an old writer and his words

  • BECAUSE

    The older man walks slowly downthe beach, each foot carefully placedto find a purchase the waves would take away.He shields his eyes from the sun, ignoresthe myriad shells the ocean offers up,does not bother to hear the song of the wavesthat soon will erase all evidenceof his presence here today.He walks along this beach becauseothers…

    Lou Faber

  • REFLECTIONS

    When I gaze into the mirrorI see an aging man that I knowshould not be me and yetI know that he could only be me.I want to know just what I didto fall into disfavor with the gods,why they stripped me ofthe immortality I knewI once had, now gone.I know there is no getting itback…

    Lou Faber

  • OCCASIONALLY

    I can still remember that dayin San Francisco, on Columbusjust down from City Lights Books,a young man sitting on a milk crateanother in front of him on whichhe perched an old typewriter.“A dollar buys you a poem”he said with a mix of hopeand resignation, his fingers poisedover the worn keys, their lettersfading as was his…

    Lou Faber

  • I WANT TO BELIEVE

    I want to believethat I am a man of words,to think you would agree,for words inundate my world. In my home I live among wordssome mine, mostly those of others. They follow me like a shadowat noon, the sunalways on my face. I want to know what theywant from me but theydo not answer or…

    Lou Faber

  • FOUR HAIKU

    The aging man staresat the passing flock of ducksimagining flight Green Heron looksout over the placid pondsmall fish get nervous Sandhill Cranes watch usstopping to take their picturethey refuse to smile the heat of summerrises off the warming pondducks paddle to shore

    Lou Faber

  • THE OLD MAN

    My father was the old mancurled in the hospital bed,his mind and memoriesseeping into the sheetsuntil only the husk remainedand I knew that it, too,would soon be reduced to ash.In my dream I wasthe old man in that bedbut I knew it was not mefor I clearly rememberedmy fading father wellwhile he, in those days,remembered…

    Lou Faber

  • BREATHING

    Somewhere at this very momenta baby takes its first breath,a man dies unexpectedly,a fledgeling bird takes flight,a star is bornor enters its death throes,one of the last of a species is gone,a battle is fought in a senseless war,a waterway is fouled with pollution,smog grips a city,an old man clings to memories.I am still aliveand…

    Lou Faber

  • BUENOS AIRES ON THE GENESEE

    If this were Buenos Aires, if I were Borges, it would all make a great deal of sense. A man, older, and older still if you look closely, walks into an elegant hotel bar. A jazz quintet is playing, straight up, trumpet, piano, guitar, stand up bass, drum kit. The older man is wearing white…

    Lou Faber

  • SAY WHAT?

    In the heart of the night Iam wandering the back streetsand alleys of old Kyoto when Istumble across old Joshu staringplacidly at his acolyte monksgathered closely around him.“I ask you all again,” he says,“does a dog have Buddha Nature?”The monks consider this at length,each afraid to respond incorrectly.In this dream I am a cat out…

    Lou Faber

  • THE PARK

    He was taking a shortcut across the park. He saw the clouds building, about to bring the long-promised rain. He wasn’t sure why he decided to walk home rather than take the bus as he usually did. He didn’t like to walk, but the doctor had told him he needed to exercise more, and he…

    Lou Faber