Fibre-Optics, My Dear

they clung together in bolsters

like oblique trajectories


as finely woven splinters,

creeping – slighted


bound, mingling with damp,

atop algae covered stone


gloriously sated, in silent hues

of ochre tincture


now burnished bold

with fine alluvial dust


came quietly sweeping,

with haste – upstream


where crepuscular nocturnes

of liquid – churning


danced exquisite – alongside

the course battered flax


sun-dried, then parched

beneath intrepid blaze of sun


though only to return

under deep cloak of night


to lay inert upon humus

in dank, drizzled shards


near a barren mound

upon a dark chiselled plain



©Orion Foote 2016


Songbird Why You’ll Never Sing

Part 1

I sent you a letter last night in my dream
Deemed to never arrive
Captured by hook of my bed post
A moonlit message of hope
Heaven in a wild flower
Fragrance rare
The ink on the parchment
Scatter a tale of love and hope
Empty in such a confined space

You are the rose made of the finest spyder silk
And golden milk of Queens unrepentant
Desired by wealthy merchants and alchemists
Queen of your own kingdom
Enchanted by the songbirds of early dawn
Honey dew grass moist with freshness and morning dew
You’re the guard of your hidden daughters
Outspoken from the corners of daybreak
You radiate a pleasant denial
The light of a new day
Captures the hearts of all you string along
You are from a star constellation born of the sun
Rise emporess wife to no king
You are what darkness forgets us
Quilted memories a trail you left
Your eyes the most sacred we ever came across
Our hearts as a bird beats its wings
Feathered to never meet
Denial in self gloat
Get over yourself stop milking the goat.

Part 2

You wouldn’t care
Instead I slip away unnoticed

Everywhere comes unrequited lovers
I become another poet of empty words

When silence rushes in unequal
Leaning on a chair I say nothing
The waters in my well turn to blood

I was out of time out of touch
Different sphere all mine
Technically its something we have to believe in
Every once awhile I dream about her smile
There was something pleasant about that place
Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder,
This is a start of a journey.

Keeping in Touch

i got your message

this morning –

it rattled these eyelids

in a bird song hour,

and needless to say,

the weather’s picked up

in such timely fashion –

taken a turn for the better


well I’m sure you’d agree,

the old boards could do

with running repairs –

a new coat of paint (a lick or two)

and when was the last time

we lifted the roof –

had one too many,

sunk a few ?


some nights i rant

or curse at the moon

chat with the dead –

though can’t quite seem

to give up the ghost son

but for what it’s  worth

i’m  glad you called,

rang a few bells

in a bird song hour

this morning


Orion Foote, 2015


All Jokes Aside, Hemi



te reo true



the heron flew


the bearded bard

spoke prayer or hymn

and onward to Jerusalem

some made the trek

five to a car

incense, myrrh – kissed his arse

hung from his word

such reverence

a reading by his eminence

the sad waiata

the long lament

leave poor old Jim to rest my friend




te reo true

let truth

be told

from me to you


©Orion Foote, 2016


Working Men’s Dub

A bit of a do

it’s Friday

it comes around quick

around here – up and down

all around

returned serviceman

and he’s worked like the devil

an Egyptian slave

in the scorching sands

of El Alamein


and what a racket !

but not as bad

as those artillery shells

Michele, I think she said

dear – her name

love me do

but tell that drummer he’s no fucking Ringo


while the strobe

shoots and dives

all over the place

not that the old girl

would notice

she’s heard it all before

…can’t see a bloody thing

but knows damn well

that he can


And she’ll give Michele

the ‘once over’…

and I know he must wonder

but Christ I could have told you

it wasn’t worth dying for


and I wouldn’t know

if the jug is half full

or half empty

these days…nor care

down the hatch and up the lazy river

mugs away

jugs asway

and Michele ?

it’s not her round

and she’s not one to beg

hardly said a word all night

but god knows she’s asking for it


©Orion Foote, 2015


  Gone to Kuranui (for June – toku tuahine)


a sun blazed hour

where your smile returned

idling, dawdling – such grace

along the sands at Paekakariki

where ancient sea smiled

and hills watched

how they shone sister

like these – as green as the sea

rosary beads

her mother, she said

had thought it proper

from her to me

my daughters mother

thank Christ – the gift you gave

and blessed be

the orphaned waif

small leaden feet – ungodly fate

the trembling mouth

too scared to speak

of things only she would know

off down the road

no earthly goods

nothing really (of which

to speak)

but duffle bag of shame

driven away, cast aside

flung to sodden curb

now left for dead

Kuranui angel – risen to fly

one teeming winter night

©Orion Foote, 2016

Exile on Lame Street

an early morningtide

preamble – of sorts

where pebbles, damp

scrunch beneath these

leaded feet

that barely keep time

or so it seems, these days

but carry me on

hesitantly, onward

towards a reluctant bridge

(sometimes you dont need one)

or is it a coda – al segno !

while a somnambulant Maitai

seeps forth a dirge

and languid waters

barely disguise

an ominous silent form

seems we’re all teetering

on a verge – razors edge

or flirting alongside

and I’ll wait, for things

to pass, as they do

kill the hours – hum drum

with empty mirth

or mild amusement

and remember to dance

oh the incisive snap !

over bubbling keys

but no, friend, no I don’t

‘don’t wanna walk, talk about Jesus’

just show me a golden twilight

©Orion Foote, 2016

Wahine Shore

Ox blood, pounding – mad

Like fuming southerly gale

Nubile storm – keen

With sodden earthly tussock

Waka split, where Taniwha sang

Turned my flesh to bone

She, willing – churning guts

Her rolling limbs

Oh babbling tongue

Where nerve and steel

Held steady course

To cunt line – Andrew

The skin made new

As l rolled her

Over mighty torrents

Of a foul head wind

And somewhere – nowhere 

A red siren wailed

On a wild Poneke shore

©Orion Foote, 2016

The Return


Thick plumes, rising
Where the wood pigeon weeps
Above scorched remains
Of pungent kai
Infused, smouldering
Smoked by charred earth
Dried seaweed, Kahawai
And Koura for belly
Rough hewn pots, simmering
Calmed after heated furore

While woven nets await
At waters edge
For dawns first glimmer
Oh the springtide will return
As promised, my daughter
Listen ! The waka taua is near
And your brother smiles, again
While the Morepork sits
Silently gloats, watching
Under a sleepless, beaming moon

©Orion Foote, 2016

Lying in her long veils on the calm black water

Dreaming in her pallor of gold through splendid cities with fair hair;
pours burning love does he sink;
that by starlight! he sings and the woods sing!

In the wine of daylight the shivering willows.
– of her long blue hair, to love in the rose.
In a slumbering alder hemmed in by chimaeras.
– from violet forests: where the stars are sleeping.

Lying in her long veils, on the calm black water
into the deep ocean her great veils rising
the great dreaming swan but endless;

Into the ferocious tide rips, if there hurricane into the,
and a sweetmeat good of a flock of doves
trembled to feel, of silver waves


If My Words Were Water

If my words were water
You would drown in meaning
When I said “I love you”

The inner secret
That’s never born

Shifting sands of dreams
The zodiacs cross the planet
Each house moves same like
The way we cog and gear
Upon our shoulders we bear

The voice of your eyes
More blue than any ocean
Not even rain has any colour
As deep blue as your eyes

I would walk lucent
Wavering through any Forrest
With you at my side.

21 March 2014