an old writer and his words

  • RETIREMENT

    A pair of wood storks were lazingon the verge of the pond thatimagines itself a lake, however small.They were breakfasting in the grassesthat arise in the dry season hereonly to be drowned by its counterpart.They acknowledge that like methey are retired but not by choice, they say,only because the malpractice insurancefor delivering babies has grownso…

    Lou Faber

  • JAPANESE POEMS

    They watch the heronhe wonders what it is liketo be able to fly She gently smiles back knowing he would never leave the safety of earth. Wading birds are stillignoring the frequent rainsthe wet season now

    Lou Faber

  • UNSHOVELING

    There is much to love here,not the least of which is the lackof snow always needing to be shoveledwhen your back is most sore,when you need to be somewhereon a schedule the clouds chose to ignore.But the one thing you cannot find,the thing you never expectedto be that which you most missis the polychromatic season.For…

    Lou Faber

  • LILAC

    It is the season, I remember,when the clusters of flowersrip free of their cocoons andgrasp the warming sun, spewingout their sweet fragranceto bees and people alike.They know their time is short,turn riotous in pastel shadeswhite, pink, purple, lilacthey hope we will not soon forget.It was always like that, an annualrite of beauty that we havegiven…

    Lou Faber

  • ALL TOO SOON

    We know it is a matter of timebefore the rains will come,the hurricanes will wailand inundate our world.We have planned for thisand we know we are not ready.We will be overwhelmedas we are each time, homeslost to floods that risefrom an angry ocean tiredof not being heeded.We will bail, pump and mop,wage a losing battleagainst…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING

    The clocks have begrudginglyshifted again, the earlymorning lost in darknessbarely illuminated by a waning moon.The fronds of the Royal Palm’swhisper “we are here, waitfor us.” But they are mere shadowsbegging for dawn’s arrival.Finally the sun engulfs the starswatching over the horizon,the fronds say “look at me,I will give you an infinitepalette of green that will…

    Lou Faber

  • AGAIN, AGAIN

    It is the seasonagain.It is always the season,and everythingis now interpretation,relativity rules.Once truthwas absolute,it was notmalleable, fluidseen through a lensno one possesses,only asking faith.Deafnessis an escapeout of its reachand it will bethis way each dayuntil the election.It willagain be the season.Rinse andrepeat.

    Lou Faber

  • LEAVING

    They don’t do that here,the leaves do not demand to be seenonly in their chosen seasonsand their palette is self-limited.There is no budding in spring,no malus or prunus throwing offwild cascades of white and pinkpainting the ground around them.There is no riot of coloras summer retreats and winterplans its eventual arrival,blazing reds and oranges,yellow, ochers…

    Lou Faber

  • RISING TIME

    Night rises slowlyfrom tangled rootsdragging ocher and rustfrom reluctant trees,promising only winter.We cannot see this,we sense only time eroding,slipping off untilthe trees are naked.They want onlyto hide themselvesin a shimmering gownof snow, recallingtheir verdancy, imagininganother season, a seasonof hope, a seasonof consecration, of light,of resurrection.We stand emotionallystripped on the banksof the stream into whichwe cannot…

    Lou Faber

  • IT’S BACK

    Professional football is here againthe only real question is whichof us, and many of us shallgrow frustrated by our team,will curse their ineptitude andheaven forbid, write offthe rest of the seasonand watch games based solelyon the quality of the teams playing.Then there are the occasional onesof us who are certain they are a jinxand only…

    Lou Faber