Night Primer A muted dusk makes it’s usualappearance—announcing a slytransition with finegradations of charcoal blue above silhouette overlays,like a first year art student’savant-garde designer eyeshadow palette – she addsa final flourish to her magnumopus with obsidian finality. ©️Orion Foote, 2022
Tag Archives: #writing
On Being Here
On Being Here Cool tides in the arctic season will oftenbring new dialects from foreign borders near. The morning’s deep surge offers bits andbobs—fond musings with bright candour, not unlike buoyant desires of the odd orthe curious in their strange and crass logic. To gorge on brisk vapours that hang in boredsuspense along a stoicContinue reading “On Being Here”
As if I Didn’t Know
As if I Didn’t Know Rumours of rain manifest.Incoming coastal spray & road dross lash the swingingwindow wipers down throughstate highway six this morning. Sinatra’s grinding it out slowin the back seat—starts puttingthe moves on me like an old pro.Here’s that rainy day againand don’t I know it sweetheart. I have to pull over beforeContinue reading “As if I Didn’t Know”
General’s Report
General’s Report I was just coming to gripswith the opening salvo, whena dubious timbre escaped herthroat. It set off the twitchy hair trigger, as electrodes in mybrain arrived with the artillery.Fortress walls clattered with themêlée of spiky syllables in flight. Her footsteps retreating jigtime down gossiping stairshad the last word—inflictingthe heavier damage by a longContinue reading “General’s Report”
Flop House Lauréates
Flop House Lauréates It’s seldom wise to slashaway at an underripe harvest.Far better to reopen theinvestigation into what drivesthe impulse, or carry on withunfinished autopsies onselected cadavers—now easilyavailable to those withthe stomach & a keen eyefor the sordid details. It’s like we’re forever trawlingan index of minor poets in aProustian stupor, or seekingoral on theContinue reading “Flop House Lauréates”
Low Heroes & the Lodger
Low Heroes & the Lodger Let’s not talk of DJ’s or of blackouts.I’m breaking glass & crashingthrough iron doors at Hansa witha loaded Luger & a bunch of wonderfulpeople—all teeming with silent problems.We’ll scrawl bright red graffiti & nailit all down to a nouveau art millennium. I’m sick of this rotting wine; the lustfulglances inContinue reading “Low Heroes & the Lodger”
Stewing in North Tawton
Stewing in North Tawton Borges was underwhelmed byOphelia’s latest efforts; wasn’tin the mood for her taut gibberishof Gestapo knickknacks or swollenpink tulips in Caesar’s bathhouse. Her clammy fingers hammer awayat infinity; blubber and grate at thisheathen hour of day. They make hisfrontal lobes wince like a clapped outdartboard at the local corner pub. He rattlesContinue reading “Stewing in North Tawton”
In a Manner of Speaking
In a Manner of Speaking It’s a faux sleep that brings onrapid eye contortions witheach ghostly hour of the newmorning, where I break surfaceto battle with semanticsbetween salvoes and broadsides. On intermittent days, youand I are swallowed whole bythe lugubrious crawl of time;by the authorship of saidclauses that dot the margins ofour own ill definedContinue reading “In a Manner of Speaking”
re. My Annotations
re. My Annotations It was probably the skeletaltremor of Stipe’s refrain inthe outro that split the rock. Like the eye catcher catchesthe eye or the fisherman fishes,there’s only one thing for it. A distilling of sound rightdown to the letter with chisel;imploding under itself likethe fossilised echo of silence. ©️Orion Foote, 2022
Pre Coffee
Pre Coffee An illusory palettecrops the arc of treetopsoutside my bedroomwindow this morning. All skywards and yonderbound in its curvedtrajectory, reaching it’sblunt apex before slowly dipping low like a dab handlimbo dancer en route tothe stone latticework below,where Saturday morning shoppers dodge the crispbillows of wheezing chill;fossicking ad lib for theirown weightless pots of gold.Continue reading “Pre Coffee”
Visions of Orion Poetry 