an old writer and his words

  • R.I.P.

    We are planning the funeralfor Roe today, eulogiesfully ready, for we are certainthe death was slow and painfuland now all we can do is mourn. Some we know will not attend,Brown out of fear, knowingthe eventual consequencesof this loss, Miranda becausehe is already marked, houndedby those in power, an easy mark. Sullivan may be there,…

    Lou Faber

  • LAMBERT FIELD

    The gravestones, in random shapes line the hill the morning chillcreeps between them and onto the runway until washed awayby the spring sun slowly pushing upwardas the jet noise washes the hill unheard He passed away quietly in his bed ending his dreadof the cancer slowly engulfing him his vision dimmedby the morphine that pulsed…

    Lou Faber

  • ORIGIN

    I am told that I should writeabout my origins, that is the stuffthat long poems are made of, orrather the soil from which they bloom. I have written about my birth motherand visited her grave in West Virginiaseen those of my grandparents, meta cousin, I’ve written all of that. So its time to write aboutmy…

    Lou Faber

  • CALLING

    In the dark heart of nighttime is suddenly frozen,the clock’s hands stalactitesand stalagmites, unyieldingdenying the approach of morning,leaving the sun imprisonedunder the watchful gazeof its celestial wardens. It is then you appear,call out to me, beg mebe silent, not askingthe lifetime of questionsI have accreted, providingmy own hopes andimagination for answers,but you have faces, notthose…

    Lou Faber

  • REAL TIME

    Reality is clearly something to be avoidedto be dressed up in tattery, tied in ribbons,perfumed, yet its fetid stenchis always lurking in the backgroundwaiting to pierce your nostrilsin an incautious moment until you retchand bring up the bile that marksthe darker moments of your life,the kind that lingers in the throatwhich no chocolate can erase.Reality…

    Lou Faber

  • IN MOURNING

    I will soon enough bein mourning for literatureand philosophy for the momentis approaching when theywill be lost, or I supposesimply subsumed, swallowedup in a cloud appearingmomentarily then gone. The day is rapidly approachingand if you doubt itfor even a moment, goto your local library, ifit has not closed, and notethe diminishing numberof books, replacedby computers,…

    Lou Faber

  • MY ANNA

    Along the banks of the barge canalin the village park, a manolder, his hair white, almosta mane, sits on the breakwallfeeding Wonder breadto the small flotilla of ducks.Tearing shreds of crustfrom a slice, he casts itonto the water and smilesas they bob for the crumbs.He tells them the storyof his life as thoughthey were his…

    Lou Faber

  • HAUNTING

    The ghosts of my birth parentsblow into my dreams asso many white sheets tornfrom the clotheslineby gale winds, fly over me,at once angels and vulturescarrying off memoriescreated from the clayof surmise and wishful thinking. I invite their visits, frailbranches to which to clingin the storms of growing age,beginnings tenuous anchorsto hold against time, knowingthe battle…

    Lou Faber

  • A SMALL REQUEST

    If those in the campsknowing their fate,the inevitabilityof their impending deathcould call up music,for orchestras, playor sing withtheir final breaths, is it too muchtheir ghosts silentlyask, for youto pause andremember us,and singa dirgefor our souls.

    Lou Faber

  • WAR (an acrostic)

    SOMETIMES A POEM CANNOT WAIT From the moment it began, we knew, it was obvious that peace and freedom were under assault, Russia had thrown societal norms to the wind. Under gunmetal gray skies they attacked by air, killing women, children, destroying hospital, homes raining hell on the innocents with nowhere to turn. All we…

    Lou Faber