an old writer and his words

  • LILAC FESTIVAL

    It is nota signof the apocalypseor shouldn’t be. The parkis redolentwith the scentof lilacs in blossom. You can smell itblocks away,and they flockunder the watchfuleye of the crowsto the carny trailers for kettle corn,roasted coated nuts,cotton candyand the beer tent waitingfor the musicas the lilacs sitforlornly wonderingwhen theyceased to matter. First Published in Flora Fiction,…

    Lou Faber

  • SURGERY

    Preparing it to undergothe knife, its core excised,stem cast aside, slicedthen cut into piecesI pause to consider thatthis pear was oncea blossom, a delicatewhite flower, its cranberryred anthes soon to turnblack, picked carefully,cradled into a bushel,by a knowing hand,washed, and gentlypacked for shipment.For me it was justplucking it from the binat the market, holdingit in…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING, ATTENDANT

    Morning would find him sitting calmly, cross-legged, under the apple tree that sat on the edge of the park, staring up at a small branch and carefully watching the bud begin to open, ignoring all who passed. Morning would find him sitting calmly, cross-legged, under the apple tree watching the fragile blossom open, staring at…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING

    Morning would find him sitting calmly, cross-legged, under the apple tree that sat on the edge of the park. He would stare up at a small branch and carefully watch the bud begin to open, ignoring all who passed. Morning would find him sitting calmly, cross-legged, under the apple tree watching the fragile blossom open,…

    Lou Faber