an old writer and his words

  • “Geography”

    People of the mountainare quiet, some say taciturnpreferring to listen for the cryof the eagle, wind whistlingits familiar tune through a passsnow rent from the facetearing down in a crystalline cloud. People of the shoremerge with the songof the waves, feel its tempopunctuated by the barkof the whale, the hornanchored in the harbor,the tavern disgorgingits…

    Lou Faber

  • BLINDNESS

    The Great Egret standson the shore of the pondand stares at the tall grassesseeing what we cannot. We are impatient, walkaway quickly, anxiousto get on with our dayalthough we have no plans. We do not see him lungeplucking breakfastfrom the swaying reed,he sees us blind to nature.

    Lou Faber

  • THE WAVES

    We, so far out at sea,see only the waves passing,the rise and fall, the rhythm,and cannot imagineit could be otherwise, You, on the shorecannot perceive the waveswe do, torn by the reefthat leaves you onlyimagining what you thinkthe waves might be. We cannot imaginethe silence, the isolationyou must feel in yourwaveless world withonly memory of…

    Lou Faber

  • THE POND

    Along the shoreof the pond wishingit was a lake,the anhinga proudlyshows off the small fishthat will be hismid-morning snack. The egret findsthis show of ostentationabhorrent and returnsto her searchfor bugs on the reedsfringing the shore. The alligator swimslazily off shorehoping we willsoon pass, andconsiders whetherhe wants only to sun,or if an anhinga wouldmake a good…

    Lou Faber

  • SIREN SONG

    I should stand on the shoretake up a great shelland blow a trumpet songto the whales who stayalways just beyond sight. I have no shoreon which to standand had I one, I lackthe skill to plucka song from a shelland so the whalesI imagine offshoremust listen carefullyto the song I castdeep within my dreams.

    Lou Faber

  • NATURE SPEAKS

    Along the shore, this morning, the clouds piled up, refusing entry to the promised sun, which hung back forlorn. The waves charged onto the sand like so many two-year-olds in full tantrum, banging against all in sight and retreating, only to charge again, pushing away any and all in their path. The wind pummels the…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING AT THE SHORE

    Along the shore, this morning, the clouds piled up, refusing entry to the promised sun, which hung back forlorn. The waves charged onto the sand like so many two year olds in full tantrum, banging against all in sight and retreating, only to charge again, pushing away any and all in their path. The wind…

    Lou Faber

  • CHANNELING

    I am swimming strongly, easily my strokes powerful, gliding over the waves that seemed to collapse beneath me. The water is surprisingly warm not the frigidity I expected, more like a now tepid tub, but left too long. I can glance up and see the other side and it is approaching rapidly. This will be…

    Lou Faber

  • SEKITO’S GREAT AND SMALL CANON 正法眼蔵 語十三

    This wave touches the shore just as it should, that wave touches the shore just as it should. You may wait an eternity for a wave that touches but not as it should or you can sit and let the waves wash over you.

    Lou Faber

  • HELL, FAR LEFT CORNER

    I suspect that I am not alone in wondering if there is a corner of literary hell set aside for those who foist clichés on the world and at the head of that table should sit the fellow who first said “time marches on.” Even Einstein realized that time is relative, and as one who…

    Lou Faber