an old writer and his words

  • OCTOBER

    There is an infinite spaceAround us, a massive voidinto which universes tumbleand stars and planets are born.Outside, the maple leavesburning flame and crimsonspiral to the lawn, whichwaits to receive them.Autumn is the seasonwhen the earth prepares to dieand it is left to usto prepare the gravesite.The albino squirrel standson the fence rail, defyingme to find…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE HAIKU

    sun consumes itselffurnace heat grips the citysmall maple withers setting summer sunturns the river to purplemoon comes from hiding giant cranes are perchedon thin spindly legs, necks bowedsteel beams scratch the clouds

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • PLAYIN’ WHAT’S NOT THERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes –that’s where the music is.We heard him, we smiled,we anticipated the nextnote and the next.Outside my windowa blue jayrecites his morning prayer,the child’s laughbreaks the frozen skyand shivers the maple.Then all is silence –even the windholds its breathnot in anticipationbut to create the voidthat nature…

    Lou Faber

  • SMALL REFLECTION

    It is that moment when the moonis a glaring crescent,slowly engulfed bythe impending night—when the few clouds give outtheir fading glowin the jaundiced lightof the sodium arc street lamp.It nestles the curb—at first a small bird—when touched, a twisted piece of root. I want to walk into the weed-strewnaging cemetery, stand in the shadowof the…

    Lou Faber

  • WASHING OUT

    I wrote down the biggestmistakes I made in lifeon the backs of newly fallenmaple leaves, and carried them,a fair number, to the river. I cast them onto the water,some quickly swept up,a few lingering on a fallentree partially dammingthe flow, waiting for this. Most disappeared asthe water approachedthe falls, cascaded overon its way to the…

    Lou Faber

  • OF THE SEASONS

    In the heart of winter, then,which seemed unendingI would stare out at the maplesbarren branches piledin ever tottering snowand dream of palm treesand a warm ocean breeze. In heart of winter now,such as it is, all I seeare endless palms andmany Southern Live Oaks,their branches piledunder a heavy burdenof sagging Spanish Mossand I dream of…

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING AUTUMN

    This is the seasonwhen the maplesbegan their rainof colored tears. It may still be so,but not here,and the palmsknow no seasons. Once there wasa veil of lilac,bushes trying tooutdo the others. But at leastthe magnolias carenothing for distanceoffering their beauty here and where wenow have onlymemories of the ebband flow of seasons.

    Lou Faber

  • FEEDER

    The seed specklesthe snow like buckshotpiled neatly under the branchwhere we, fingers numbed,tied the little chaletto the lowest limbof the ancient maple.The birds stand staringas the squirrel swingsslowly in the breeze. First Appeared in Echoes, March – April 1996.

    Lou Faber

  • HAIKU

    The small house fly hasno arachnophobiaonly once in life. In the Norway Sprucepine cones threaten to descend.Squirrels sit waiting. In the sunlit parkthe small dog watches the mango fetch the thrown ball Maple leaves emergealmost certain that winteris now history A rain of petalscherry snow covers the groundwe await the fruit.

    Lou Faber