an old writer and his words

  • BLOSSOM

    I remember the cherry treesalong the reflecting pool, thoughexcept in April they mostly reflecteda partially clouded sky promising rain. Their pinkness was a tone I havesearched for since, and cameclosest in Tokyo, jealous of the emperorand his gardens so carefully tended. It is that time again, and this yearas in so many past, I will…

    Lou Faber

  • ROBO

    The phone is again ringing,and the odds say it is someonewho wants to extend my warrantyon the car I no longer own, or to lower my credit card interestthough I never carry a balance,or to help me fix my computer if Ijust hand over control to them. I won’t answer this time, almostnever do unless…

    Lou Faber

  • DUGO AND UNGAN MEET

    When your mind is ragingthoughts flowing, eddyingwhen you enter the zendowhat do you do in sitting? Do you take your stickand measure the waterto insure a safe fording,or do you sit amid the streamand let the floodwash over and around youdry and silent within? A reflection on Case 36 of the Iron Flute Koans

    Lou Faber

  • PAYING HOMAGE

    No one thinks it all that strangethat novels featuring James Bondappeared well after Ian Flemingagain made acquaintance with the soil. Nor are we shocked that Conan Doylehas seemingly taken up pen againand brought Holmes back to life,although many find those efforts regrettable. And yet when I take pen to paperand cast line upon line of…

    Lou Faber

  • PARENT AGE

    I have two mothers, now both dead,I have three fathers, one unknown, one buriedoutside Washington and one lostin a corner of his shrinking mind.I am growing older, I have achesand clicks and pops and groans,which each remind me that Iam aware and alive and thatisn’t a bad way to start a new day.

    Lou Faber

  • IMPENDING DEPARTURE

    They finally used the wordor one near enough to itand she was not surprised,she almost welcomed it.You can grow jealous of thosewith a depth of faiththat a sentence of monthsor perhaps less is receivedwith grace and a smile, a nodand a statement “I’m morethan ready to go home now,back to my husband.”I hope I will…

    Lou Faber

  • TROTSKY

    He slipped the knife quicklybetween two ribs as hewas carefully trained,withdrew it and placed itinside the raincoat, a bit oddin the bright sun of Mexico City. He disappeared into the streetsand later toiled in an endlessseries of five year plans,sharing the small apartmentsharing bread and the linesalways the lines and waiting. Now in Moscow he…

    Lou Faber

  • ANYWHERE BUT

    I was twelve at the time, would havechosen to be anywhere but there.I hated visiting her at home, but thistook my disgust to a whole new level.We were never close, never would be,she so old, so old world, so unlikeanyone I had known, so like the womensitting outside the old hotels on South Beachwaiting for…

    Lou Faber

  • THE EDGE OF DREAMS

    On the razor edge of dreamsthe periphery of consciousnessa face appears, and I am left to wonderwho this person is, who he might be.At first he is a childwith a pixie cut, a bowl placedover the head, the bangs cutwithout considering the face peering outand others peering in.But, as sleep washing the lastsands of consciousness…

    Lou Faber

  • HISTORY

    Deep in the valley of memoryon the altar of Areswe sacrifice them, always youngeach generation we areAbraham unrestrained,the pardon always moments late.We are Olmecs, relying noton the sun’s passagebut on a mainspring tightly wound.Our gods hunger and mustbe sated lest we lose favorand their image change. In our boneyardpriests and victimsslowly decomposefade into earthwashed deepby…

    Lou Faber