an old writer and his words

  • CALLING

    In the dark heart of nighttime is suddenly frozen,the clock’s hands stalactitesand stalagmites, unyieldingdenying the approach of morning,leaving the sun imprisonedunder the watchful gazeof its celestial wardens. It is then you appear,call out to me, beg mebe silent, not askingthe lifetime of questionsI have accreted, providingmy own hopes andimagination for answers,but you have faces, notthose…

    Lou Faber

  • SEOUL

    The Han river, gray to greenhinting at mud, but roiledthis day, is a keloid scaracross the torso of Seoul,its suture bridges strugglingto hold the halves together. Soon it will be dark, the Hanthen a no-man’s land, separatingthe two Seouls, each certainit is its own whole, neitherlooking north to an alwaysforeboding step-sibling.

    Lou Faber

  • DREAMS

    It starts quickly and unexpectedly. You do not know when it will start, why, or what it will bring. There are times when even after it is done, you cannot be certain what it was, what it did, what it meant. Often, though, you forget it before you have time to capture it. It is…

    Lou Faber

  • CHATTER

    The cat tells me thatlong after we have goneto bed for the night shehears the argumentsof the authors of the bookslining our living room shelves. The poets, she says, quibbleover rhyme and meter, claimthis one is academic, thatone merely skilled in doggerel. And don’t, she adds, get herstarted on the Buddhistauthors, who argue endlesslyover their…

    Lou Faber

  • NOT YET

    The man walked into the old dinerlooking not at all happy,dressed in what looked likea white robe he found in some alley. He ordered coffee and glancedaround, as if seeking onefamiliar face, finding manythat looked like that of his father, like him,for that matter, and he knewfrom this quick glance thatthey were not yet ready,…

    Lou Faber

  • NAMELESS ONE

    It is truly unfair, sucks really,that proximity has cast meas nameless, yet I am forcedto wear all manner of termsthat fit their mood at anygiven moment, and even thenthey can’t seem to agree. You can say it is petty, but Iam jealous of Titan, and helleven Phobos and Deimoshave proper names, and theyare a misshapen,…

    Lou Faber

  • Santa Cruz Wharf, September

    The quieter you becomethe more you can hear.— Baba Ram Dass Orion lies over the wharfstaring at the moon, danglinglike an unyielding eye, barring sleepwhile below the waves washonto the shore, licking the pilingsand tasting the sand, a calming roarbroken only by the barkingof the harbor seals.It is not a night for huntingthe bear has…

    Lou Faber

  • SHOWERS

    We sat on our lanai last nightin our twin rockers, the catcurled close by but carefullyremoved from the rockersand stared into the sky hopingmeteors would grace uswith their fleeting presence. The moon did appear, shroudedin thin clouds, spectral ghostwaxing slowly in hiding, butthe stars had fled this night,fearing the rain thatthe cloud mantle promised. We…

    Lou Faber

  • LUNAR LUNCH

    Even as a child I wasreasonably certain thatthe moon wasn’t madeof green cheese as someof my friends said, becauseeven if it was cheese, Iwas sure it would be eitherRoquefort or Gorgonzola. No one had beento the moon back then,nothing had marred its surface,so we took the scientistson faith that it wassomething other than cheese. Now…

    Lou Faber

  • EMPTY SACKS WILL NEVER STAND UPRIGHT

    There are nightswhen the songof a single cricketcan pull you away from sleep.She says that she has heardthat not all Angels have wingsand neither of themis sure how you would knowif you met a bodhisattva.He searches the mailevery day, for a letterfrom unknown birth parentsbut none of the credit cardshe ought to carryoffers to rebate…

    Lou Faber