an old writer and his words

  • DYBBUK

    The evening slowly entersWarsaw — along Aleje Solidarnoscia lumbering truck backfires — some old onescringe — thoughts collapsing — into rail cars — lighteningbolts on stiff black wool uniforms — polished jackboots —a wrought iron gate — Arbeit Macht Frei The evening slowly entersWarsaw along Aleje Solidarnoscia truck backfires a sudden flockof sierpowka Eurasian Collared…

    Lou Faber

  • GIMME A HUG

    It seems odd, as I am nota hugger by nature,I love trees and hugfamilially but asidefrom family, huggingjust is not somethingI ever did. Now, when huggingis a potential deathsentence if finishedI see many around meall at a safe distanceand feel a strong desireto embrace some,knowing they wouldwelcome my arms. When this is over,when distance issomething…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • HOLY

    The sun slowly climbsup onto the mountain’s minaretand announces the call to prayer.The waves in the quiet Lakedip their heads watching treeswith the reverence reserved for morning.The loon sits on the altarand intones the sermon, the wavesstilling for a moment, then ebbing into the day.

    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

  • SUMMER SONGS

    the dangling green orbs hang beneath the verdant leaves dreaming of summer. sweat rolls down my back the noon sun stares angrily forgotten winter evening sky darkens is it the approach of night or simple summer rain?

    Lou Faber

  • VESPERS

    The sun slowly starts it’s daily retreat, setting the thinning clouds ablaze. The birds return, ibis, egrets, anhinga and kite and even the limpkin march slowly across the lawn to the preserve that abuts our yard. They take up their perches on the trees and bushes and on the limpkin’s call begin quietly to recite…

    Lou Faber

  • LEAVING

    The trees seem to know that we are leaving, why else would they shed their leaves so early, the only tears they are allowed to cry. It cannot be a blight, or so we think it, just our departure that has caused this premature pining for a winter we all know will arrive too soon…

    Lou Faber

  • HAIKU TWO TANKA

    A clouded night sky hide and seek moon chases squirrels      Rain holds back      In deep laughter Wind whispers trees sigh in response Morning awakens A heron poses standing on a single leg We watch jealously

    Lou Faber

  • ADIRONDACK EVENING

    Atop the hill the trees are filigree against the fading light. The tents are fireflies twinkling as night reclaims the earth. I am caught up in the chill watching my breath kiss the stars. First Appeared in Blueline, Vol. 22, 2001.  Reprinted in Legal Studies Forum, Vol. 29, No. 1, 2005

    Lou Faber