an old writer and his words

  • 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

  • TO A FATHER, NEVER KNOWN

    You were to be my prophetand you played Jonah one morningby clutching your chest at the sinkand dropping to the floor, dead.You left me to wanderthrough Ninevah, a beggartwice robbed of originground pulled from beneath my feet.Why did you flee your taskthe one for which you were anointed.Couldn’t you see our home laid ruinconsumed by…

    Lou Faber

  • NO CLICHES HERE

    The birds in this part of Floridahave found a way around the clicheand we are thankful they have done so. As we saw last week whenthe neighbor’s yard was regraded,and before the new sod arrived,the “soil” was mostly sandand there was not a wormto be found anywhere. Yet the birds, early and lategot all they…

    Lou Faber

  • RETIRED

    God sits at his easel, brush in handand thinks about the butterflyalighting on the oak.This man would rather paintthe nightmare of hell, buthe has been cast out andhis memory has grown dim.He remembers being a small childamused by the worm peeringfrom soil in a fresh rain and howwhen he split it, both halveswould slither awayin…

    Lou Faber

  • FATHER AND SON

    We sat in the small boat,the motor still, drifting downstream,our lines in the water, the bobbersdancing in the morning breeze. He smiled, proud that we weredoing this together, he who knewless about fishing than I, his son,and I knowing next to nothing. I kept casting into the weeds,hoping they would tangle myline, free the worm…

    Lou Faber

  • CHOSHA’S STOP ILLUSORY THINKING

    Before life there is death, before death there is life. In life there is death, in death there is life, a worm cut in two, each half moves, in each a new worm or is there one worm. This I ask you, but answer or no answer both are full of Buddha nature. A reflection…

    Lou Faber