an old writer and his words

  • PLAYIN’ WHAT’S NOT THERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes –that’s where the music is.We heard him, we smiled,we anticipated the nextnote and the next.Outside my windowa blue jayrecites his morning prayer,the child’s laughbreaks the frozen skyand shivers the maple.Then all is silence –even the windholds its breathnot in anticipationbut to create the voidthat nature…

    Lou Faber

  • BENDING DREAMS

    In Hawaii I could stare for hours at a taro field, the bent back of a farmer, and the same a gentle fold of spine I saw from the Shinkansen, Tokyo to Osaka amid the fields of yellow, later rice in some bowl perhaps even mine, or in Antwerp as the chef patiently picked over…

    Lou Faber

  • MARCH APPROACHING (HAIKU)

    Winter dies slowly under the jay’s watchful eye harbinger of spring. The ghosts of winter hide behind the Sun, the hawk hears them. Frail pink petals fall onto slowly warming earth the winter concedes.

    Lou Faber