an old writer and his words

  • AMONG THE MISSING

    We can sit for a time, and speak of our pains, how they cause us to stop and look inward while the world proceeds on it’s axis, in a slow march through time and space, and we share the anger and anguish of our too fallible bodies which time reclaims in slow progression. We do…

    Lou Faber

  • ALTERNATIVES

    I would much rather be home, listening to Joan Osborne on the CD player, lying on the couch with you sleeping across the sofa curled under the cotton throw coiled against the winter battering the windows ca tucked into your knees. Instead, I sit on the bed CNN droning in the background and stare out…

    Lou Faber

  • RAPTOR

    Bald eagle perches tree top winter barren gray and stares at stunted pines. Hawk, head tucked under massive wings reaching for distant stars rides a thermal coaster waiting for squirrels. Hills cry out raging against dawn tears flow puddling in footprints of a distant god.

    Lou Faber

  • LOST, AGAIN

    It would help, she said, if you would stop thinking of yourself as Sisyphus and all of life as the rock, you might actually, one day, begin to enjoy what you do. It would help, he said, if I could be like a great blue heron, grow wings and take to a summer sky leaving…

    Lou Faber

  • TWO SEASONS (HAIKU)

    Blue heron takes flight giant wings stir wispy clouds April emerges. December garden faceless Buddha loudly laughs wriggling toes in snow.

    Lou Faber

  • FERRYMAN

    He comes to me in the dead hour of night the old shriveled man poling his poor ferry across the river of my dreams. He comes when the moon has fled and the stars fall mute and he beckons me holding out the copper coins stating his fare. He comes to me, beckoning, and for…

    Lou Faber

  • A FLOCK

    The cranes slowly gather one upon another upon still another, wings unfurled, invoking senbazuru, each one of a whole, each threatening to fly off in ten directions, and none. Still others, sit around, patiently awaiting completion of their senbazuru, uncertain of, uncaring for, its arrival.

    Lou Faber

  • THE FLY

    The fly hovers before me I stare at it trying to freeze its diaphanous wings to hold it, still, in my mind’s eye locking it in a moment that might last my eternity. I sit calmly in the chair staring out at the storm building outside the window as the fly stares at me seeing…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT, SHE ASKS, DOES A FEATHER SOUND LIKE?

    echo of Galileo’s ball in speeding flight once cast off the tower, the cascade of butterfly wings in mid migration, and universes collapsing, and the sound of everything the moment before there was time.

    Lou Faber