an old writer and his words

  • AT GRAVESIDE

    It is odd that cemeteries arequite often the site of oration,soliloquies delivered with great emotion,be it love, regret or anger.Often they are paeans or jeremiadsmeant to be delivered in personbut held back until it is only the stonethat bears the brunt of the words.And yet a burden is liftedfrom the speakers for they assumethe dead…

    Lou Faber

  • CROWING

    Imagine, for just a moment,you have become a crow.You know that you will bedetested by most eventually,your voice despised by allwho are forced to hear it.And while you can fly, youknow you won’t be morewelcome regardless of whereyou choose to land. If you cannot imagine this,then imagine you havebecome a politician,for that will, for you,…

    Lou Faber

  • PRAYER

    We bow our headsand utter wordsnot to the cicadaspeaking througha spring nightor the beetlecrawling slowlyacross the leafsearching for the edge.We bid the crowsilent, the cat mewlinghis hunger and lustto crawl under a porchawaiting morning,the child to sleep.The stream flowsslowly by, carryinga blade of grassand the early fallen leaf. Published in The Raven’s Perch (August 3,…

    Lou Faber

  • PRAYER

    We bow our heads and utter words not to the cicada speaking through a spring night or the beetle crawling slowly across the leaf searching for the edge. We bid the crow silent, the cat mewling his hunger, just to crawl under a porch awaiting morning, the child to sleep. The stream flows slowly by,…

    Lou Faber

  • CROW DANCE

    Sunday They gather in the trees remarkably silent one speaks their morning prayers and they return home. Monday Only three arrive to commentate our morning walk. We appreciate the silence. Tuesday There is a reason for all sentient creatures but the crow tests our credulity. Wednesday A wintered branch breaks under the weight of the…

    Lou Faber

  • DUSK

    As the afternoon fades, the gray of the sky deepens, the crows gather in the highest branches of the older trees, until the leafless branches seems suddenly burdened with great black leaves. As the already waning light fades they take up their hymns to the passing day, approaching night, and we wait patiently amid the cacophony…

    Lou Faber