an old writer and his words

  • TWO MONKS ROLL UP THE BLINDS 無門關 二十六

    Both are askedto bring more lightinto the hall. Together eachrolls up his shade.One’s action is gainone’s action is loss there is only one shadethere is only one light. aA reflection on case 26 of the Mumonkan (Gateless Gate) koans.

    Lou Faber

  • A STEP TOO FAR

    He knew, the minute he stepped off, that it wasn’t going to end well. He should have realized it two steps earlier, but hindsight was of little use to him now. He knew he had to keep looking up, to focus on the sky. He knew he had to hope it would be like entering…

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • 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

  • THINGS TO COME

    One morning last week I decidedto plant myself at a busy intersectionand begin reading poetry, mostlymy own, I have to admit. I was generally ignored, my usualstate, and that sadly of most poets,when a scruffy, bearded young manset up easel and paint next to me. The morning seemed to relishthe stillness of this urban way…

    Lou Faber