an old writer and his words

  • COLOURS

    We hunted him as a stagacross his fields, trophywe called him red man,color of Ares, godssacrificed on our altar,his rivers run with his spirit.I am whitebereft of color,barren, a glarea desert stripped of life.It is I who wearCain’s mark, pluckedfrom the gardenthe sweet taste fadesmy lips are dry.You are blackan amalgam, greenof the grasses in…

    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

  • IN A HIDDEN CORNER

    As stars go, of courseit is rather nondescript,small, middle agedstuck in a distant cornerof a not all thatimpressive galaxy. Yet each morningit sweeps the skystoring all of its kin,even the biggestand brightest, intoits own celestial closetwhere they willremain locked awayuntil it decidesit needs a restand lets them returnto once againpaint the sky.

    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

  • JOSHU’S WASH THE BOWL

    In the early morningwelcome the sun,as the day retreatswelcome the sun.When you are walkingalong the garden pathwhich foot is forwardand which footis behind? A reflection on case 67 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye)

    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

  • THE SAINT OF UNCOUNTED NAMES

    A desert again,always a desertand she the saintof uncounted names,her crying eases, nosmile appears for thisMadonna of the coyotes,her orange-orbed eyesshuttered against theslowly retreating sun.Once her tears wateredthe desert sands, mixedwith the blood of a Christnow long forgotten, trans-substantiated into a spiritwe formed in our image,no longer we in his.The Blessed Motherwatches, holding hope,holding space,…

    Lou Faber

  • MINDFUL

    I saw the sunrise this morningover Mt. Hood, theglow that announcedto the horizon its approach.There should bein the life of every man,every woman, that momentwhen seeing dawnlift, peel back the shroudfrom Mt. Hood causes the suddenintake of just that much extra breath. Publshed in As Above, So Below, Issue 9, August 2022https://issuu.com/bethanyrivers77/docs/as_above_so_below_issue_9

    Lou Faber

  • BANISHED

    Yet again this morningthere was a shadowclosely following me. When I turned, it stoodin front of me, daring meto do something I guess. When I asked it whoit was, it said I am youyou dottering old man. I told it that such a liedefied belief, for it wasfar taller than me. It was about to…

    Lou Faber

  • ODE TO PATIENCE

    The jetty is replete todaywith tourists, pale as the sunbleached concrete, stoppingto gawk at the fishermenwho ignore them intenton watching the sadly still line. The pelicans sit on the rocksgrooming and posing, talkingloudly on occasion beforespreading wings and flying off.Out on the jetty a pelican waitspatiently for the fishermanto pack up for the day, knowinghe…

    Lou Faber