Just an Old Fashioned love Song

george-faith-and-lydia-and-i-2014I’m just an old-fashioned love song,

There’s nothing extraordinary about me,

I believe in Jesus,

Marriage,

Children,

My neighbour.
In today’s world,

Where faith is jeered,

Marriage is scorned,

Children are considered annoyances,

I walk out of step,

The song I sing is quiet

Yet strong,

To thy own self-be true,

It’s hard to live true to myself,

I disappear

When I’m left with the stranger living inside me.
An old-fashioned love song,

That’s me,

Feeling odd,

Feeling strange

In a world going another way.

 

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Tick tock …Tick tock

artTick tock,

Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Time resounds in my ears,

I stand on foreign soil,

A barren plain looms before me,
The splendour of my body dims,

I question my womanliness,

I spend many hours

Analyzing the worth,

The value,

Of my life.
Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Time,

Vicious robber,

It lessens my agility,

Threatens the things I enjoy,

The things I love,

Though not clothed in black,

I mourn,

I grieve

The loss of youth.
Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Time,

Society honours and adores

Youth,

Aging is scorned,

Pitied,

Ignored,

Forgotten.
I silently scream,

Youth you have nothing to offer,

Although you rule supreme.
Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Tick tock,

The sound goes on.
I stare into eternity,

Grieving,

Like a woman at the graveside,

I struggle with doubt,

One part desires to stay,

The other prepares to meet God,

Death

Calls to all,

Yet it brings fear.
The enormity of my humanity

Bursts forth as the dawn,

Reminding me this world is not my home,

I will,

I must,

Complete the task,

So I can face a loving God

And live with Him eternally.
Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Tick tock,

Time’s up.

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A Brother like No other

flower-gloryI have a brother,
He plays keyboard in a band,
Ronnie is his name,
He’s my brother,
He’s like no other.

I watch while his friends jeer,
Call him crazy,
I cringe inside,
He’s my brother.

He wilts quicker than others,
They say Ronnie’s a sissy,
Call him crazy,
Call him a girl,
They tell him how pretty he looks
With his braided curls.

I get mad,
Yell,
Lash out,
I tell them
He’s my brother,
He ain’t no sissy,
He’s not a girl.

He’s Ronnie,
He’s my brother,
He’s like no other.

They whisper behind cupped hands,
They point,
They snicker,
They grin as he walks by,
They ask their small-minded friends,
Do you see that boy?
His name is Crazy Ronnie,
He must be gay.

I want to tell them about my brother,
How when he plays the keyboard
Magic sweeps into a room,
It transports you to another land,
It fills your mind,
Your soul,
Your spirit
With beauty,
It takes you beyond this visible world,
It’s angelic.

This man who plays keyboard in the band,
The man they know as Crazy Ronnie,
Does not exist.

I see a musician who moves me deeply,
A magician,
A poet,
A seer.

The music
And the musician
Unfold before my eyes,
As I listen and watch,
I see a thing of beauty,
He is talented beyond belief,
Bestowed with a gift,
He is unique,
Courageous,

Simply put,
This is my brother whom I love,
He is like no other.

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The Kiss

Your lips are like wine and I want to get drunk
Close your eyes imagine a kiss
May you see the stars and wish
Passionate bliss embrace you
Woven in the dreams your mother told you of
Ill protect you till the end of time
Have faith your going to fall into the right place
The cogs are to fit into place
As the souls to your feet fit your shoes
As you step up the garden path
Past the full bloom rose bushes
Up the stairs
On to a wooden front porch
Ring the door bell
Yell hi honey Im home
Ill be there waiting for you
Great shouts have awoken the heavens
Nows your time
This is our city of angels
Gather your wings
You’re to become untouchable
As us
Seal it with the kiss.

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Why do deny me?

Why do deny me?
When i give you so much pleasure’
you know I satisfy you
at your leisure
I am just a whore
I am just an angel
waiting to be fed
at your humble table
You tease me
with your fruit
You feed me
with your words
You mock me mercilessly
with your cutting sword
I am in pieces
carved up on a plate
Like Peking Duck
so succulent and sweet
Just add the condiments
Then pour the wine
Softly softly
Music to my ears
in the background
Lana Del Ray…….
My pussy tastes
like pepsi cola…..
I’m gonna be a fucken
high roller…
And so the guitar keeps playing..
Feeding my soul…

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THE TEACHING

So, probable is
the lapse. To embark
upon the smoke

Where we
blew in.

A brazen Falcons’
lateness, and finding
unidentifiable

People,
are like snow.

The lighter finds
you a candle, or some
kind of burnable

To expose
the uncomfortable.

Comfort, after
all, says for some, we
have existence.

© A2Kdavis (K Davis) 2016

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The Night’s Stay Young

a couple of quiets

son, it couldn’t get much louder

unwinding

these young fellah’s

pride of the south

proud as punch

with tattoos so bright

still fresh

like they came down

in the last coast town shower

 

as they raise pool cues

exalt quiet ones

to mouths that once nuzzled

a mothers breast – her milk

young sailors

now set to brave heavy seas

all sheets to the wind

all ink and mouth

 

i’ll  drink a toast – to youth

and the promise it won’t keep

head back home

along the shore

up the garden path

to follow a merry –

dance – with mermaids

just in from the sea

and on to that house

on the hill

and there I’ll be

pining for the lone pohutukawa

nestled against the hill

with not a tall poppy

in sight – not for

a country mile

not around here

 

overhead

a pale periwinkle sky

to my left

the foaming sea

sacred trees to my right

and into the night

i’ll wait

for sour grapes

to argue with the fading light

 

while the mind will natter

with this arvo’s wine

and i’ll raise a toast

again

to you old friend

and them

not forgetting me

myself and i

to gaze west

at endless seas

all sheets to the wind

all ink and mouth

 

©Orion Foote, 2016

 

 

 

 

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BOOMERANG

Figure’s in the dust.
Indiscretion
walks aloft, rippling
ghostly

In the spirit

That the head, less even,
was

A step too heavy. Mine,
or theirs?
The giggle rolls…
it stops.

It’s caught

Without the knowledge in
how clever it was tossed.
© A2Kdavis (K Davis) 2016

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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

 

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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.

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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

 

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All Jokes Aside, Hemi

tohunga

toa

te reo true

korero

wai

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

 

tohunga

toa

te reo true

let truth

be told

from me to you

 

©Orion Foote, 2016

 

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