an old writer and his words

  • REFRAMED DREAMS

    In my reframed dreamI am sitting in a smoky bar,bathed in the neon of Roppongi.with the sour smell of Sapporo and Asahiwafting up from the beer-damp floor.I don’t want to be here, wantto be miles and miles from this placein the shadows of Mount Wakakusawalking slowly through Todai-jiin search of something I haveyet to find,…

    Lou Faber

  • DEALING WITH IT

    How strange it was today to takethe younger of our two cars, this onesoon to be ten, but low milageby anyone’s standards,under 2,000 miles a year,to the dealer after needinga jump start on a battery lessthan a year old, and knowing froma lifetime of such visits the havocthey wreak on your wallet, and thenwaiting more…

    Lou Faber

  • SHEEPISH

    As a child, when Ihad trouble falling asleepmy mother would trot outthe ancient saw and tell meto just count sheep. I tried to point outto her that we livedin an upscale suburband there were no sheepfor miles for me to count. This hardly deterred herand she repeated herdirections, in a strongertone of voice that she…

    Lou Faber

  • EARLY MORNING

    Early this morning as I drove through the mist that clings to Portland in March like a child’s yellow slicker, I thought of you, home, asleep on our bed, my side tidy, no faint indentation of life, and I thought of the thousands who have died to date in Iraq, who never again will leave…

    Lou Faber