an old writer and his words

  • ISN’T IT A PITY

    birdsdo not knowor acceptboundaries demandfreedom to fly whereand when they will they acknowledgehereand therelook downon peoplesadly, knowinggravity is our prison and we draw linesto keepothers outourselves inour space private birds haveinfinite spaceand freedomand pityfor us

    Lou Faber

  • MAY DAY

    We marched for hours, goingnowhere really, but nowhere wasthe point of the marching so weachieved the goal the Air Force set.We didn’t even think it oddthat they made us shave our heads,so we’d all look like fools,there was a war on and wewere in the military, so wehad already proven that point.We were the smarter…

    Lou Faber

  • HAIKU

    The small house fly hasno arachnophobiaonly once in life. In the Norway Sprucepine cones threaten to descend.Squirrels sit waiting. In the sunlit parkthe small dog watches the mango fetch the thrown ball Maple leaves emergealmost certain that winteris now history A rain of petalscherry snow covers the groundwe await the fruit.

    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

  • FOR THE BIRDS

    I’ve always been a bird person, perhaps it is just jealousy their ability to fly unencumbered, encased, to lift up by will alone. Here it is all about water, the Muscovy ducks waddling up to me each morning, pleading for the handout they should now know will not be forthcoming, at least when anyone else…

    Lou Faber

  • TEMPORAL LOGIC

    Once upon a time isn’t such a timeless expression if you take time to consider that time doesn’t actually fly nor does it march on, and if it is truly on our side we wouldn’t need to buy it. I don’t need it to smell the roses and it doesn’t wait for me, although I…

    Lou Faber

  • LOST, AGAIN

    It would help, she said, if you would stop thinking of yourself as Sisyphus and all of life as the rock, you might actually, one day, begin to enjoy what you do. It would help, he said, if I could be like a great blue heron, grow wings and take to a summer sky leaving…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FLY

    The fly hovers before me I stare at it trying to freeze its diaphanous wings to hold it, still, in my mind’s eye locking it in a moment that might last my eternity. I sit calmly in the chair staring out at the storm building outside the window as the fly stares at me seeing…

    Lou Faber