an old writer and his words

  • THE SEA

    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

  • THEY WANT

    They all want to tell mewhich direction I should go, thatno matter which direction I am goingit is not the right direction.They want to tell me what to say,that what I am saying is wrong,although I am wholly silent.They want to tell mewhat to think, what I shouldnot even think, although theycannot know my thoughts.They…

    Lou Faber

  • WANDERER

    I was too long an Israelite wandering in a desert searchingfor the promised identity, followingon faith and a belief that allwould eventually be revealed.I created images of you, of whoI thought you might be, hiddenfrom all, just a voice in my dreams.I was an Aaron, the loyal siblingnever questioning why I livedin their always slightly…

    Lou Faber

  • SLEEVE

    I wear my hearton my sleeve, he said,so you know what I’mfeeling at any given momentand I am an open bookso you can read my thoughtswhenever you wish to do so. His smile said he wasproud of this state,and he did say it sethim apart from most people. She laughed and saidto him, “But you…

    Lou Faber

  • UMMON’S MOUNT SUMERU

    When you ask your teacherwhat happens when youstop thinking, allowno new thoughtswhat you expect himto tell you? The dead have no thoughtsbut that is not the doorto Nirvana. But if thoughts abandon youwithout your effort, withoutbeing asked to do so,then the door you seekwill open before you. A reflection on case 19 of the Book…

    Lou Faber

  • OH, HELL

    You say that I am an apostate,hell bent, hell bound, soon to meetthe hell hound awaiting my arrival. You have condemned me for thoughtsthat deviate from your own, youare the guardians of the Word, you say, although whose words you guard is everharder and harder to discern, certainlynot those of He who died for saying…

    Lou Faber

  • DEEP

    Deep beneath the Arctic icethe whale songs shimmerin the harsh lightof a frozen sun.We strive to hear them,hear nothing, hear onlyour thoughts echoingthrough cavernous memories.With thoughts of what was,what we wish had been,we are ambient noisein a universe whichcradles hope, craves silence.Dolphins dream of dayswhen the sea was theirs,lives lived in a slow paradisea world…

    Lou Faber

  • STARING

    She sits demurely on the stepstaring off at something.You want to know what buther face isn’t saying, her eyessoft, revealing nothing, her smileenticing, teasing, and out of grasp. You want to sit with her, seewhat she looks at, what has capturedher thoughts, and there is roomon the step for you to join her,but you have…

    Lou Faber

  • SOCKING MEMORY

    It appears unexpectedlylike a sock from behind the dryerlong after its matehas been discarded or converted to rag.You have looked for itever since it went missingand knowing the way of socksand their hiding placesthe dryer was one of the firstplaces you looked for it.Memories are much like socksnow and again running offand hiding, leaving half…

    Lou Faber

  • THE WRITER

    Why do I write, you ask.I’m a writer, so I should havea good answer, or at least a glib one. I could say I write for othersbut you would ask whothose others are, and smile knowinglywhen I have no answer. I could say I write for myself,and that would be true enough,but rather sad and…

    Lou Faber