an old writer and his words

  • AND THEN

    My Buddhism teaches me that Ishould be in this moment,present in an infinitesimally smallbit of time, always here, never staying.This morning my back had an issuewith me, and made its displeasure known.Pain fills moments, elongates themand time ever moving appears to slow,to grind along, almost to a halt.Would that pleasure might do the samebut it…

    Lou Faber

  • MESA

    This nightin cold moonlightearth rises upclouds float downghosts walk the margin.Old ones singnow shall be thenolder ones still singthen shall be onceto wolf and coyote.In this season of north windssun’s heat barrenspirits rise updreams descendman lies interspersed.Women singwe are bearersmen singwe are sowers. First appeared in Dipity, Vol. 3, April 2023

    Lou Faber

  • OR CUT BAIT

    They sit or stand patientlyon the jetty, a concrete pathjutting out into the ocean. The old timers have twolines out, bait bucketsitting in the bicycle-wheeledcart parked on the edgeof the jetty’s bouldered margin. You don’t ask what they’vecaught, that would be obvious,and you know they are here forthe act of fishing, and the catchis that…

    Lou Faber

  • RESEARCH

    She is a small woman dressed in white, save for black platform slingback pumps and cherry red eyeglass frames. She hunches forward in her seat seeming as though she might collapse, pouring over tables and graphs – biochemical research papers. You measure the depth of her attention by the frequency with which she  pulls single…

    Lou Faber

  • AT THE MARGINS

    Horizons are the thing we have they greatest trouble with. They are omnipresent, immutable and yet move at our approach. They are at once inviting and fear inducing, though now we are largely convinced they do not mark the edge of a precipice over which we would catapult into some endless abyss crossing their margin.…

    Lou Faber

  • OF DREAMS

    In our small world night and day are separated by dreams that escape just beyond our consciousness. We search for deeper meaning even as we are certain they will leave us as they have long before we could remember. That is the trouble with margins, they ebb and flow without warning, their arrivals and departures…

    Lou Faber