an old writer and his words

  • AROMA

    What I want, no, need actually,is to remember the smells of youth.The images I can recall, but they areaged pictures, run repeatedly throughthe Photoshop of memory, andcannot be trusted only desired. The old, half ready to fall oak,in the Salt Lake City park hada faint pungency that lingeredeven as I departed my body asthe acid…

    Lou Faber

  • SONGWRITER

    Bob Dylan is, to the best of my knowledge,the only songwriter to successfully rhymeoutrageous and contagious, which doesn’texplain why I knew I could never bea successful songwriter in this life. The explanation is far simpler, it was whenLeonard Cohen served me tea and apricots,said he hated the river even living in Montrealand said I should…

    Lou Faber

  • WINDOW VIEW

    He knew she had a specialmeaning for him the first timehe saw her, from his usual seatby the window in the diner, waitingfor his bagel and cream cheese, and she at the table alongthe window of the Starbucks acrossthe street, which might as wellhave been an ocean, so unlikelywas either to make a crossing. By…

    Lou Faber

  • GROUNDED

    it was so much easier when I could stillimagine myself a bird, untetheredand free to take flight on a whim. In dreams I often flew, no Icarusbut a raptor, peering down, seeingwith a clarity the earth denied me. Now my roots have taken holdin the enmeshing soil plunged deepand spread tendrils anchoring me, and even…

    Lou Faber

  • ANCIENT AMONG ANCIENTS

    As we walked slowly through the Forumthe Coliseum receding into the lateafternoon, the Virgins stood patientlyas befits a priestess trained to avoidthe stares of passing men, even touristssuch as we were, the columns staringdown reminding us of our youth despite the birthdays that we celebratedwith the joy of togetherness, andthe nagging knowledge that we wereanother…

    Lou Faber

  • HOGEN’S DRIP OF WATER 鐵笛倒吹 九十一

    What are wordsof wisdomfrom the mouthof the ancient ones.I tell youthese are such words.You may acceptor reject themas you will.Better still, tearthis page from its bindingcrumple itand cast itto the four winds.Let it be carriedoff in ten directions. A reflection on case 91 of the Iron Flute Koans

    Lou Faber

  • THE MIND’S BLIND EYE

    He imagined the end was coming,but that was his problem, imaginingfor it was about all he was capable of doing. He started small, near visualizationmore than imaginings, but he grew moreproficient with practice, his ideas his conceptions of an increasinglygrander scale, until from a single threadhe could weave a tapestry that boggled even his mind,…

    Lou Faber

  • THIRST

    A man stands on the peak of a hill,staring down into the valley below him,but it is not clear what he is staring at. Standing in the valley, by the bankof a slowly flowing river, I stareup the tall hill to its peak, and see the clouds gather around the manas if soon to swallow…

    Lou Faber

  • SONNETS AND SALADS

    I would love to know the precise momentwhen the consensus of critics reachedthe tipping point, that lettuce wasno longer a green, but some lesser vegetable. That would be around the time thatArugula and romaine declared themselvessomething other than lettuce, leavingiceberg and Bibb as produce outcastswhile spinach, kale and chard openly declared their superiority over allof…

    Lou Faber

  • A DAY

    a day,clouds drop rainreplacing tearslocked insidestones and clothred and blueunseparatedstill worlds apartorderly ranksall at attentionand silencethundering angera mad worldsoaked in peaceonly untilmidnight. Publsihed in New Feathers Anthology (Summer 2020)http://www.newfeathersanthology.com/a-day.html

    Lou Faber