an old writer and his words

  • NIGHT AGAIN

    It is well past midnight and outsidethe birds and frogs in the wetlandannounce the rain, unnecessary really,as it beats a steady rhythm on the roofand windows, pierced onlyby claps of thunder and the lightningwhich gives them short announcement.The light dances through the closedwindow blinds on what ought to bean ink black night, and I knowthe…

    Lou Faber

  • IMPEDIMENTS

    Pause for a moment and considerwhat you truly think of the window,stared at but never seen, at worstan impediment, at best a shield.Is that why it gathers dirt and dust,a vain attempt to establish a presencethat we quickly try to deny again.Doors have an easier time of it forwe must acknowledge them, bidthem a handshake…

    Lou Faber

  • ALMOST, NOT QUITE

    The rains finally came the other day,not the tropical storms that this seasonpromises, those will come laterwe are assured by the weathermenwho sometimes struggle to describewhat is happening outside their windows.It was the sort of rain we had almostforgotten during our tropical droughtwhich, yes, does seem like a contradictionin terms until you look at the…

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • KNOWLEDGE

    I suppose I ought not be shockedwhen my grandson, all of twelve,explains to me the conceptof the expanding universe, norwhen asked about the capitalof Burundi fires back Gitegaand adds that Burundi has threeofficial languages, English, Frenchand of course Kirundi, and I nodhoping my ignorance isn’t obvious.I don’t dare ask how he knowslest he says everyone…

    Lou Faber

  • NEXT STOP

    It is small, dark and desolate,tucked away in a cornerthat no one wants to visit.They all stop there, as required,but only rarely does anyoneget off and it always seemsa sudden, reluctant decision.Most don’t even peer out the windowswhen it stops there, they averttheir gaze wondering if anyonewill rise to leave, not wantingto be seen looking,…

    Lou Faber

  • WINDOWS

    The problem, she says,is that we think that windows are thereto look out of, to see the world outside.If you believe that, she adds, whydo half the windows on your houseoffer you a view of the house next door,or if you must live in New York Citythe windows of another apartmentor building, knowing they havethe…

    Lou Faber

  • LET LIE

    A friend once told meto write down my dreamsfor they are a window intothe deepest corners of the psyche.Nevermind that much of the timeI cannot begin to remembermy dreams once awake,but those corners were darkfor a reason, and sheddinglight into them will onlycause the creatures who live thereto scurry about and seek shelterin other hidden…

    Lou Faber

  • LOBSTER SHACK

    It squatted on the cornerbacked by an L shaped stripplaza, a grocery store, shoes,pool supplies, a bank, all datedand wholly nondescript.It was a gas station, major brand,four gas pumps, one dieselbut the service bays had been guttedof their large liftsthat oncegave the mechanics accessto the bellies of the metal beastsand now housed two giant tanksand…

    Lou Faber

  • PLAYIN’ WHAT’S NOT THERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes –that’s where the music is.We heard him, we smiled,we anticipated the nextnote and the next.Outside my windowa blue jayrecites his morning prayer,the child’s laughbreaks the frozen skyand shivers the maple.Then all is silence –even the windholds its breathnot in anticipationbut to create the voidthat nature…

    Lou Faber