I only have to open my eyes,

to see the friends at my side,

feel the warmth in their hearts,

so, this friendship poem starts.


Thank you, thank you and thank you,

for always being faithful and true…

I don’t know where I’d be without you,

you brought me in from the blue.


Your kind words of encouragement,

nourish my hopes for achievement.

Your careful and considered advice

comes open-minded without a price.


I love you all dear friends – my family,

long may we continue so happily.


© K.N.Liddington


Gilbert + George

The wonderful Gilbert + George,

Revel, as their images shock and absorb,

Iconoclasts of London’s finest,

Their impact and legacy are timeless.


First ever joint Royal Academicians,

With rebel wits of sharp precision,

Inspiring and awakening eyes far and wide

As their artworks, artful insight provides.


Hail, the ever-innovative artists,

That thought-provoke and insist.


© K.N.Liddington


I’d rather be sat here amidst these smiling, stranger-faces,

Than back at home weeping over my long-lost graces.


Though I may be alone yet surrounded by the many,

I find comfort in the sound of them making merry.


The cavern in my stomach is muffled by their chatter,

Seemingly, my pain, here, doesn’t really matter.


I can bask in the glow of their happy exchanges,

And hope and wish that my own circumstance changes.


© K.N.Liddington

London Tonight

London tonight – is how I feel.

The rain makes rivulets of eels,

Black tarmac and slick pavement,

Wet leather and callous intent.


The wind and the streets and the smell…

I see my torment in its mirror for a spell.

© 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

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