an old writer and his words

  • THE HERMIT

    The hermit livesin the shadowof the great mountainlistening to the symphonyof the bluebirdand the wild Roseengulfed by the sky,the meandering streamhis constant companion.I live in a cityin a sea of city dwellerseach of us prisonersmarching from cellto cell, with passing nods.we hear only solitudeand are blindto the ever shifting clouds.Kuan Yin sitsin her templeand whispers…

    Lou Faber

  • VINCENT

    When we visited Arleswe expected to see paintingsof wildflowers, night skies,all the images that Van Goghleft as his legacy. We did see posters,postcards and booksbut not a single paintingis to be found by the masterwhere he painted. We at least hopedthe night sky from the boatwould be somethingto remember alwaysbut clouds over Arleslook much the…

    Lou Faber

  • ME AND MY . . .

    I didn’t stopto think it at all oddthat when I walked backwardthis morning my shadowdecided to walk ahead of me.I was going to ask him whyhe decided to lead, butas I turned to walk backto the car he fell insilently behind meand refused to answeras the clouds came over usand he slipped away again.

    Lou Faber

  • STORM

    We walked slowly alongfeet sinking in the sandafter waves swallowed the sun.We could smell its approachbefore the first winds sweptashore pushing sands againstbeach chairs turned for night.Two dogs ran over dunesknowing what would come,drawn by clatter of hammersplacing plywood shuttersover windows and doors.Clouds, an ebony pall, gatheredmocking, waiting for a momentwhen the lid would be…

    Lou Faber

  • MESA

    This nightin cold moonlightearth rises upclouds float downghosts walk the margin.Old ones singnow shall be thenolder ones still singthen shall be onceto wolf and coyote.In this season of north windssun’s heat barrenspirits rise updreams descendman lies interspersed.Women singwe are bearersmen singwe are sowers. First appeared in Dipity, Vol. 3, April 2023

    Lou Faber

  • JEALOUSY (AGAIN)

    We are jealous of trees,anchored as we areto a grasping earth,able to tear free onlymomentarily or withthe help of machines, for trees can approachthe clouds, swaddleall manner of birds,and, we are certain,know heaven moreintimately than we can. And trees are jealousof birds, able to flywell above their highestbranches, knowingthe true blue of the skyand the…

    Lou Faber

  • PRISONERS

    As we sitin the great metal tubewe imagine ourselvesbirds awaiting the freedomonly the sky offers. The clouds reach downswaddling us and werealize that we haveyet to fledge, likelynever will do so. Peering out the smallwindow, the earth shrinksand grows large again,and as we step out,the birds look at usand feel only pity.

    Lou Faber

  • HABITS

    Tonight’s moon will looksimilar to last nights, or sowe assume since the cloudsdenied us that view again. It will be fuller, more plumpless an empty cup, now onealmost full, spilling its lightinto the all too dark sky. If she is hidden again, wewill turn to our imagination,for the moon is a creatureof habit, having learned…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING SKY

    The morning skymaculate with tiny cloudsscattered about the endless blue,denied the promised rain. The wind grew angryhaving nothing to propelthrough the azure emptinessand rifled the trees seeking music. There is nothing to knowon such mornings, no languageneeded or permitted, there is onlythe sky awaiting the sun’s arrival. We are invited to watch,asked to gaze deeply…

    Lou Faber

  • SITTING WATCHING

    Of course when we livedup north we wouldn’thave imagined this, sittingon our lanai watching the sunset the patchy sky ablazesipping small glasses of portand wondering if a lightjacket might be in order,as the beaver moonof November waxes slowly. The cat, curled at our feetcannot imagine the icy windhowling down the street,the foreboding clouds offeringtheir first…

    Lou Faber