Sunday, 18 October 2015

My Third Book Of Poetry, "Stillness And Echoes" in the works!

Hi everybody,

I hope you have been enjoying my work and I just want to let you all know that I am currently working on my third book... transcribeing my poems from two of my notebooks into my laptop, readying them for publishing.

The title of my third collection will be "Stillness And Echoes", originally I had "The PitchFork By The Halo's Loft" as the working title, but as stillness and echo are recurring themes I decided on giving my new book a more appropriate name.

So, here's an idea of what the cover of "Stillness And Echoes" will look like... useing one of my photos from my old project...

It will be published within the new year (2016), so I will keep everybody up to date
as the book progresses.

Thank you for reading,

-Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

* and here are my first two books of poetry, if you are into that sort of thing:

L'Oeil Du Minuit             

The Tangled Cedaring Sublime & Its Knotting InTo NoThing Of Time

Friday, 9 October 2015

Obliteration Will Have To Wade In With Both Feet Soggy (Originally written for a contest on Oct. 9th, 2015)

You Have To Feed A Cookie To The Soul,
That Magnificent Monster Crawling In Circles
Round And Round In The Core Of A Man's Mind,
Its Approximate Location Is UnKnown To Most
From OutSide One's Skull If Not The Host,
Though SomeTimes Science Gets Bold Enough
To Counter The Pompous Spittle Of Their Holy Zeal
With An Overwhelming Urge To Command And Conquer,
Set Up Bubble-Glassed Research Stations And Bullet-Proof Census Tickers,
Hand Out Pamphlets With Treats For Involuntary Response,
Run A Ritualized Process Of Evolution InTo The Ground Of MotherHood,
And Construct New Churches For Architectural Obligations
To A Million Bird Martyrs And Cupid Worm Compromises,
All To Pass Some Endowment From A Cunt's Wafer Off As A Sweet Deal,
Then Instruct The Wet-Nurses Ways To Silence An UpRiseing,
Before A Lost Soul Can Direct A Finger
To Point Out The Lack Of Sand In The Concrete
Before It Sets Around The Frosted Foot Of A Decorated Enemy,
Lest His Pointy Nose Persuades The Irish To Be As His Hounds Of War,
For Green Potatoed Visions Through The Greys Of Their Lives.

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Circe Would Be Proud

The Fire Alarm Screams
That High Cold Electric Squeal,
There Goes That Fat Piggy Running For The Exit,
His Ham-Hocks In His Ham-Socks
Run Run Running For The Door,
Curly Piggy Hair On His Burly Piggy Head,
Sweat On His Warted Piggy Tongued Brow,
Certain To Be Twitching In His Fat Piggy Pants
That Cork-Screw Tail To Do With A Piggy Pig Dance,
ABoard A Fat Piggy Bus To His Piggy Piggy Shack,
Then Get To His Invisible Piggy-Club Sty
Meet Up With The Secret Piggy Piggies That Spy,
All Scared Of Fire... Because Piggies Will Fry,
Though They Pray Piggy Prayers To Giant Pig Piggies,
For That Piggy Piggy Paradise Of Bigger Piggy Pigs,
Why Is That Piggy Such A Piggy Piggy Pig,
As He Pigs And He Pigs And He Pigs With Piggy Power,
As He Runs For The Exit For A Seat For His Piggy Pig Ass,
His Ham-Bone Pig Piggy Arms WindMilling... Carrying Him AWay...
Piggy Piggy Is Now UpOn The Wind... Beyond The Fear Of Frying,
He Is Flying...
He Is Flying...
He Is Gone.