an old writer and his words

  • WRITTEN

    It was written for all to seebut went unseen as no oneentered the portal willingly,never sufficient curiosityto offset the foreboding.Everyone knew what it saidbut knowing and seeing areseparated by an unbridgeable chasm.It remained an imposed solitude,an isolation inherent in location,implicit in a world spinningoff its moral axis, time extendedand compressed, an irregular pulse.It was written…

    Lou Faber

  • AND TO YOU WE LEAVE . . .

    Of course we did not heedthe warnings, what did they know,and anyway we were sure we had won. History is a poor teacher, thatmuch we have demonstrated againand yet again, lessons never learned. It is how we got here, how wehave no clear path to leave here,things assumed lying in ruin around us. We are…

    Lou Faber

  • WHEN

    When the expected finally happensyou may feign surprise, or evenmild anger or some disquiet,but all will know it is only an act. When the expected doesn’t happenyou may be truly surprised,of even angry and frustrated,and all will understand at some level. When the unexpected happensthe full range of emotions is thenlaid open before you and…

    Lou Faber

  • FINAL TEST

    If he were graded solelyon effort, he would havereceived a B+ but life doesn’tallow such a narrow view. He had no father, no modelso he stumbled through lookingat others, unsure which were rightwhich were botching the job. He bought an ancient firstbaseman’s glove from Goodwillthe only left-handed glove they hadand I taught him to use…

    Lou Faber

  • PFFFT

    As I age now I amaware that the tetherto my earliest memorieshas grown thin, stretchedby time until I know it will,of necessity, soon give way. And so I spend sparemoments trying to sortthrough my life as I recallit, selecting those momentsthat bear the effort of retetheringso that time would be betterserved weakening others. But the…

    Lou Faber

  • PRAVDA

    If I was in Russia Iwould have no problemfinding a title for this poemfor it would be The Last. I would write that I mournthe children, men, and womensacrificed to assuage hiswarped need for domination. I would write that I detesthis disregard of truth,supplanting it with his liesto justify his megalomania. I would write that…

    Lou Faber

  • JEALOUSY (AGAIN)

    We are jealous of trees,anchored as we areto a grasping earth,able to tear free onlymomentarily or withthe help of machines, for trees can approachthe clouds, swaddleall manner of birds,and, we are certain,know heaven moreintimately than we can. And trees are jealousof birds, able to flywell above their highestbranches, knowingthe true blue of the skyand the…

    Lou Faber

  • MID MORNING SONG

    He leans against the walloutside the Prêt à Mangerwitting with his dogon the old Mexican blanketsthat look uniquely out of placeon a cool London morning.He sips the now fetid coffeein its Styrofoam cup,its Burger King logoand temperature warning.His hair is long, mostlygray with streaks of white,his beard whitewith swaths of blond, helooks as though hejust…

    Lou Faber

  • HARLECH CASTLE

    I stood on the rampartsthat cold, wet morninglooking out over the waitingIrish Sea, this day offeringonly rain and a November chill. Write haiku, she said to usand I thought of Bashoand Issu who never stoodon a 13th Century Welshfortress and never imaginedwriting about Llywelyngreat or not nearly so. In the rain and chillI scribbled furiously,retreated…

    Lou Faber

  • ARRHYTHMIA

    Life ought be little more thanarrhythmic motion, a pathwe only want to straighten,to smooth, its natural, necessarytwists and bumps somehow,for we always see them asimpediments not momentsof joyous indecision wherethere are no wrong choicesfor each choice unfoldsa new path never trodden,never imagined or foreseen. A bird flies to where it needsto be, but for most…

    Lou Faber