an old writer and his words

  • OCTOBER

    There is an infinite spaceAround us, a massive voidinto which universes tumbleand stars and planets are born.Outside, the maple leavesburning flame and crimsonspiral to the lawn, whichwaits to receive them.Autumn is the seasonwhen the earth prepares to dieand it is left to usto prepare the gravesite.The albino squirrel standson the fence rail, defyingme to find…

    Lou Faber

  • UNSHOVELING

    There is much to love here,not the least of which is the lackof snow always needing to be shoveledwhen your back is most sore,when you need to be somewhereon a schedule the clouds chose to ignore.But the one thing you cannot find,the thing you never expectedto be that which you most missis the polychromatic season.For…

    Lou Faber

  • LILAC

    It is the season, I remember,when the clusters of flowersrip free of their cocoons andgrasp the warming sun, spewingout their sweet fragranceto bees and people alike.They know their time is short,turn riotous in pastel shadeswhite, pink, purple, lilacthey hope we will not soon forget.It was always like that, an annualrite of beauty that we havegiven…

    Lou Faber

  • WRITING

    I have a Chinese friendwho says I should write poemsabout pomegranates and chrysanthemums.A Japanese business acquaintance sayspoems should be populated by sakura and Lotus.I tend to think of their advicein the deadest days of winterwhen snow presses against the houseas if seeking its faint warmth.As I thinly sliced the tender shootsof bamboo and dampen the…

    Lou Faber

  • BUENOS AIRES ON THE GENESEE

    If this were Buenos Aires, if I were Borges, it would all make a great deal of sense. A man, older, and older still if you look closely, walks into an elegant hotel bar. A jazz quintet is playing, straight up, trumpet, piano, guitar, stand up bass, drum kit. The older man is wearing white…

    Lou Faber

  • TWO HAIKU

    A lone ginkgo leafclings to the now barren branchdefying winter. Great blue Herons stareat the slowly passing cloudsobscuring their home.

    Lou Faber

  • RIDING

    A bicyclered Schwinnrust encirclingstem andheadset. Baseball cardsclippedto frameengagingturning spokesimagined motorspeeding downbuckling sidewalk. Skinned kneesbloody,wheel rimslightly bent,wishing suddenlyfor winter. First published in The River, Sandy River Review, March 2024https://sandyriverreview.com/2024/03/30/seeing-you-again-next-stop-riding-ty-newydd/

    Lou Faber

  • NOT HERE

    There were those January nights whenwinter wrapped us in its chill, but withdrewits frequent blanket of clouds, and Iwould go outside peering throughthe fog of my breath and lookinto the sky at the aurora borealis,watching the electrons danceon a black scrim dotted with myriad stars.Years later and miles away I missthe occasional night shows for…

    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

  • WAITING SEASON

    He had been standing there for hoursstaring into the heavens, the cloudsa foreboding shroud promising regeneration,promising rain, promising redemption.He said to the heavens, “I loved you once,”and an ominous wind replied, “youloved yourself, nothing else mattered.”He wanted to argue but the wind, too,abandoned him and the smell of lightninghe could not yet see assaulted him.He…

    Lou Faber