an old writer and his words

  • TOTTERING

    The world did not collapse today,although it tottered on the edge againas it does most days in recent memory.As a child we expected the world might endunless we hid under our deskswhen the alarms went off, so littledid we know about nuclear weaponsand what could be more uselessthan a desk at or near ground zero.We…

    Lou Faber

  • THE OTHER WORLD

    He pendulated between two worlds,always on the fine edge of transition.Night brought amniotic dreamsthat washed away the digital bondsthe day had fashioned from his thoughts.Here was a freedom that reality detested.Here there were no walls, only open doorsand he could freely wander his psychewithout impediments, without that voicethat was always perched on the razor’sedge of…

    Lou Faber

  • VULCAN’S FLAMES

    The ark of hope had sailedalmost empty, their realitywas free falling, their dreamsconsumed in the furnaceof their greed, their arrogance.Time was hanging suspended,they were grasping at the handsof the clock perched now inover the growing abyss.Once they had been gods, orimagined themselves so, nowthey were fuel for Vulcan’s flames.Once they were prophetsof an unbounded, unbridled…

    Lou Faber

  • THE OLD ROCKER

    I reached the point in lifewhere I know the Byrds were right,I was so much older then,I’m younger than that now, andfor good measure Jethro Tull knewI was too old to rock ‘n’ rollbut far too young to die.And yet I am still inchoate,a product of the Big Bang, stellardust accreted temporarily.And the Webb Space…

    Lou Faber

  • WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

    They can have sharp edgesthat wound on contact, some cutsso deep they leave lasting scars. They can get stuck in the throatuntil you feel you can no longerbreathe, no longer cry out for help. They can lie there, anaggregate always acretingand yet rejecting any meaning. Or they can, carefully chosenpresent great beauty, offerhope, promise freedom.…

    Lou Faber

  • JOSHU’S BUDDHA

    If you go in search of Buddhashould you see him, donot stop or speak but run away.If you do not see the Buddharun away from that place.If you stop, to take waterfrom the edge of a still pondlook carefully, forthe Buddha is therejust above the water’s surface. A reflection on case 80 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo…

    Lou Faber

  • ABYSMAL

    At the edge of the abyss,teetering on the precipiceyou need not tell us notto jump, need not tell usthe horrid details thatwould befall us if we did,blood and gore ininfinitesimal detail. It is more than enoughthat you point out to usthe sheer height at whichwe stand, the craggedfloor of the canyonawaiting those whoimagine they can…

    Lou Faber

  • A PRAYER

    Last night, as I sat poisedon the edge of sleep, I askedGod for continued blessings,for I have been blessed morethan I likely deserve. I heard Her reply that Iwould always have Her love,on earth and heaven, and Iknew my request, selfishfor certain, had been answered. But now I wonder if it wastruly She or your…

    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

  • OR CUT BAIT

    They sit or stand patientlyon the jetty, a concrete pathjutting out into the ocean. The old timers have twolines out, bait bucketsitting in the bicycle-wheeledcart parked on the edgeof the jetty’s bouldered margin. You don’t ask what they’vecaught, that would be obvious,and you know they are here forthe act of fishing, and the catchis that…

    Lou Faber