an old writer and his words

  • CABERNET

    Sitting at the table lookingat a glass of cabernet sauvignonits legs long reaching from rimto dwindling pool I ask myselfif I could imagine tending the vinesin France or more likely Napawatching the purple orbs take formand cluster, caring for the canesthat have deemed themselvestoo old to bear any longer.My knees are tired and dirtycutting the…

    Lou Faber

  • DOWN UNDER

    Whenever I heard Rolf Harris sing “Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport,” I had to wonder just what the kangaroo would make of that request. They aren’t the most patient of mammals and I knew few people who could hope to outrun one if it were intent on making a getaway. And I have never known…

    Lou Faber

  • A PASSION

    I don’t know just whatmoment it was when wantingbecame desire, wishingblazed into passion butfor nothing in particular,so if I found it I mightwell not know what I had.None of this was lovemuch was likely delusion,but passion consumes logicand returns only ashes.I am older now, passionhas grown softer aroundit’s edges, but it remainsconsuming like a fine…

    Lou Faber

  • CABERNET

    I should pause for a momentand mourn the plump orbsvinaceous in the morning sun,torn free, placed in basketsand carried off to be crushed.But the cabernet beckons,its first sip telling the taleof the California summer,the oak having long forgottenthe tree from which it was cut,and I watch as the sunreluctantly retreats,a flaming farewell, the promiseof a…

    Lou Faber

  • A CAPPING VERSE

    Snow always seemed so rightcapping the summit of Fujiyama,not dulled by the windowsof the Shinkansen to Osaka. You barely noticed the rice fieldsfanning out from its basewanted to reach out and touch itfor that is what you do with icons. Mount Hood had the same effectbut the chill along the Willametteurged you to retreat quickly…

    Lou Faber

  • INTO THE TIDE

    The woman at the next table stares at her fork with eyes which appear bottomless pools of sorrow. She picks at the noodles, raises and lowers the glass of wine without sipping. She is lost within herself and even the waiter approaches with trepidation for fear of falling in and drowning in her sadness. In…

    Lou Faber