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OscarTheFish(p@k) on Poets yearn for the old days with petition as Poetry Cafe announces limited reopening
11 hours ago
Norah Smyth was brought up in Great Barrow, the small Cheshire village where I live. Her father was a wealthy corn merchant originally from Ireland & their home, Barrowmore Hall, destroyed by a stray German bomb in WW2 was one of the county's finest Victorian country houses. She was an activist for social change and a close friend of (and chauffeur to) the Pankhursts, using most of her £30,000 in...
Friday 13th October 2023 2:44 pm
Hi, I will be uploading photos from pictures that were captured by yours truly. Give me a follow on
facebook: Mesquite Canyon Photography
The beautiful scenery of New Mexico! 🌵💚
Friday 20th May 2022 7:23 pm
The rolling of the curtains,
Shimmering silvery black,
In an instant woke me up,
Stretched the curves in one, two, three.
A backbone bent unbroken,
A detour along the way,
A chosen path of loving,
Walking slowly in four, five, six.
Then the curtains rolled again,
My last piece of hope awaits,
Body laid and tied on the bed,
Pushed and pulled in seven, eight, nine.
Thursday 21st September 2017 9:08 am
I'm often asked what is my style as I do so many arts from music, songs, record producing, photography, art and especially book and script writing.
Although my style can vary one thing that shines through in most of my work apart from the non fiction book Music Business Bastards is my erotic vibe.(which does spill over into my personal life as well)
This is very evident in my current releases 'V...
Friday 9th December 2016 5:20 pm
Whether this is a controversial view I don't know. But over the years many have called the likes of Bob Dylan, John Lennon and even Paul Weller Poets because of the content of their song lyrics. I personally do find many of the latter two songs inspiring and poetry like 'That's Entertainment' by Paul Weller and 'Imagine' by John Lennon are two good examples.
I once had a manager who managed tho...
Friday 18th November 2016 4:51 pm
catching wasps in cobwebs
brutal lines and angles
graffiti strewn puddles
shimmer on a wheelchair
in an old abandoned hospital
where cries ring out at night
In the empty cells
demons in the trees
caught in click
of northern tides
Wednesday 6th January 2016 12:09 am
head towards finger, keep going, keep going, there – stop.
Eyes to me.”
Sequestered devotion to bemused muse.
She stares back digressive, dictated expression.
Seeing now not the man, but the Brady stand.
© Katypoetess 2015
Sunday 10th May 2015 8:58 pm