an old writer and his words

  • TOKYO SNAPSHOTS

    In the small yardof the matchbox housethe lone Ginkgotwisted by timefeels the barrennessof winter’s tongueand mournsits solitude. The apartment building looms upover the tracks of the Narita Expressthe balconies are deserted, savefor the laundry which flapsin the morning breeze,slapping with the gustsinto the small satellite dishesbolted to the railings. The ancient trees are twistedand gnarled,…

    Lou Faber

  • A QUIET CORNER

    He would see the older man most morningsat the small table in the coffee shopoverlooking the street, hunchedover his New York Times, oftenpen in hand on the crossword.The baristas all knew him, if not by name,saved the table for him be various meansuntil he arrived, when they wouldprepare his carrot muffin and cappuccino.He strained to…

    Lou Faber

  • OBSERVING

    He stood alone, a stoic observerin the midst of the maelstrom,deaf to the cacophony,bathed in a golden silence.This was not a gin dream, hehad let go of alcohol and drugsfor they crowded his thoughts,forced them into places henever wanted to be, his dreamsonce his holy salvation and hea penitent to Saint Morpheus, whopromised him freedom,…

    Lou Faber

  • BEING A PART

    He wanted, most of all, to bea part of something, butsomething that had never existed,a dissonance in an orderly universethat was slowly devolving into chaos.He was a shadow, seen only by dayand often ignored, not invisible, but nearly so.He would soon emerge from the darkness,welcome the day, the sun’s too briefappearance, his footsteps would echoa…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING

    The clocks have begrudginglyshifted again, the earlymorning lost in darknessbarely illuminated by a waning moon.The fronds of the Royal Palm’swhisper “we are here, waitfor us.” But they are mere shadowsbegging for dawn’s arrival.Finally the sun engulfs the starswatching over the horizon,the fronds say “look at me,I will give you an infinitepalette of green that will…

    Lou Faber

  • STOP THAT

    We love nothing more than to anthropomorphize. It is one of our defining characteristics. We cannot avoid it even if we try. We never try. It makes our lives simpler since we can relate more easily to people than to animals or things. And after all, we did make God in our image, or is…

    Lou Faber

  • HEY, HUMANS

    The birds huddle lowin the brush of the wetlanddelaying their morning departure.You caused this, theywant to say but cannot,knowing we are linguistically challenged.What they mean is that wehave robbed themof so much of their habitat,carving out small areasas a balm for our souls,or that this shockingly coldmorning, they know, isa product of human activity,as much…

    Lou Faber

  • BEARING FRUIT

    Tomorrow it will be timewith the two mangoes in the fruit bowlto make the ultimate sacrifice.Some say they were born to the taskand perhaps so, but the treefrom which they were torn saidit was not yet their time, that shewould have released them in due coursebut our impatience demanded otherwise.I will take my two knives,…

    Lou Faber

  • FIRST LOVE

    The morning that I first loved youwas not the morning of the daythat I first told you that I loved you,fear needed a space to bridgeand an ocean served it well.It was not following the dayI first met you, saw you smile,heard you laugh, or perhapsit was and I didn’t notice.It was not the day…

    Lou Faber