an old writer and his words

  • BASHO’S DREAMS

    on the sacred lake lotus blossoms grasp the sun Buddha steps lightly   Buddha cares little for the endless prostrations preferring Summer   setting summer sun turns the river to purple moon comes from hiding

    Lou Faber

  • SLEEPING

    In the Virginia countryside men have dug an enormous hole. Some say it is for the stone to pave their streets, build their homes. Some say it was dug out of spite. The young child looking out the window of the plane knows and simply says it is a burrow where all the stars and moon…

    Lou Faber

  • THE HERMIT

    The hermit lives in the shadow of the great mountain listening to the symphony of the bluebird and the wild Rose engulfed by the sky, the meandering stream his constant companion. I live in a city in a sea of city dwellers each of us prisoners marching from cell to cell, with passing nods we…

    Lou Faber

  • NARA

    The clouds shimmer in echo of the peel of the great temple bell. Hearing the chorus of monks, a small red maple sheds a leaf. It is the butterfly whose wings gavotte to the inkin bell which causes waves to lap the shore of a distant sea.

    Lou Faber

  • BULLET TRAIN

    From the window of a speeding train the rice fields seem like carpets, today the gold of the alchemist’s dream, just months ago the green of imagined grasses over the next hill. When I sit down to dinner in Osaka, will the rice nestled in my chopsticks tell me of the dreams of those who…

    Lou Faber

  • RIPPLE

    In this moment there is, and can be, no other. And when it is gone it never existed, much as the next will never exist. So it is with us, a reflection of the ripple of the long sunk stone now nestling the bottom of the pond.

    Lou Faber

  • DREAM WALKER

    I listen for you in the night, your breathing sets the rhythm of my dreams. It was not always like this. Much as the cat craves a gentle stroking of her back, I long to trace your spine, measure each vertebra by the length of my caress, but I don’t want to pull you fitfully…

    Lou Faber

  • DAWN

    Early morning Tokyo awakens, gray, moist. In the small park the crows listen for the Temple bell then bowing to the Buddha, call out their morning chants.

    Lou Faber

  • HOW IT IS

      I came down out of these mountains once, emerged from clouds that built, blackened the sky, bleached and were gone, I slid on snow pack, I came down into the sage and piñon, lit my fires and purified myself. I ran with jackrabbits, imagined bears were coyote, coyotes cats that might curl in sleep…

    Lou Faber

  • CLIFFSIDE AGAIN: HEKIGANROKU CASE 5

    HSUEH FENG’S GRAIN OF RICE It is not the seeing but the looking that will drive you to the edge. It is easy to see, you hardly need eyes for that task, but to look is beyond seeing. Do you think this a mere grain of rice? Look closely, do you see the entire world?…

    Lou Faber