an old writer and his words

  • ID, NON EST

    What is surprising is its fragility,the cold hard but oh so thin veneerthat is willingly exposed, but alwaysat a nominal distance so that itsshallowness can hide behind the illusion.Even when among its peers, it wantsto inflate for the bigger it appearsthe less frail it seems to thosecasting the passing glance at it.You would not imagine…

    Lou Faber

  • WATCHING

    Under the ever watchful eyeof the Red-shouldered Hawkthe Great Blue Heron foragesfor sticks for its slowlygrowing nest which ithas carefully nestled inthe heart of the small wetland.The hawk, his own nestnow complete stands sentrywarning me, my camerato keep our distance for thisis his territory and onlythose of fellow wingare allowed to enter intoits privileged realm.Soon…

    Lou Faber

  • TY NEWYDD

    People wondered why I traveledto a remote part of Walesfor a writing workshopwhen there were a limitless supplyat home or in touristy places in the US.I could tell them I was impressedwith the two teachers, I could sayI was to be in Lloyd George’s home.I could say all of that, but in truthalthough I didn’t…

    Lou Faber

  • ROCK ON SLOWLY

    In yet another sign of ageI realize I simply cannotenjoy much of today’s music.I know it has merit, I knowmost love it, sales and downloadsdon’t lie, but it doesn’t work for me.I want the music of the 80s, the 70s,or even the late 60s, but with,dare I say it, a bit of a twist.I want…

    Lou Faber

  • SHOPPING

    One of the hidden joysof being a vegetarian is thatfor us the grocery store issmaller than it is for many. There is no meat counterto visit, no butcher to engage,and the smell of fish isweaker at even a small distance. I do eat cheese, but notthe sliced sort at the delicounter, I don’t want cheeseshaved…

    Lou Faber

  • NO BOIL

    Not so much watchedas casually gazed at, andnot a pot but a smartphone,which had best not boil. No ring, not this daylost in what, an absentmind, thoughts of self,not unexpected but wanted. Distance real becomesdistance virtual, emptylater explained, wordsof apology, forgiveness but a lingering scar thatwill recede, reappearthat laughter may coverbut never fully erase.

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

    My history is like an ill-sewn quilt, odd piecesof parents stitched looselytogether, always ready to comeapart, fade or be thrown away. Perhaps my history ismore like a belovedold pair of jeans, holesappear and are patched,patches wear out and arereplaced, or the hole isjust left, as if it weresomehow a fashion statement. There is little normalwhen…

    Lou Faber

  • DAYS LIKE THIS

    Then there are the dayswhen I play the buffoon,the juggler whose ballscome crashing to the floorbringing tears to the crowdof joy or sorrow, I cannothope to tell, for this dayI can only flail about,the circus clown, and youhad best keep your distancelest I break you as well.

    Lou Faber

  • IMMEASUREABLE

    The distance between truthand belief is as small as the widthof a hydrogen atom, yetas wide as the diameterof a galaxy of your choice. You say truth is relative, Iknow that it can morphin the face of circumstancebut that hardly makesrelativity a factor in truth. You say you believe in truth,at least as you see…

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING AUTUMN

    This is the seasonwhen the maplesbegan their rainof colored tears. It may still be so,but not here,and the palmsknow no seasons. Once there wasa veil of lilac,bushes trying tooutdo the others. But at leastthe magnolias carenothing for distanceoffering their beauty here and where wenow have onlymemories of the ebband flow of seasons.

    Lou Faber