Tripped up

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Tripped Up

The cat sat on the skateboard
while my son rode the
magic mushroom carpet of  insanity.

silently she turned her
squinting yellow judgement
on us then turned
to eye something more worthy
than our sickly, noisy shame.

he bled from the eyes and forehead
and new mountains raised
within his hair.
Red lava flowing,
clotting, creating islands
temporarily before his gnarled
hands drew them into fists
of agitation and anguish.

my heart bled

he punched someone –
a nurse I think, yet not,
for there were no nurses in his world.

he cringed and cried and pulled at his clothes
and mine.
he angered and swore.
he swung
and hung on for dear life
and cried out for someone,
SOMEone he knew, any face he recalled
who could rescue him,

Just hold his hand
For a little while

and then they let him go.

go to take his rage and confusion
into the silent but hell infested streets of pre-dawn
while all those land bound sleepers,
safe in their worlds of dreams
of monsters and devils and temptresses
never dreamed
that my son,
as sweet as daisies
with bright cheeky eyes
and dimpled cheeks
was passing.
tripped up by demons clinging to his heels
while the faces of bad magic
were trying to kiss the reds of his eyes
and wouldn’t let him rest.

and they didnt hear the cries that had turned silent.
his mouth
a cavern of sorrow and terror
bereft of noise ,
that distorted his face.
that screamed instead from his eyes.

but I did.

and then the dawn peeped through,
and perhaps realising that all the bad things
all the scary things
were contained within my son,
it broke through more confidently
and bathed in the safety of light,
and a warm flannel,
sleep finally came for my son.

silently I watched the eruption of cries,
dodged the outflung arms.
tried to breathe a rythm for him
and sang lullabies
in my head.

(c) GiddyBird


Please pass this around

this fragile tent


I would really appreciate your help in getting the message out there about this project- if you are a blogger/facebooker/twitterer would you mind reposting?

For a while now, I have been chewing on an idea about putting together a collection of poetry.

From time to time people send me things they have written- asking for feedback. I always really struggle to give feedback- I want to be honest, open and encouraging, but poetry is really subjective. What I find however, is that there is almost always gold in the dust. Most people who write do so to get into the depth of things, and the process opens us up- in my view, it opens us up to God (however you understand this.)

Much of this writing is personal- like many of the things I write, its primary purpose is personal spiritual discipline. However, some poems have a life beyond…

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image: Dimitri Tyskalov


Dont wake up my heart boy.
its safer when it sleeps
I can handle nearly anything
when I cant hear it weep.
awake its so demanding
taking time and concentration.
I dont want delicious dreaming
disturbed by anguish or elation.
I dont need to feel the softness
of a heart not made of wood
you dont need to wake my heart up.
it wont do me any good.

(C) GiddyBird

Awrsomest poem I’ve read for ages.

poetry by Calvero

I’m handsome.

I know so
because my mom
tells me so.

My mom says
I’m the most handsome
she knows.

She tells me constantly
and as nice
and flattering
as it all is
    I’ve gotta say
it’s never really
been enough.

The love of friends
and family
is like having
Cap’n Crunch
every night for dinner.

it’s good
and it’s filling
if you have a lot
of it
and it will keep you
and stuff
    but it will leave you
wanting pizza
or steak
or tacos.

It will leave you
wanting more.

It will leave you
wanting better
    and you know
there’s better
out there
because you’ve
tasted it,

because you’ve
the pizza-steak-tacos.

I want love
so great
it makes Nicholas Sparks
in his pants.

I wanna fuck
the woman
of my dreams
on top of The Eiffel Tower
as the…

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I lept from the rock that was the
safety of you
and drowned in the ocean you wept
from your eyes
Yet all the while your heart kept on
while looking for somewhere new to be dry.

I vanished from sight and u noticed
me missing
yet you couldn’t see me
gasping for life
and all the while, your heart kept on
while waiting for someone new in your life.
(c) Giddybird

This is beautiful, and I would love to write like this.

Poems & People

It is not the arch of her back,
nor the motion she puts in her spine,
it is not the endless river flowing black
from her head into curls and unto vines
Nay! there is more to my love, my only woman,
so much more that makes her so fine,
to the peace in my eyes, she is an omen,
and for the rest of my soul, she is mine,
She is more than the embrace in the night,
more than the touch of pure grace,
more than a silhouette in the creeping light,
every morning her neck and her face
and the scent of her previous twilight,
she is more, my woman, my queen,
so much more than just earthly delight,
she is where my sanctity has been.
The mother of my child, though I’d rather
the companion of my many warm noons,
and the leaves of summer that…

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