Nest In Death

So… now, on to the quiet rest,

In death I’ll make a lover’s nest.

Warm, black shrouds to crown,

The mantle of life laid down.

In the passing of spark to ember,

Dancing souls, gone forever.

© K.N.Liddington




The Theatre Of Sin

A thunderous theatre of sin,

Where all the luscious kisses begin.

Torrid twisted corridors…

Exhorted ecstasy on all floors.


A rolling dance of soft, supple flesh,

Of steam rising from lovers’ breath.

Swirling beams illuminate the mass,

Mirrors share caresses in the black.


Fingers slope inward seeking succour,

Bodies flirt and defy with sweet rancour.

A circus of sex and a spectacle of pleasure,

Go inside and find the tempted treasure.


A sepulchre of the dizzy, dancing dead,

The light has not forsaken these golden heads,

A myriad of soft lips in corsets and feathers,

Slender obscure men dripping in leather.


Welcome to the doomsday ball!

Hark! Come one, come all!

We can satisfy the hunger,

Of tearing desire asunder!

© K.N.Liddington

Three Times

Three times.

Three times, in the middle of the night

I’ve woke mid-nightmare as I shove you so hard, out of our bed.

Get out

Get out

My subconscious said.


The echoes of your actions suppressed in my mind;

it’s hollow haunted corridors run filthy with your lies.


Three times.

Three times, in the middle of the night

I’ve woke to cold sweats and you clung to me, as a babe to a breast.

Get out

Get out

May I never rest?


The shackles you once thought bound me to you forever,

are rattling off with each succeeding night terror.


Three times.

Three times, in the middle of the night

I’ve woke to hot tears and palpitations, my heart filled with dread.

Get out!

Get out!

This love – is dead.

© K.N.Liddington

The Man Of Misogyny

She was treading air,

a wide-eyed tourist of the world,

outlook positive and forecast fair.

She was a country girl.


He rode the wave of ego

setting a course for selfish stars

hanging on to entitlement, though

he was the baddest boy by far.


They met and he deftly crept

into her moonshine eyes,

in to her sapling heart and yet

he sought to rewrite the ledger with lies.


Mother was a harsh taskmaster.

The man of misogyny.

took his roots in disaster

from a young age, you see.


Her daddy had always been tough.

That’s how it’s supposed to be,

conditional love is love enough.

She wouldn’t know different, would she?


At first, it was living the lie:

the man of honour,

the man of light,

She was aglow. Her face a happy sigh.


Then came the slow unveilings:

he liked to shout and smash,

he liked to break things,

she would shiver at each crash.


Then there was that other one,

the twilight-night-time secret.

But that was back then and now she’s gone,

Besides she’d pushed him to it.


The man of selfish blindness.

Wanting to make her in his broken image

then wielding hurt and unkindness

to save being alone in misery’s cage.


The man of dark desires.

He liked to get in and break you down,

get in and start wildfires,

grinning under his Master’s crown.


She was still soft to the touch,

Still in too deep and hopeful

it would get better, it wouldn’t take much

for him to respect her and be faithful.


The man of misogyny.

He disregards communication,

she shuts up from fear of calamity.

He stews with resentful determination.


She grows cold, grows silent.

Tries harder, drinks harder.

In her liver, the toxic serpent

twists and takes her mind farther.


The man of mystery.

One night he doesn’t come home,

4 am she finally falls asleep.

He didn’t even phone.


The man of misogyny.

Ignores her requests

to check for a gas leak,

He said it’s all in her head.


The man of misogyny.

Would you know?

Well, he gets hungry

and she always cooks up a show.


What disastrous irony

that she died at the stove

of the man of misogyny.


He saw the debris,



and off he drove.

© K.N.Liddington


Coloured sand

I had a dream of coloured sand,

That slipped from hand to hand,

It surrounded and danced with me,

A colourful utopia that set me free.


It’s magical dreamscape world,

Caught my soul and unfurled,

The reef in my mind’s heart,

Firing up this imaginative art.


Crisp slopes of rainbow waves,

Fantasy and wonder enslaves,

The reach of this mystic vision,

Undermines reality’s derision.


I had a dream of coloured sand,

That slipped from hand to hand,

And there, within it, I found…

splendour! My mind unbound.

            © K.N.Liddington


Whitewashed in blue

The room,

the room,

suddenly –

whitewashed in blue.

This… this came too soon!

But – I will,

I will,

return to you.


Whitewashed in blue

and still, I think of you,

feelings like walls stripped

and whitewashed in blue.

But – I will,

I will,

return to you.


The light floods my eyes

whitewashed in blue,

oh, so tender memories of you.

But – will I,

will I,

be returned to you?


                                             © K.N.Liddington

Grenfell Tower / Our Saddest Hour

Nothing can express the pain, the shock, the sorrow,

That so many loved ones, will not see tomorrow.

Yet, too, there is overwhelming gratitude and pride,

In the heroism of those who braved the hell inside.

There is beauty in London’s outpouring of love and unity,

A coming-together for the victims of our community.

On a makeshift wall lies poignant commemoration,

Flowers and cards lay at the feet of devastation.

What now?

Now, there must be a decisive reckoning –

Cry a rage for change that’s deafening!

No more can they neglect to protect the poor,

We demand and must have so much more.

            © K.N.Liddington

The Skies Are Oceans

Are you a bird that flies in formation?

Or are you an individual of your creation?

Do you yearn for others and structure?

Or do you hunger for endless adventure?

I know what I am, coasting on clean clouds,

Flung high in mid-air far from the crowds.

The skies are oceans for my discovery,

These wings will keep beating my reverie.

© K.N.Liddington