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...

Read and leave comments (5)

Hi, I will be uploading photos from pictures that were captured by yours truly. Give me a follow on 

instagram: @mesquitecanyon_photography 

facebook: Mesquite Canyon Photography 

The beautiful scenery of New Mexico! 🌵💚

Read and leave comments (0)

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.

Patiently watchi...

Read and leave comments (0)

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...

Read and leave comments (0)

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...

Read and leave comments (9)

Rich Pictures

catching wasps in cobwebs

brutal lines and angles

graffiti strewn puddles

homeless persons

hopeless gaze

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

spiral monsters

under piers

foaming lap

of northern tides

fractured bulbs

Read and leave comments (2)

“Chin

down

slightly,

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

Read and leave comments (1)