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

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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,

cursed,

reversed,

and off he drove.

© 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

Manchester

Oh, great city of Manchester!

How our hearts go out to her.

Tales of bloody devastation,

Can only defy our imagination.

 

Yet, in such times of fear,

Look and know we are here,

One community for good,

Peace and love understood.

 

Your pain echoes and is felt,

With the awful hand dealt,

Yet, your strength is louder,

The world feels your power.

 

Gone  –  but not forgotten.

Hurt  –  but not stopped.

Live on, Manchester and thrive!

Because terror we will survive.

© K.N.Liddington

Gratitude

Enrobe yourself in gratitude,

For friends’ and family’s health18527529_636028746594044_5036813644119300651_n

Give thanks for the plenitude,

Life can be full of unfelt wealth.

 

My, how I am grateful,

My heart and soul rejoice,

My body made mindful,

This happiness is a choice.

 

There is so much to cherish,

Each and every breath I take.

So much sweetness to relish,

From sun-up to close of day.

 

Embrace and exude gratitude!

Lighter the heart, clearer the eye,

It’s a celebration and an attitude,

Every morning it’s my reason why.

© K.N.Liddington

DLTBGYD

Oh, they huff and they puff,

When the going gets tough.

The bastards will get you down,

Point, laugh and make you the clown.

 

They’ll whisper something nastily,

Concealed amongst quaint niceties.

When your gut’s felt the punch –

Well, they enjoy it a whole bunch.

 

The naysayers,  the truth takers,

The nice makers, the game players.

Well, don’t let them see you hurt,

Don’t let them tread you into the dirt.

 

It’s no use, pay them no mind,

First and foremost to yourself be kind.

Keep and cherish your inner child,

Only you can know your own smile.

 

Love you for you, as others should too!

Love the ones you know to be true.

Stay strong  and ever steadfast –

Tin soldier, you’ll find some peace at last.

© K.N.Liddington