an old writer and his words

  • SEASIDE HAIKU

    The ocean singsof its abundant lifewe hear only waves On the tidal pondthe moon admires itselfno one will see it On the waterI cried a thousand tearsthe sea accepts them

    Lou Faber

  • DONGSHAN’S ILLNESS

    If you tell your teacherthat you are feeling painduring your practicehe will ask you wherethe pain is.If you point to a partof your body he willturn away but if youpoint to your headhe will tell you thatyou can heal yourself. A reflection on Case 98 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo Koans (True Dharma Eye)

    Lou Faber

  • SEPARATING

    We sometimes speak of continentspulling apart, land bridges severed,the route taken to get here now gone,no going back, no back to go to.The continent of my youth, myyoung adulthood is gone, recededinto the fog of fading memory, and Iam now a prisoner of sorts on thisnew continent of life, moving evermore quickly to an unavoidable…

    Lou Faber

  • GOOD MORNING

    The wetland isno longer wet a burgeoning forest of Carolina WillowThe birds that nested hereby the multiple dozens that overnighted by the thousands have moved on.But each morning I arise to the call of the Limpkin the closest thing we have to a rooster.

    Lou Faber

  • IN PASSING

    I remember heras the little girl wantinga birthday pony I see a womanfinding her way in the worldalways beautiful I want to forgetthe still far too young womantaken by cancer

    Lou Faber

  • OCCASIONALLY

    I can still remember that dayin San Francisco, on Columbusjust down from City Lights Books,a young man sitting on a milk crateanother in front of him on whichhe perched an old typewriter.“A dollar buys you a poem”he said with a mix of hopeand resignation, his fingers poisedover the worn keys, their lettersfading as was his…

    Lou Faber

  • PUEBLO CHRISTMAS

    The night is that bitter coldthat slices easily throughnylon and Polartec, makeschild’s play of fleece and denim.The small rooms glowin the dim radiance of propane lightsand heaters as the silveris carefully packed awayin plastic tool boxes.The pinyon wood is neatly stackedin forty pyres, some little tallerthan the white childrenclinging to their parents’ legs,some reaching twenty-five…

    Lou Faber

  • SHEPHERDING

    Today I paused to considerhow odd it must be for thoseborn, bred and always livingin a city, say New York, andto sill be a lover of poetry.So many poets, from Keatsto Hirshfield will take youinto nature, bathe you in wordsbeneath a star lit sky, sit youin a meadow, breathing airthat has never known the exhaustof…

    Lou Faber

  • SHUSHAN AND THE STONE WORKERS

    If, in searchingfor enlightenment youcome across a masterand you ask him in whichof the four cardinal directionsyou should seek your goalhe will tell you to looknorth, east, southand west at once.If you say you cannothe will tell you to lookin all four direction whichyou can do from whereyou are then standing. A reflection on Case…

    Lou Faber

  • UNSHOVELING

    There is much to love here,not the least of which is the lackof snow always needing to be shoveledwhen your back is most sore,when you need to be somewhereon a schedule the clouds chose to ignore.But the one thing you cannot find,the thing you never expectedto be that which you most missis the polychromatic season.For…

    Lou Faber