My Poetry c

Honestly Ed

Posted by Bruce on April 08, 2018
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If you follow my Instagram you will know I love wondering around my city. I have no real plan and I just walk. It’s a great way to get in some cardio and what better way to find a story but to walk into it. The past six months have been a pretty crazy time for me. I’m sure those of you who follow this blog closely know that I struggle with anxiety, depression, and panic attacks. Last September my doctor and I decided I needed a break. There were literally just too many fires going on in my life that I wasn’t able to function effectively in the 9 to 5. Along with my own life stresses, my family was reeling in the tragic accident that took my Fathers only brother and one of my favourite uncles. It was either break now or pay later. I bravely walked away from the career I had to take care of me. While I was getting the psychological attention I needed, one exercise remained a beacon of hope, my daily and weekly uncharted strolls around Toronto, mostly an event I would do alone. I struggled with whether during this time to suspend my blog, but it was really the therapy I needed. It kept me engaged. Otherwise my condition could have caused me to become a sort of recluse. So many people suffer from some form of mental illness and I can tell you from experience good solid friends are difficult to keep because let’s face it, who wants to have to deal with the drama when there are so many other tasks to get up to. I guess that’s the long way of saying I lost a few friends this past six months and so all I had was time to stroll around and see if I could get inspired connecting to the concrete jungle. It’s amazing how isolated you can feel standing on the four corners of a city that’s bustling with human activity. Truth is the towering architecture is the only true friend you can have on a mentally dark day. People can be quick to run in the other direction during one of my emotional breakdowns and people don’t want you to talk about it. Don’t write your personal stuff on your blog, people don’t give a shit. Sorry, however one thing I’ve learned in the last six months while dealing with my panic attacks is that everyone’s experience and story shared is the possibility of helping someone who feels isolated or alone. Maybe this experience called life is better served not being ashamed of our struggles. No ones life is perfect and anyone posing to convince of the contrary is doing no one any favours. I was thinking about this stuff when I strolled upon the space that was a big deal Toronto landmark, Honest Ed’s. I stood there just looking at the empty land. The memories gone. The importance of its own existence now completely gutted. If something so historically relevant fall so completely, then how can I expect the fragility of bruised friendships to stand the test of time? I have to be honest it was kind of sad looking at that empty space that will no doubt miss it’s droves of admirers. Will someone rescue me from the wrecking ball? Honestly Ed, you are and will forever be missed. I’ve returned to my much loved 9-5 this past week and it feels great. Who knows maybe tearing down those old walls makes room for even better and bigger adventure.

A poem by Bruce Christopher


edited by Mary Ellen Monk

A Matter of Trust

Posted by Bruce on May 07, 2017
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A Poem:

A Matter of Trust

A lifetime of loves

The most sensitive of actions

The darkest moments of lust

A city was calling your name

so many dreams and victims and blames

You loved him and loved him and that one to

You loved him and loved him and loved just a few

A matter of Trust

After he takes you there

Did you believe the whispers that he kissed in your ear

He loved him and loved him but maybe not you

He covered your eyes to hide tears that were true

A Matter of Trust

A city unforgiving

the darkness

the shame

Did you think he would be there when you drowned in the rain

Your taken and painfully you open up

Showing him honestly you believe it is love

A Matter of Trust

There’s no need to be hurt

You danced with the demon or was he the saint

that showed you the truth and the test and the game

You think he did love you

or maybe still does

he listens

he winks

he blushes and such

A Matter of Trust

Time to stand on your own

It’s maybe you, You should love

Trust your bruised instinct

Instead of those whom you lust

A matter of truth

A Matter of Trust


by Bruce Christopher


I’ve been writing poetry for many years and hope you will forgive my indulgence. I feel sometimes that writing in these abstract moments some inner truth can surface. Sometimes there is nothing to learn but all the same expressing how ones heart is feeling can help a man in a precarious situation.









Grow Up!

Posted by Bruce on September 07, 2014
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Didn’t we laugh?
All we did was laugh.
That season couldn’t last forever.
Didn’t our stomachs ache because of the crazy things you said?
You said everything.
Then the cold wind came didn’t it?
You were so young.
You wanted so much to be out there.
Doing it.
Were you ready?
The strength you had.
Where was your support?
Did you ever make us laugh.
We never considered life without you.
The whirl of life surrounded you like cellophane.
You made your choices, right or wrong.
They made you pay and pay.
You cried for everyone to see.
You laughed louder then them all.
The world laughed with you.
You silenced the worst of critics, over and over again.
You had everything to prove and everything to lose but you did not retreat.
And did you ever make us laugh.
These seasons never last forever.
Never truly reachable by those you would not let in.
There wasn’t many you refused.
Unapologetic, unwavering, hilarious and mournful; your life was filled with it all.
You had no regrets.
How many can say they have no regrets?
And did you ever make us laugh.
On the top of your world.
You’re humour was as shocking as your going.
No warning, no expectation. You did leave us all.
So you want us to laugh.
We never say no to Joan and we will continue to laugh.
Today however we will cry behind those giggles and jokes.
Good for you!
Now we can just all
“Grow Up!”

For Joan Rivers xo


Posted by Bruce on August 19, 2012
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In the darkness he sits in silence

wind is blowing past the window

Sunlight is forsaken

He longs for daylight

Blanket of nightfall across his body

Eyes wide open to see the night

Nerves on edge

Waiting for daybreak

Fall he must into lonely sleep

Darkness and haunting

the creepers creep

Apparition visits and all is well

She touches his forehead

which breaks the spell

she sits by his side and sings him to sleep

She blows out the candle

No more fears dare to creep




“7 year Itch?”

Posted by Bruce on June 17, 2012
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“7 Year Itch”


Bruce Christopher

You were my breath of fresh air.

My confidant.

My friend, my lover

We shared stories.

Too many to repeat.

Then you hid away at night.

Where did you go?

What were you doing?

You got the itch.

You were never the same.

You never failed to need me.

You never failed to take.

The itch that lasted through the night.

Stole our innocence away.

I will never be the same

The Years Fly By

Posted by Bruce on April 23, 2012
My Poetry c / 1 Comment

Another year

Flying by, like the wind that refuses to calm.

The Moon rises on another memory.

The Children, clap their hands in anticipation

The balloons are blown

The shadows of yesterday are gone.

Kids, they gather from far and near.

All shades, All backgrounds, imaginations running wild.

They come to celebrate.

They come to say hello.

The years fly by but they don’t even notice.

A child doesn’t regret yesterday.

They ponder tomorrow.

They wait for the day.

They share their cake.

They share their laughter

They are innocent

Then the years fly by

So quickly.

Ever so quickly.

Still they laugh

Still they clap

They are simply children

They are happy

They simply are.

And still the years fly by.

The don’t ever notice

Still time flies.

Diet Update: I lost 2 pounds this week! It’s a start! I weighed in at 197 lbs

“Unemployed in the City”

Posted by Bruce on December 18, 2011
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Crowded streets,

decorated windows.

Foot tracks in the snow,

city lights mark your way.

Wallets full,

shopping for gifts.

Cold wind,

chilled wanderer.

Hopeful dreamer,

empty wallet.

People passing,

frozen tears.

Christmas arriving,

stars on trees.

Children laughing,

he closes his eyes.

Why me?

He sighs.

Unemployed in the city,

frost bitten.


your home, my home, our home

Posted by Bruce on February 07, 2011
My Poetry c / 2 Comments

Grey day

Stillness in the barren trees

The wash of white

Snow laying quiet

Everything and nothing

Then you

Quickly looking everywhere

Up then down

Making me feel hopeful

Bringing me the message

You warm my thoughts

I think of green

Noticing me

 You fly off

Red Cardinal

Welcomed visit

Out my window

Your home

My home

Our home

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