an old writer and his words

  • A DRY GARDEN LAUGHING

    In the heart of Nara Parkthere is a five story pagoda.Deer appear, standing sentinelalong the lantern lined walk.Up the unseen hillthe Temple bell announcesthe full arrival of morningas the Golden Buddha awakens.Young children can seeall of this through eyesunlensed, and fetter free.They watch cloudsrelease a cascadeof tiny maple leaveswhich flow over sitting monks,a stream washing…

    Lou Faber

  • MOVING DAY

    In my dream last nightI was moving a matress, queen sized,probably with box springs butit was wrapped, from my parents’ hometo my apartment, but not usinga vehicle, just pushing italong the streets, obeyingall the traffic signals, usingmy turn indicators, althoughdon’t ask why a mattress hadturn lights, just accept that it did.It was arduous work, and…

    Lou Faber

  • REAR VIEW MIND

    I spent too much time lookingbackward, looking into the past,looking into the mirrorto frame a dream historyof my desires and fears.He called one morning, lefta message, “Mother died,more details will follow.”A mother his by birth,mine by legal act.I should have felt stunnedanger, I said quietly to myselfhe’s cocky, has issues, and wentabout momentary mourning.That is…

    Lou Faber

  • LAMBERT FIELD

    The gravestones, in random shapes line the hill the morning chillcreeps between them and onto the runway until washed awayby the spring sun slowly pushing upwardas the jet noise washes the hill unheard He passed away quietly in his bed ending his dreadof the cancer slowly engulfing him his vision dimmedby the morphine that pulsed…

    Lou Faber

  • THE CLIMB

    Life should be a like a mountainalthough truth be told, weprefer it more like a prairieor at best a gentle, rolling hill. There is a challenge to climbing,hell maintaining a grip halfwayup most mountains, andthere are no maps, nowell worn paths, you justgo up until you cannotgo up higher then youfigure out how to come…

    Lou Faber

  • PLAYERS

    Last night the actorstrod the boardscarrying us on their backs.This wasn’t Pittsburghbut we believed it so.We’ve never been to the Hillbut we walked its blighted streets.In the mirror we are white,but not last evening.He is five years deadbut last nightAugust Wilson escorted usto a placewe had never imagined,and we were alltoo glad to visit.

    Lou Faber

  • THIRST

    A man stands on the peak of a hill,staring down into the valley below him,but it is not clear what he is staring at. Standing in the valley, by the bankof a slowly flowing river, I stareup the tall hill to its peak, and see the clouds gather around the manas if soon to swallow…

    Lou Faber

  • POOR JACK

    He does not want to hear it,but someone needs to tell Jackjust how foolish this makes him look. It shouldn’t require a degreein hydrogeology or philosophical logicto realize that water, like all matter obeys the basic laws of physics,the concept of gravity being a principalthat says you don’t climb to find water. Some, quite unfairly…

    Lou Faber

  • TRICKSTER

    Coyote no longer inhabits the hill south of our city. Yet we know he is there, staring down at the lake, watching the grape clusters fatten on the vines. We cannot see the orange-red orbs of his eyes on a still winter night. We know he sees us. Coyote cannot be found, no carcasses attest…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILL ROAD

    In the hills that rise gently from the concrete valley two hawks play childlike, rising, falling in gentle circles, grazing the redwoods that reach up to stroke their breasts. To a visitor from the East New York, Tokyo there is awe at the hawks’ grace, slicing the sky into cloudy ribbons but there is no…

    Lou Faber