an old writer and his words

  • THE BLEEDING EDGE

    We are lovers of novelty, we wantall that is new or clingingto what we imagine are our roots.It has long been this way,you need only look at the map.Hampshire, York, Jersey, andfor that matter Brunswick and Mexico.We crave innovation, we alwayswant to be on the cutting edge, forgettingthat all too soon it will becomethe bleeding…

    Lou Faber

  • NO HARRY

    There is no Houdini today, nomaster of escapology, only sleightof hand that cannot providea release from our self-made shackles, for we havefailed to learn the secretsthat might have saved us.We were stubborn, figured thatwe could solve the problem later,read a book, looked to a new masterbut those new masters have onlyperfected the art of illusion…

    Lou Faber

  • RECESSION

    The lake is slowly receding, fading,the lake we created arrogantlyassuming that when it cameto nature, we could be godlike.It’s withdrawal has revealedcars, boats and bodieswe had not expected there,put by intention or accident,laid bare by nature, onceour devoted servant we imaginedthen a prophet we so callously ignored, nowin a retribution carefully ordained,the angel of destructionvisiting…

    Lou Faber

  • UPWARD

    The young child stares up into the skyand sees in the infinite spacecountless worlds take form and then die. On the mesa coyotes cryseeing gods in what men defacethe young child stares up into the sky hears his ancestors’ mournful replyin an atom’s interstitial spacecountless worlds take form and then die. Inside he sees his…

    Lou Faber

  • AT PRESENT

    Somewhere in the worldat this very moment,something remarkableis being laid to ruin.It is our nature to tear downwhat we cannot understand,what we hold different,what does not comportwith our present viewof how things ought to be.Somewhere in the worldat this very momentsomething remarkableis being born,is being created,is arisingout of an idea,a thought, an emotion.We are allsomewhere…

    Lou Faber

  • BLEEDING

    A violinist canlook at an Amatior a Guarnieriand hear a concerto. A birder hearsthe call of the songbirdand can describethe beauty of her plumage. A skilled photographerlooks through the viewfinderand tells a complete storywith one press of the shutter button. But it is the poetalone, staring at a blank page,who spills onto it joy and…

    Lou Faber

  • ANCESTRY

    It shouldn’t be so easy to forgetwhere your ancestors came from, whythey left their homes, traveled toa new place where they might not be welcomedbut took the chance for a better future or justto avoid the horrors of where they were.It is a part of your DNA, yours werethe” other” then, but yours came and…

    Lou Faber

  • ANOTHER EVENING SPENT

    I wonder if there are priestssitting on beds drinking Diet Cokeand contemplating the meaningof heaven, of sex,of indigestion from a burgerand fries with onionsin a bar, the angelscovering their ears from the dinof four pool tables,of slipping on the spilled Red Rock,while outside the traffic thinsand the neon blinksits message to the gods. First appeared…

    Lou Faber

  • EPITAPH FOR ANOTHER DAY

    When I write the storyof my life, it will not beme standing by the seastaff in hand, waitingfor the waters to part.It will be sand, endlessseas of sand, piledaround my feet.I will not recount ten plaguesfor there is only onethat matters at alland it was notterribly exciting,no generation perished,we weren’t overrunwith frogs or verminsave the…

    Lou Faber

  • STATUS OF LIBERTY

    Do us a favorhold backon your tired, your poor.We’re no longer real hoton those yearning to be free.We left it on the plaquebut no one’s supposedto read them anyway.Take the hint,we closed the Island,made it a museumthat oughtto tell you something.Emma’s dead, get it,and Lazarus, welljust read your Bible.We closed the sweatshopsand shipped outall those…

    Lou Faber