an old writer and his words

  • NO I WILL NOT

    NOTE: TODAY’S POST FOLLOWS BELOW: Dear poetry-lovers,           Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following my blog. Some of you have been daily readers since it began 9 years ago, some are more sporadic or more recent followers.  Thank you one and all. As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount…

    Lou Faber

  • BUDDHA HOLDS OUT A FLOWER 無門關 六

    Shakyamuniholds up a fadinglotus flowerand we sit silently awaiting, not knowingpatient, afraid to smileto move, to shift posturemudra one smiles,dharma is transmitted,the kenshoof yellowed teeth. A reflection on Case 5 of the Mumonkan 無門関 (The Gateless Gate Koans)

    Lou Faber

  • ELAINE

    It’s 12 degreesthe night airslices throughmy sweatermy teeth chatter.Standing in the lotfetching my cell phonefrom the glove boxmy breath congealsaround my facea cloud.I look upat the moonsnowflakes dancingon my forehead.Luna’s faceis shroudedby a cirrus veil,but her eyesare yoursher lips softcaressingcurl upwardsin a smileas yours.I tell herof my loveand she whispersher lovereflectivelyin the voiceI hearas I…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE WORDS ARE MIND

    If you stareat a large stoneand call it a mountainthe ant will agree with you.If you gaze on a mountainand call it a stonethere can be no argument.If I call that treea toothpickclean your teeth carefully. A reflection on Case 112 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye) Koans

    Lou Faber

  • FINITE LOOP

    As it turns out, lifeis an ongoing process of accretionand deconstruction, of growthand eventual shrinkage. I started with 20 teethI am told, and got to 32,only to fall back to 23thanks to orthodontia and wear. We start with 270 or morebones, but we knit that numberdown to 206, or in my case under200, the orthopaedist’s…

    Lou Faber

  • INSIDE THE PAGE

    She asks innocently,listening to the wind whisperingthrough the bare branches of the oak,“How long have you livedin this poem,” pointingto the page of markedand remarked typescript.He looks at her as if discoveringshe’d grown another head,peeking out from betweenher well-polished teeth.“I have no idea what you mean,”he says, “I write the poems—it is up to you…

    Lou Faber

  • A SCREAM

    Then there are the days when extracting words feels like extracting teeth, and there is no Novocaine for either my pen or me. If you hear a scream, just ignore it please, it is only the agony of a poem’s death throes.

    Lou Faber