an old writer and his words

  • WETLAND BRAVADO

    He was the smallest, thatis what drew you to him.Still, he had a certain bravadoa serious strut to his walk.Perhaps it was becausehis father was there, a protectorin part, in another part a challenge.He knew his mother was lookingso it became a matter of pride.He could imagine himselfa father one day, his own childrentrailing behind…

    Lou Faber

  • AND TO YOU WE LEAVE . . .

    Of course we did not heedthe warnings, what did they know,and anyway we were sure we had won. History is a poor teacher, thatmuch we have demonstrated againand yet again, lessons never learned. It is how we got here, how wehave no clear path to leave here,things assumed lying in ruin around us. We are…

    Lou Faber

  • WITH KNOWING

    With knowledge comes somethingbut I cannot remember whatmy mother told me it was, orperhaps it was a teacherwho said it, but I can’t hopeto tell which one it was, Icannot remember someof their names or in what gradeit might have been said.I don’t think it was in collegeor graduate school since by thenit was assumed…

    Lou Faber

  • PAUSING

    As the rivers dry upand lakes become pondswe are finding things wenever thought we would see.An old warship in Europe,dinosaur footprints, carsand, sadly, the bones of some.We stop momentarily to marvelat these discoveries, thenwithdraw to our homes where wehope we can escape the heat,our air conditioners working overtime,the power plants strained.Yet we never stop to…

    Lou Faber

  • SEASONS

    Here we measure seasonsby small changes in temperatureand for one, heavy rainfall. We are the calendar reliant,otherwise left to look at the moonand count to ascertain roughly what month it might be, butwe now live in a solar calendarworld so our lunar effortsare necessarily doomed to failure. And holidays are different here,Christmas has no snow,so…

    Lou Faber

  • CABERNET

    I should pause for a momentand mourn the plump orbsvinaceous in the morning sun,torn free, placed in basketsand carried off to be crushed.But the cabernet beckons,its first sip telling the taleof the California summer,the oak having long forgottenthe tree from which it was cut,and I watch as the sunreluctantly retreats,a flaming farewell, the promiseof a…

    Lou Faber

  • JEALOUSY (AGAIN)

    We are jealous of trees,anchored as we areto a grasping earth,able to tear free onlymomentarily or withthe help of machines, for trees can approachthe clouds, swaddleall manner of birds,and, we are certain,know heaven moreintimately than we can. And trees are jealousof birds, able to flywell above their highestbranches, knowingthe true blue of the skyand the…

    Lou Faber

  • ARRHYTHMIA

    Life ought be little more thanarrhythmic motion, a pathwe only want to straighten,to smooth, its natural, necessarytwists and bumps somehow,for we always see them asimpediments not momentsof joyous indecision wherethere are no wrong choicesfor each choice unfoldsa new path never trodden,never imagined or foreseen. A bird flies to where it needsto be, but for most…

    Lou Faber

  • THE DARK SIDE

    She is so often presentas the sun makes itsdaily retreat, weimagine she ismysterious asshe hides, ordoes she takerefuge in the shadows.?Only a fewhave truly seen herand they speak onlyof her luminescentalter ego.

    Lou Faber

  • AFLOAT

    I have taken tofolding my poemsinto little paper boatsand dropping gentlyinto the riverwhere they saildownstream. Many may drownbut some mayreach the lakeor be plucked outand reador discarded. The river is,in the end,my harshestcritic.

    Lou Faber