an old writer and his words

  • MASTER MA IS UNWELL

    Yesterday is but a shadowand tomorrow an illusion.Do not wallow in the mudof attempted memory, donot sink in the mireof deluded anticipation.Stop, listen to the sunand the moon singof the Dharma, hearthe silence it bringsfor you are alivein this moment,and there isno other momentin which you can live. A reflection on Case 3 of the…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT VISITOR

    Across Bedford Avenuein the fourth floor windowthe antique bird printis bathed in the lightof a Chinese ginger jar lamp.Her shadow dancesacross the wall, armswrapped tightly around herselfin the sway of Terpsichoresinging her melancholy song.I hear onlythe cacophony of the drunkon the cornerbraying to the moonand the rumbleof the lorryon Tottenham Court Road. First Published in…

    Lou Faber

  • MOON WATCH

    I’m guessing it wasabout 2 AM, I can’t be suresince the only clockin the bedroom was analogand unlighted, visible only by day. I don’t know what woke me,it just seems to happen, but the moonwas peering in between the slatsof closed window blinds. I don’t like being watchedin my sleep, certainly notby some voyeuristic interloperbut…

    Lou Faber

  • UNGAN SWEEPS THE GROUND

    When you are cleaning,what becomes of the dirt?When you are bathing,what becomes of the water?When you exhale,what becomes of the breath?When the moon disappearsis the moon truly gone?When you ask your teacher,what becomes of the question?If you sit quietly on the matand do not think of this,what becomes of you? A reflection on Case 21…

    Lou Faber

  • SEASONS

    Here we measure seasonsby small changes in temperatureand for one, heavy rainfall. We are the calendar reliant,otherwise left to look at the moonand count to ascertain roughly what month it might be, butwe now live in a solar calendarworld so our lunar effortsare necessarily doomed to failure. And holidays are different here,Christmas has no snow,so…

    Lou Faber

  • CABERNET

    I should pause for a momentand mourn the plump orbsvinaceous in the morning sun,torn free, placed in basketsand carried off to be crushed.But the cabernet beckons,its first sip telling the taleof the California summer,the oak having long forgottenthe tree from which it was cut,and I watch as the sunreluctantly retreats,a flaming farewell, the promiseof a…

    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

  • THE DARK SIDE

    She is so often presentas the sun makes itsdaily retreat, weimagine she ismysterious asshe hides, ordoes she takerefuge in the shadows.?Only a fewhave truly seen herand they speak onlyof her luminescentalter ego.

    Lou Faber

  • FOUR WETLAND HAIKU

    Apple Snail shellbleached by the sun, emptyhappy Snail Kite Great Egret sitting stillwaiting, simply waitingthen flying off Red-shouldered hawkstaring into the distanceendless patience Pig frog croakingbut the moon will not answerwe fall asleep

    Lou Faber

  • HABITS

    Tonight’s moon will looksimilar to last nights, or sowe assume since the cloudsdenied us that view again. It will be fuller, more plumpless an empty cup, now onealmost full, spilling its lightinto the all too dark sky. If she is hidden again, wewill turn to our imagination,for the moon is a creatureof habit, having learned…

    Lou Faber