an old writer and his words

  • BURDEN OF WINTER

    On this one a taste clinging gingerly, on this one clumps, here a variegated blanket. Each tree bears the burden of winter in its own way.

    Lou Faber

  • WINTER TWO VIEWS

    The small dog frolics in the snow — now appearing from, now disappearing into clouds of flakes, while his master stands in the door cursing winter. As the temperature slides below zero, even the snow imagines itself a wave cresting onto a South Florida beach.

    Lou Faber

  • EDGE OF WINTER (FOUR HAIKU)

    The clouds build slowly threatening to overtake the maple’s red leaves. October cloud knives Slice branches from saddened trees Leaves fall in mourning Dogs peer at dawn’s sky And slowly don winter coats Knowing geese take flight Tomorrow the snow Will not fall from evening clouds But soon, very soon

    Lou Faber

  • A MURDEROUS CACOPHONY

    The crows were at it in the park today, unable, it seemed, to agree on anything and unwilling to let any other have the last word. I asked them to stop, and that bought all of fifteen seconds of peace before one decided the debate needed to go on. It was a cacophony hard on…

    Lou Faber

  • THICKNESS OF DAY

    The clouds are thick today, each merging into the next like an ill-woven blanket, stitches dropped, but still not admitting light. None assumes familiar shapes, none require more than a passing glance, though none promise much-needed rain. Today clouds simply cast a pall and we are left to bear their omnipresent reluctance to be of…

    Lou Faber

  • REMEMBERED

    She said she recalled the spilled glass of wine that stained her white linen blouse. She said the city swallows people like a hungry beast that will never be sated. I taste the summer sun and the sweetness of an early rain in the Shiraz that foretells approaching winter. The city is a cat that…

    Lou Faber

  • CECI N’EST PAS UN PARC

    This morning over the Park a Magritte sky is hung. Several birds gather in an old oak to discuss this, twittering thoughts in surprise. Their conclusions fly off at the approach of a black lab joyously frolicking in imagined freedom.

    Lou Faber

  • OF BEAUTY

    We love the flower, more so if it adopts the brighter shades of nature’s palette, and even tolerate the fern, but only if it truly honors the greens it is supposed to bear and unfurl. We save our spite for the fungus which reaches up to us with surprising haste, nothing this day, fully formed…

    Lou Faber

  • HAWKING AUTUMN

      The hawks have been circling more frequently of late, but in the early autumn laziness of merely riding the breezes that seem to pick up in the mornings, before the midday sun bids them be calm so it can make its transit. By afternoon, they tend to roost high up in the giant pines,…

    Lou Faber

  • BITCH

    She’s a real bitch, that one, and there is no telling her anything, at least anything she doesn’t want to hear. And to make matters worse still, she can be so damn alluring, and you know when she turns it on you are hopeless to do anything other than fall hard and fast under her spell.…

    Lou Faber