an old writer and his words

  • LILAC FESTIVAL

    It is nota signof the apocalypseor shouldn’t be. The parkis redolentwith the scentof lilacs in blossom. You can smell itblocks away,and they flockunder the watchfuleye of the crowsto the carny trailers for kettle corn,roasted coated nuts,cotton candyand the beer tent waitingfor the musicas the lilacs sitforlornly wonderingwhen theyceased to matter. First Published in Flora Fiction,…

    Lou Faber

  • STILL VAINLY SEARCHING

    I spent a pleasant morning walkingquietly around the grounds, searchingfor them diligently, but as on most days they again remained hidden from sight.I did see several cattle egrets staringdeeply into the foliage, knowing that breakfast lay hidden deep within,and a flock of ibis pecking lifefrom the still wet, just watered lawns. Today I even saw…

    Lou Faber

  • PAUSE

    This morning a lone snowy egretperched stoically atop the leafless treerising out of the small preserve.Of what was it a harbinger, whatmessage was I needing, failing to hear?Was it in search of a dove amid endlessnews of wars still raging on,or was it repeating the unheard warningof what we had wrought in its onceedenic world,…

    Lou Faber

  • BAMBOO

    Walking through a small groveof bamboo, the breeze evokesa creaking until you need to lookto insure the tall spindlesare not about to collapse on you. A small child seeing you knowswhat you are thinking, smilesand says “they are just sayinghello, so you should say hello back.” Her parents appear flustered, whetherbecause she is talking to…

    Lou Faber

  • THE HERMIT

    The hermit livesin the shadowof the great mountainlistening to the symphonyof the bluebirdand the wild Roseengulfed by the sky,the meandering streamhis constant companion.I live in a cityin a sea of city dwellerseach of us prisonersmarching from cellto cell, with passing nods.we hear only solitudeand are blindto the ever shifting clouds.Kuan Yin sitsin her templeand whispers…

    Lou Faber

  • VINCENT

    When we visited Arleswe expected to see paintingsof wildflowers, night skies,all the images that Van Goghleft as his legacy. We did see posters,postcards and booksbut not a single paintingis to be found by the masterwhere he painted. We at least hopedthe night sky from the boatwould be somethingto remember alwaysbut clouds over Arleslook much the…

    Lou Faber

  • THUMB

    She asks me howI can be so goodat growing plantswhen she hasno luck at all with them. I pause, as if thinking,try and hide the inwardsmile, and respondI just put themin the ground.I don’t tell herthat I also hopethat the rains will comeoften enoughto keep them alive. And I certainlydo not tell her thatwhen they…

    Lou Faber

  • RISING TIME

    Night rises slowlyfrom tangled rootsdragging ocher and rustfrom reluctant trees,promising only winter.We cannot see this,we sense only time eroding,slipping off untilthe trees are naked.They want onlyto hide themselvesin a shimmering gownof snow, recallingtheir verdancy, imagininganother season, a seasonof hope, a seasonof consecration, of light,of resurrection.We stand emotionallystripped on the banksof the stream into whichwe cannot…

    Lou Faber

  • PLAYIN’ WHAT’S NOT THERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes –that’s where the music is.We heard him, we smiled,we anticipated the nextnote and the next.Outside my windowa blue jayrecites his morning prayer,the child’s laughbreaks the frozen skyand shivers the maple.Then all is silence –even the windholds its breathnot in anticipationbut to create the voidthat nature…

    Lou Faber

  • A FROSTY RECEPTION

    I truly wish Robert Frost was still aliveso I could ask him where he foundthat yellow wood of his poem.The woods I know are mostly pinein the Adirondacks, or mixed hardwoodsand when autumn arrives they greet itin shades of green, red, orangeochre and yes, some yellow,but hardly enough to givethe forest that titular color.And even…

    Lou Faber