an old writer and his words

  • TWO HAIKU

    A lone ginkgo leafclings to the now barren branchdefying winter. Great blue Herons stareat the slowly passing cloudsobscuring their home.

    Lou Faber

  • WATCHING

    Under the ever watchful eyeof the Red-shouldered Hawkthe Great Blue Heron foragesfor sticks for its slowlygrowing nest which ithas carefully nestled inthe heart of the small wetland.The hawk, his own nestnow complete stands sentrywarning me, my camerato keep our distance for thisis his territory and onlythose of fellow wingare allowed to enter intoits privileged realm.Soon…

    Lou Faber

  • AFFIXED

    I can only begin to imaginehow utterly strange I must lookto the Great Blue Heron standingin the wetland behind our home.What must he make of this odd creaturewith thick legs that seemdisproportionately short comparedto their bodies, why their neckshave such limited mobility, whythey cannot look behind themselvesor scratch their chins with their toes.But the birds…

    Lou Faber

  • REINCARNATION

    In my next lifeI want to come backas a Great Blue Heron. I will majesticallystand by a lake, capturingfish, capturing the eyeof all who wander by,pausing in awe and desire. And I will havethe one thing I knowI now lack, that traitthat has escaped mefor far too many years,patience, the abilityto stand and stareuntil the…

    Lou Faber

  • WE ARE IN KANSAS, TOTO

    In my dream, the worldwas at peace, and I was ridingacross Kansas on a unicycle, towingmy car, packed to the windows,my dog walking alongside urgingme to speed up because shewanted to visit South Dakota.I am due for a tricycle, Iremind the dog, “the gravemore likely,” she respondswith a sneer that teeters betweenlove and spite, always…

    Lou Faber

  • IN THE WETLANDS

    Walking through a nature preservelike Wakodahatchee Wetlands youmust always keep a sharp eye. The birds are everywhere, they areunavoidable and even the alligators,imagining themselves coy are soon enough easily recognized,snouts appear just above the surfacewary eyes scanning the shore. Here you are also surroundedby poems, but they are far moreable to hide, among the eggs…

    Lou Faber