an old writer and his words

  • FOUR HAIKU

    The aging man staresat the passing flock of ducksimagining flight Green Heron looksout over the placid pondsmall fish get nervous Sandhill Cranes watch usstopping to take their picturethey refuse to smile the heat of summerrises off the warming pondducks paddle to shore

    Lou Faber

  • WATCH CAREFULLY

    Stand on the edge of the wetlandas the sun sinks slowly on the horizonand the clouds burn a color that waterdoes not recognize at any other time of day.Watch as the flocks of ibis and egretscircle lazily then suddenly diveat odd angles onto desired percheson the bushes awaiting their arrival.The Great Egret standing tallon the…

    Lou Faber

  • AMETHYST DREAMS

    He leans on the barin the pose of the Thinkerlost in a reverie of Bourbon,odd bits of foolscapscattered about, coastersfor peanut shells,and the odder jotsof the unbegun epic.In the hazeof another cigarettehe fingers the violetworry beads.“Amethustos,” he muttersas if calling fortha god or a musebut his callgoes unreturnedby the unrepentant grain.He imagines himselfa bishop to…

    Lou Faber

  • CASSANDRA IN FLORIDA

    She is large, and largely immobileand occupies the bench by the roadthat encircles the property like a noose. She does this each day, a crustor more of stale bread tucked awayin a pocket of her always floral housedress that envelopes herand the bench she occupiesas a monarch on her throne. The ibis see her coming…

    Lou Faber

  • CECI N’EST PAS

    This morning the skyis a painting by Magritteas it is most days, no titleCeci n’est pas un ciel. The birds rise fromthe wetland as Escherwould imagine them,the small wetlandonce a place thatmight be painted byMonet on a day whenhe cared nothingfor water lillies, but nowa jungle of Gauguin. We wait for the returnof the flocks…

    Lou Faber

  • DYBBUK

    The evening slowly entersWarsaw — along Aleje Solidarnoscia lumbering truck backfires — some old onescringe — thoughts collapsing — into rail cars — lighteningbolts on stiff black wool uniforms — polished jackboots —a wrought iron gate — Arbeit Macht Frei The evening slowly entersWarsaw along Aleje Solidarnoscia truck backfires a sudden flockof sierpowka Eurasian Collared…

    Lou Faber