an old writer and his words

  • IN THE JUNGLE

    If you close your eyesyou can imagine that this gardenwas once a tropical jungleas imagined by some cleverFloridian striving to separatemore tourists from theirdwindling travellers checks. It has been carefully done over,plants native and ornamentalreplacing the vines and trees,the alligators, real and imaginarygone, now an exhibit of Lego animals,the orchids in bloom, andyou wonder why…

    Lou Faber

  • LADDER

    You have to stop and wonder,the child said, why peoplecan take joy in killing, whypeople can scheme each other,why people can cheat if they can. Birds, the child added, onlytry and scheme people for food,why they cheat for the sakeof cheating, kill for pleasure,yet we say we are the higher species. Perhaps, the child concludes,it…

    Lou Faber

  • MONOLOGUE

    I would like nothing more thanto have a long conversation with the birds,that there is much they could tell me,much they know that I should understandbut I am the interloper here, and theyhave lost trust in my kind. I watch them closely, trying to discern what I can of their thoughts,but in a flash of wing,…

    Lou Faber

  • QUESTION POSED, AWAITING A RESPONSE

    I stooped and spoketo a stone, asking the question.I was here before you arrivedand I will be her long after you leave.I held the sand in my handwarm from the sun, asking the question.I came after your arrivedand I will leave long before you are gone.I held the winter wind on the tipof a finger,…

    Lou Faber

  • THE POND

    Along the shoreof the pond wishingit was a lake,the anhinga proudlyshows off the small fishthat will be hismid-morning snack. The egret findsthis show of ostentationabhorrent and returnsto her searchfor bugs on the reedsfringing the shore. The alligator swimslazily off shorehoping we willsoon pass, andconsiders whetherhe wants only to sun,or if an anhinga wouldmake a good…

    Lou Faber

  • GRAMMATICALLY APART

    What sets us apartfrom other specieshas little or nothingto do with self-awarenessand everything to dowith parts of speech. The birds outsidemy window shun labels,think only of eating,mating, flight, of goingand arriving, of being. They know nothing of birth,do not fear death, for itis merely a label they cannotaccept or understand. It is left to our…

    Lou Faber

  • SIREN SONG

    I should stand on the shoretake up a great shelland blow a trumpet songto the whales who stayalways just beyond sight. I have no shoreon which to standand had I one, I lackthe skill to plucka song from a shelland so the whalesI imagine offshoremust listen carefullyto the song I castdeep within my dreams.

    Lou Faber

  • FEEDER

    The seed specklesthe snow like buckshotpiled neatly under the branchwhere we, fingers numbed,tied the little chaletto the lowest limbof the ancient maple.The birds stand staringas the squirrel swingsslowly in the breeze. First Appeared in Echoes, March – April 1996.

    Lou Faber

  • INVASION

    The light has fadedand the wetland lies underits mantle of faint starlight. The birds are there, wecan hear them, but our eyesdo not allow us to see them,despite our desire to havemore time with them. They can see us, in our well lit homes, staring out,but they do not want particularly to see us. To us they…

    Lou Faber

  • IN CHORUS

    Deep in a small forest,a murmuring brook reflectsthe shards of sun slidingthrough the crown of pines,its whispered wisdominfinitely more clearthan the babbling of menholding the reins firmlyin distant cities of power. The birds know this well,sing of it in chorus, nature’smusic, jazz scatting thatthe graying clouds absorb,an always willing audience,and the wind rushing bycries through…

    Lou Faber