an old writer and his words

  • NIGHT

    The night slowly encases the citythe river flows on toward the lakebirds shiver in the biting chill,the street light flickers and goes out,the wind whistles around the windows,snow begins to coat the trees’ bare branches,a squirrel looks up forlornly,the traffic light inexorably changes colors,TV’s flicker behind curtained windows,we slide beneath the blankets,sleep comes slowly to…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE HAIKU

    wind blows from the northwind blows from the westthe tree is indifferent an old mantis praysseeking nothing for himselfthe sun smiles on him. on the hillsidesheep curl into a furrowcounting shepherds

    Lou Faber

  • THE SNAKE’S LAMENT

    You realize that it getstiring always being the onewho they try to blamefor all manner of sinsand flat-out mistakes. I get the garden, but allI did was show them the apple,they decided to eat it despiteHis warning, so how is that on me? And do you know how hardit was for the wife and Ito…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING SONG (Awdl Gywydd)

    The sun creeps down city streetsdew retreats from the grassesand fills the air, with sweet scentuntil spent, the bus passes. The robin sits in the treeas worms flee into the lawn.The morning foretells the rainthat will slowly drain the dawn. The city quietly wakesand stretching, shakes off the sleepit slowly comes back to life,the sun…

    Lou Faber

  • AT GRAVESIDE

    It is odd that cemeteries arequite often the site of oration,soliloquies delivered with great emotion,be it love, regret or anger.Often they are paeans or jeremiadsmeant to be delivered in personbut held back until it is only the stonethat bears the brunt of the words.And yet a burden is liftedfrom the speakers for they assumethe dead…

    Lou Faber

  • TOKYO SNAPSHOTS

    In the small yardof the matchbox housethe lone Ginkgotwisted by timefeels the barrennessof winter’s tongueand mournsits solitude. The apartment building looms upover the tracks of the Narita Expressthe balconies are deserted, savefor the laundry which flapsin the morning breeze,slapping with the gustsinto the small satellite dishesbolted to the railings. The ancient trees are twistedand gnarled,…

    Lou Faber

  • BACKROADS

    When you drive on back roadsyou develop a differentsense of direction, of place.You know you’re in the Southby the trees, Spanish mosshanging like heavy rainand stealing the leavesof smaller trees, andall manner of thingshanging from or affixedbetween trees, a tire swing,something passing for a hammockand endless clotheslinesannouncing that herethe seasons are measuredby rainfall and temperaturesthat…

    Lou Faber

  • BEARING FRUIT

    Tomorrow it will be timewith the two mangoes in the fruit bowlto make the ultimate sacrifice.Some say they were born to the taskand perhaps so, but the treefrom which they were torn saidit was not yet their time, that shewould have released them in due coursebut our impatience demanded otherwise.I will take my two knives,…

    Lou Faber

  • AND NEXT

    “I’m not getting any younger”is, of course, a positively idiotic statementbeating the obvious to deathwith a blunt verbal instrument.But it still beats sayingthat death impends ever closerfor that is simply turgidand odious all at the same time.What I’m here to sayis that by being crematedI’m saving you all mannerof expense, no gravesite, no stone,no maintenance…

    Lou Faber

  • MEMORY

    She regularly visits the cemetery,sits for hours on the little folding stoolshe brings with her, at his gravesiteand reminisces with him over momentsof joy and sadness they had shared.Once a year she brings flowerswhich she leaves in the small pot.When she planted them in the soilbut would find them dead by her next visit.She wondered…

    Lou Faber