Have I channeled these words?
Are they really mine?
Have I put them together
Only one day to find
I’ve read them somewhere else,
Forgotten, and so
Adopted someone else’s words,
And claimed their breath of soul.
What if the rhythm, timing,
Word combining,
Were not of my design?
What I want to know is
Are the words still mine?
If I didn’t know that they were cloned,
Or whispered in my ear?
Have I really created this,
Or am I the fraud I fear?

© Giddybird


Tripped up

image courtesy of:

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

Triple Shift

I stand on the edge of the oval,
I Watch a dad with his small son,
Kicking round the footy
And i wish i was with my mum.

Shes not too good at football
Or other boy type things.
But she’s all I’ve got now
Since my dad and my mum split.

She’s workin when im home
and works when I’m at school
My mum’s workin’ the triple shift
Doin hers & Dad’s work too.

The government cut its help,
and put her on the dole.
And now we’re both bogged down
in poverty’s black hole.

She’s workin’ all the hours,
When its light and when its dark.
And she never has the time now
To take me to the park.

Yeah, She works when I’m at home
And works when I’m at school
My mum’s doin’ the triple shift
Doin’ hers & Dad’s work too. 

Life is pretty boring and
When my friends & I hang out,
There’s always someone calling us
Troubled, Lazy, Layabouts.

If we skate to pass the time
Waiting for parents to get home,
Our mum’s get blamed and criticised
for allowing us to roam. 

But Mum’s workin’ the triple shift
There’s nothing more that she can do.
Yeah,  Mum’s workin’ the triple shift
Doin’ hers & Dad’s job too.

You Gotta Be Kidding

I’m more than annoyed. 
Im really crapped off.
My kid found my chocolate
And then scoffed the lot.

It’s not just the theft,
Or the lie that he ” didn’t “,
It’s the fact he appeared
Not to care that he did it.

It’s brought up those issues
Greed, Trust and Respect
And my deep Disappointment
That he showed no regret.

Did i get through that brain
Flushed with hormones ( & sugar)?
I’d say by the ” sighs ”
That he thinks that I shoulda.