an old writer and his words

  • THRIFT STORE

    It was small and a bit cramped,down thankfully solid stairsin the basement of the church.Thrift stores, charitable ones,tend to inhabit basements as ifthe red dress, clearly worn butwith tangoes left in herwasn’t ready for the light of day.And on a nearby rack isthe Army jacket, still neatly pressedit’s buttons shiny saying Inever saw battle, the…

    Lou Faber

  • A FAREWELL VISIT

    My mother no longer visits mein my dreams, actuallyneither does for I’ve had two,the advantage or is itdisadvantage of the adoptee.None of my three fathersever paid a postmortem visit.It complicates things when allI know of my birth mother isfrom a college yearbook photo,but that is how she looked in thosefew visits after I discovered her.The…

    Lou Faber

  • LILAC FESTIVAL

    It is nota signof the apocalypseor shouldn’t be. The parkis redolentwith the scentof lilacs in blossom. You can smell itblocks away,and they flockunder the watchfuleye of the crowsto the carny trailers for kettle corn,roasted coated nuts,cotton candyand the beer tent waitingfor the musicas the lilacs sitforlornly wonderingwhen theyceased to matter. First Published in Flora Fiction,…

    Lou Faber

  • GENESIS

    Every time I see a doveI look twice to seeif by chance it has an olive branch,actually any branch, claspedin its claws, for that would meanthe storm of the last years,the wars, the abject poverty,the amassing of wealthfor its own sake at the neverending expense of others,was coming to an end,that the peace we all…

    Lou Faber

  • A BRAVE NEW WORLD

    It is now easy to imagine a worldwhere dystopia lies in waitingaround every corner, always outof sight, always ready to pounce.Now imagine a world, this worldif in 1492 it was a woman whodiscovered this land, and womenwho made all of the decisions.Men could still go to war, but onlyif women decided the war was warranted.It…

    Lou Faber

  • PAUSE

    This morning a lone snowy egretperched stoically atop the leafless treerising out of the small preserve.Of what was it a harbinger, whatmessage was I needing, failing to hear?Was it in search of a dove amid endlessnews of wars still raging on,or was it repeating the unheard warningof what we had wrought in its onceedenic world,…

    Lou Faber

  • THE HERMIT

    The hermit livesin the shadowof the great mountainlistening to the symphonyof the bluebirdand the wild Roseengulfed by the sky,the meandering streamhis constant companion.I live in a cityin a sea of city dwellerseach of us prisonersmarching from cellto cell, with passing nods.we hear only solitudeand are blindto the ever shifting clouds.Kuan Yin sitsin her templeand whispers…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE THING

    It is probably a good thinggranddaughter, that you have neverbothered to ask me what one, whatsingular piece of advice I wouldleave you with, not that I amanticipating an imminent departure. It isn’t because I doubt that youwould care about or believe what Ihave to say although I may wellstand corrected if you asked onlyout of…

    Lou Faber

  • JAILER

    The purpose of a photograph is simplyto capture a memory, to imprison itmore accurately, to allow it to bewhere you can always find it. Never mind that any prisonergrows prematurely old, losesvitality, slips down a slope thatinevitably result in death . Often, the photo will fade, losecolor as the event slips intothe fog of time,…

    Lou Faber

  • AND EVERYWHERE

    Where was my family from?Russia and Poland, mostlyby way of England and Austria,within nervous stop at Ellis Islandjust before the great warchanged everything for all time.Actually not. Not mostly Polandor Russia, the war not a changeof anything really, at mosta precursor of a greater war.You, too, questioner, may be dead nowspeaking from a plot in…

    Lou Faber