork groans, It’s weathered crumbs and mi...

// initialise body → if heartbeat == true, proceed // else: wait 1. Waking Try not to panic. The light will hurt. So will gravity, noise, th...

Each night the house smooths its skin.  Cracked plaster seals, paint blushes fresh,  floorboards remember how not to groan.    In the kitche...

To the house with the yellow door  we never lived in,  the city I passed by,  the stranger I almost loved.  To the painting left in my head,...

There was a young man in a hat,  Who fell quite in love with the Moon;  He courted her nightly with howls in the night,  And serenades playe...

We borrowed the stars—  calcium for our teeth,  iron for our blood,  carbon laced in each breath we press against the dark.  We walk, brittl...

There was a child who might have danced  barefoot in the summer dusk,  her laughter rising with the fireflies,  her life humming something s...

The kettle screamed— but no one moved. She stood at the sink, hands in cold water, not washing, not— “It’s not that I…” (pause) “—never mind...

They’re stealing light behind your eyes, With pretty lies and lullabies. You feel alive but something’s wrong— You can’t remember y...

One day, the last lie will be told— not in triumph of truth, but for lack of anyone left to believe.   We imagine the end in f...

There is a silence between machines no human hears— not absence, but a listening with the patience of stone and the precision of l...

A man once walked into the sea and did not drown— for he believed it wasn’t water, but memory.   He waded in like stepping through...