an old writer and his words

  • TODAI-JI

    On the steps of the Templethe unexpected morning snowwhich cast a threadbare blanketover the gates and lanternsrecedes slowly like a supplicantwhose prayers have been offered.The candle flames shiverin the strong February windwhile the Buddha sits, implacable.In the park below a dragon kitetakes the wind and swoops and dartshigher and higher, staring downat the Temple and…

    Lou Faber

  • LAMBERT FIELD

    The gravestones, in random shapes line the hill the morning chillcreeps between them and onto the runway until washed awayby the spring sun slowly pushing upwardas the jet noise washes the hill unheard He passed away quietly in his bed ending his dreadof the cancer slowly engulfing him his vision dimmedby the morphine that pulsed…

    Lou Faber

  • DEEP WITHIN

    The finches sweep from bush to feeder in a gentle inverted parabola appear head high with a pride reserved for those who fly. The chain link fence is for them no barrier but a honeycomb of perches, full on a warm February afternoon, their song threatening to silence the heart of winter.

    Lou Faber

  • BOOKSHOP

      Charing Cross Road booksellers woven amid theatres cramped sagging shelves an out of print Christine Evans, slim, collected works of those long forgotten never noticed a damp chill enfolds old leather as the door opens and shuts on a late February. Morning, my purchases sink in the plastic bag dancing as I walk to…

    Lou Faber