an old writer and his words

  • ADMISSION

    We do not like to admitthat nature laughs at usas we pretend to bend herto our will and desires. We dam and reroute rivers,but the river knows wellthat it will return, flowwhere it wishes, for itwill be here long afterwe have returned to the soil. Still, now and again naturegrows weary with our meddlingand unleashes…

    Lou Faber

  • ANCESTRY

    Children have an innate senseof their ancestry.I was a child of the cityit’s streets my paths, alwaysunder the watchful eyeof my warden – mother. Dirt was to be avoidedat all possible cost,so I never dug my handsinto the fertile soil of myvillage in the heart of Lithuania,or tasted the readying harvestthat dirt would remember. I…

    Lou Faber

  • RETIRED

    God sits at his easel, brush in handand thinks about the butterflyalighting on the oak.This man would rather paintthe nightmare of hell, buthe has been cast out andhis memory has grown dim.He remembers being a small childamused by the worm peeringfrom soil in a fresh rain and howwhen he split it, both halveswould slither awayin…

    Lou Faber

  • ORIGIN

    I am told that I should writeabout my origins, that is the stuffthat long poems are made of, orrather the soil from which they bloom. I have written about my birth motherand visited her grave in West Virginiaseen those of my grandparents, meta cousin, I’ve written all of that. So its time to write aboutmy…

    Lou Faber

  • ETERNAL SPRING

    Spring has arrived, however begrudgingly,and the young woman pushesthe older woman’s wheelchairalong the paths of the great park.Neither speaks, but each knowsthis could be the last time they do this.That shared knowledge paintseach flower in a more vibrant hue,each fallen petal is quicklybut individually mourned for,its beauty draining back into the soil.The older woman struggles…

    Lou Faber

  • NATURAL LOGIC

    Nature has a way of applyinga perfect logic that eludesits most complex creatures,we claiming to be first among them. Nature grants the houseflya quite short life, but allows itto see a thousand images at once,a lifetime of vision in mere days. The tortoise is consigned to crawlalong at a laggard’s pace, outrunby other animals, who…

    Lou Faber

  • GROUNDED

    it was so much easier when I could stillimagine myself a bird, untetheredand free to take flight on a whim. In dreams I often flew, no Icarusbut a raptor, peering down, seeingwith a clarity the earth denied me. Now my roots have taken holdin the enmeshing soil plunged deepand spread tendrils anchoring me, and even…

    Lou Faber

  • CUTTING THOUGHTS

    My wife pauses by the placardin the nature preserve and tells methat what I have been calling grassesare in fact a sedge known as sawgrass. She points out the warning thatit’s serrated on the edge and earnedits name from those who graspedit without knowing or thinking first. I feign listening but she knowsmy mind is…

    Lou Faber

  • NATURALIA NON SUNT TURPIA

    When did we stop being of the soil and begin to fear it, to tell our children not to touch the ground, it is dirty where once it was only dirt, and we put in our mouths, from time to time if only to drive our mothers crazy. She says if you are going to…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THE SEDGE

    My wife pauses by the placard in the nature preserve and tells me that what I have been calling grasses are in fact a sedge known as sawgrass. She points out the warning that it’s serrated on the edge and earned its name from those who grasped it without knowing or thinking first. I feign…

    Lou Faber