an old writer and his words

  • SLAINTE

    It is just that sort of summer day when the sparse clouds crawl ever more slowly across the city, peering down, as if wishing they could end their journey, knowing this won’t happen. On the fields of Falkirk and Culloden Moor stained with the blood of ancestors who, only now, claim me as one of…

    Lou Faber

  • ALOFT

    She imagined what it must be like to have wings. She always wanted to be unmoored from the ground, to be free of its incessant pull, to look down on it from high above, and not with aid of contraption, just her, arms outstretched. The ground was a prison. She could move about, yes, but…

    Lou Faber

  • ONCE

    There was a time not all that long ago, he reminds me, when the event of an eclipse was a certain sign the world was ending. Prayers were offered in profusion, and the event proceeded and passed, so faith in prayer was restored, if not in astronomy. Today eclipses are viewed as just other celestial…

    Lou Faber

  • BECAUSE

    “Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.”-Shelley I write                                                                     because words must be said words must be said    …

    Lou Faber

  • RAPTOR

    Bald eagle perches tree top winter barren gray and stares at stunted pines. Hawk, head tucked under massive wings reaching for distant stars rides a thermal coaster waiting for squirrels. Hills cry out raging against dawn tears flow puddling in footprints of a distant god.

    Lou Faber

  • ISOLATION

    She wondered what it would be like to be an island, set off somewhere in a vast ocean, tropical preferably where the only sounds were the ebb and flow of the waves, the thunder of the occasional storm and the whisper of leaves tossed by the omnipresent sea breezes. she liked isolation, the silence of…

    Lou Faber

  • FREEDOM

    He took copious notes until he knew without doubt of the proper progression. He double checked to insure he missed nothing. When he was certain he set out and disappeared over the horizon.

    Lou Faber

  • FLIGHT

    One thousand cranes take flight and there is a sudden silence as the cat stares up, bidding them farewell. We barely stop to notice, despite the rainbow of colors replacing the clouds, even the sun seeming to pause in wonder. Two thousand hands made this happen, one person, unrelenting, knowing anything less would be nothing…

    Lou Faber

  • CECI N’EST PAS UN PARC

    This morning over the Park a Magritte sky is hung. Several birds gather in an old oak to discuss this, twittering thoughts in surprise. Their conclusions fly off at the approach of a black lab joyously frolicking in imagined freedom.

    Lou Faber

  • NO MIND, NO BUDDHA 無門關 三十三

    Baso knows well only the ox truly understands the yoke but if you offer it the ox will not accept. Why would you seek to become the ox? It would be better to burn the yoke. A reflection on Case 33 of The Mumonkan (The Gateless Gate)

    Lou Faber