an old writer and his words

  • AN EMPTY BAG

    I reached into my bag of dreamsand came up emptyI’m not sure what to make of thissince I cannot rememberthe last time I opened the bag.Usually I let them sneak in and outin the night, and some nightsthey avoid me, mostly,but now they shun me by dayand I don’t know howto deal with that so…

    Lou Faber

  • DREAM ON

    Good night, Sisyphustry and get some sleep.It’s been a long dayand you already knowthe rock will await youwhen you arise in the morning.I suppose by nowyou’ve come to realizethere is no percentagein irritating the Gods.Think of this as a personalreeducation centerwhere right thinkingis the lesson of thisand every other day.Did you really thinkthey would let…

    Lou Faber

  • OUR SONGS

    Each morning between fourand five AM the cat comesto the bedroom door, the gatewayto the one room she is deniedand for five or ten minutessings her songs which I,on the now rocky shore of sleep,imagine as a lullaby.She cannot expect me to respondbut each morning it isthe same, the songs differ,and when I finally ariseand…

    Lou Faber

  • SAY WHAT?

    In the heart of the night Iam wandering the back streetsand alleys of old Kyoto when Istumble across old Joshu staringplacidly at his acolyte monksgathered closely around him.“I ask you all again,” he says,“does a dog have Buddha Nature?”The monks consider this at length,each afraid to respond incorrectly.In this dream I am a cat out…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE TANKA

    As the sun riseseach morning the Great Egretslift into the skyas we stand fixed to the ground.We now can feel their pity. Little Blue Heronsstare into the clouded skyknowing that the sunwill soon reappear and stealaway with the morning chill In Todai-jisika deer await the bellthat signals the endof morning zazen and startlooking for tourist…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING SONG (Awdl Gywydd)

    The sun creeps down city streetsdew retreats from the grassesand fills the air, with sweet scentuntil spent, the bus passes. The robin sits in the treeas worms flee into the lawn.The morning foretells the rainthat will slowly drain the dawn. The city quietly wakesand stretching, shakes off the sleepit slowly comes back to life,the sun…

    Lou Faber

  • SUZY

    What do you sayon the loss of a child?We sat in the loungedrinking a vile potionfrom a hollowed pineapple,giggling insanelyfor no reason.We wandered the tunnelsfaces painted,clowns in bedlam.We lay togetheron a mattresson the floor and listenedto Aqualungmy arms around youboth, but sleepcame slowly and we talkeduntil night ran fromthe encroaching sun. I can feel her…

    Lou Faber

  • MY SORT OF SISTER

    I don’t remember her crib,but it was probably the one that Ihad only recently outgrown, butthe wood was polished pine,the rails topped with plasticthat I had dented with some cribtoy or other, the mattress soft,a mobile hanging off the end.She cried a lot at first, and mothersaid that was what babies did,but she said I…

    Lou Faber

  • A DEPARTURE

    The sun is departing, sayingfarewell to a day wecan no longer reclaim, lostto history, to our inaction, inattention.We will try and remember it,cling to moments from it,but we know they are illusionsbest left in a past already departed.The stars will peer throughthe flowing clouds, winkingas if we are to guess their secrets,and soon the moon…

    Lou Faber

  • A DRY GARDEN LAUGHING

    In the heart of Nara Parkthere is a five story pagoda.Deer appear, standing sentinelalong the lantern lined walk.Up the unseen hillthe Temple bell announcesthe full arrival of morningas the Golden Buddha awakens.Young children can seeall of this through eyesunlensed, and fetter free.They watch cloudsrelease a cascadeof tiny maple leaveswhich flow over sitting monks,a stream washing…

    Lou Faber