an old writer and his words

  • MOVING ON

    NOTE: TODAY’S POST FOLLOWS BELOW: Dear poetry-lovers,           Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following my blog. Some of you have been daily readers since it began 9 years ago, some are more sporadic or more recent followers.  Thank you one and all. As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount…

    Lou Faber

  • DOWNSIDE UP

    For just one dayI want to look at everythingfrom the opposite side,the back or the bottom only.The coffee cup from whichI have sipped a thousand cappuccinoshas initials and I now wantto know who shaped it,how they did the glazeand what they saw in its pattern.So many things will tell mewhere they are from, eventhose who…

    Lou Faber

  • SHEPHERDING

    Today I paused to considerhow odd it must be for thoseborn, bred and always livingin a city, say New York, andto sill be a lover of poetry.So many poets, from Keatsto Hirshfield will take youinto nature, bathe you in wordsbeneath a star lit sky, sit youin a meadow, breathing airthat has never known the exhaustof…

    Lou Faber

  • CABERNET

    Sitting at the table lookingat a glass of cabernet sauvignonits legs long reaching from rimto dwindling pool I ask myselfif I could imagine tending the vinesin France or more likely Napawatching the purple orbs take formand cluster, caring for the canesthat have deemed themselvestoo old to bear any longer.My knees are tired and dirtycutting the…

    Lou Faber

  • UMMON’S FARM RICE CAKE

    If you tell a masterthat you want to tastethe full richness of Buddhismdo not be surprisedif he smilesand hands youa glass of pureunflavored water. A reflection on case 78 of the Book of Equanimity (従容錄, Shōyōroku)

    Lou Faber

  • FOR THE BIRTHDAY BOY

    On April 23 of this coming year,Wiliam Shakespeare will celebratehis 450th birthday, a momentous occasionto be certain, but knowing how cantankeroushe can be the odds of him showing upat the party I want to throw for him areabout as slim as the odds of Bob Dylanever sitting down on the edge of the stagewherever he…

    Lou Faber

  • SLAINTE

    Ireland should have felt alien,but it never did during our visit,nor had Scotland years earlier.And it wasn’t that I loved Scotchand Irish Whiskey and Guinnessalthough I did all of those, andtraditional Celtic music to boot.What I didn’t know then, whatI wouldn’t learn for a decadewas that my taste for thingsIrish and Scottish was woven,twisted into…

    Lou Faber

  • A PASSION

    I don’t know just whatmoment it was when wantingbecame desire, wishingblazed into passion butfor nothing in particular,so if I found it I mightwell not know what I had.None of this was lovemuch was likely delusion,but passion consumes logicand returns only ashes.I am older now, passionhas grown softer aroundit’s edges, but it remainsconsuming like a fine…

    Lou Faber

  • SAVANNAH

    The morning clings to youlike a damp sheet, the foglifting slowly, a magnifierpulled away from the square,the live oaks edging into focus. You sit at the table, wipingthe crumbs from you reallydon’t want to know when,a steaming cortado waitingpatiently for the first bitesof the large scones onthe mismatched plates. In the background a cry,“vanilla soy…

    Lou Faber

  • CABERNET

    I should pause for a momentand mourn the plump orbsvinaceous in the morning sun,torn free, placed in basketsand carried off to be crushed.But the cabernet beckons,its first sip telling the taleof the California summer,the oak having long forgottenthe tree from which it was cut,and I watch as the sunreluctantly retreats,a flaming farewell, the promiseof a…

    Lou Faber