an old writer and his words

  • WHY, OH WHY

    He was awash in questions. What, he wanted to know, did they use to cut the mustard? A knife seemed excessive, or did they mean some lesser powdered spice. Why was the cat in the bag? How do you learn anything by bruising your hand on books? Do buckets cause foot infections that kill you?…

    Lou Faber

  • NEXT UP

    Back in the day,that day being the last timeI attended an open mic,odd since most are intimate enoughthat no microphone is provided,I stood at the lecternand looked carefully at the audiencethat was mine for the next few minutes.I wanted to see their responseto me, my clothing choicesand then my words, trying to readthe indecipherable map…

    Lou Faber

  • LIKE LEMMINGS

    It yells tourist. Hell, it screams it so loud you can hear it in the next county. But they line up for it, wait patiently or not, not even certain why they are here. Some actually take in the Castillo, but most want to see the Fountain of Youth, which bears a remarkable resemblance to…

    Lou Faber

  • ME AND MY . . .

    I didn’t stopto think it at all oddthat when I walked backwardthis morning my shadowdecided to walk ahead of me.I was going to ask him whyhe decided to lead, butas I turned to walk backto the car he fell insilently behind meand refused to answeras the clouds came over usand he slipped away again.

    Lou Faber

  • ME, MYSELF, AND I

    I suppose I would be justifiedin hating it, and I do admita little spite, but I tread carefullyaround it for I know the consequences.It’s fragility, seemingly suddenand unexpected, can be infuriating,and it has developed this tendencyto fail me in ways great and small.While I should expect thisand I have made efforts to accept itas graciously…

    Lou Faber

  • VICARIOUSLY

    I wonder how my life would bedifferent if just once duringmy childhood I had imaginedthere was a ghost under my bedor a skeleton buried in the garden.I read books with thosescenes and I felt deprived.My friends said that I lackedimagination, and I was ableto imagine them fallingvictim to ghosts that inhabitedtheir homes, were carried offby…

    Lou Faber

  • A FROSTY RECEPTION

    I truly wish Robert Frost was still aliveso I could ask him where he foundthat yellow wood of his poem.The woods I know are mostly pinein the Adirondacks, or mixed hardwoodsand when autumn arrives they greet itin shades of green, red, orangeochre and yes, some yellow,but hardly enough to givethe forest that titular color.And even…

    Lou Faber

  • HOME, STRANGELY

    When you visit Galway cityyou will stand slack-jawedat some, most actually,of the buskers you seeon almost every street.Young and talented, you needto find a bank where youcan stock up on oneEuro coins, lest your tripcost more than youever intended at five eurosfor each performance.And when you visit a pubat night, come preparedwith a song, or…

    Lou Faber

  • BANG

    His day ended much as it began, nothing happening. He wanted something to happen if only to break the eternal monotony. Yes, people came and went outside his window but that hardly counted as something happening. If one had taken flight, that would be something. If one instantly vaporized, that would be something. If the…

    Lou Faber

  • NEATLY PRESSED

    I have decided to stopwearing the only suit I now own.It is the one I only wear to weddingsor to funerals, or a bar mitzvah.the problem is that it needsto be a happy, if only slightly,suit and lately it seemsdeaths outnumber weddingsand Bar or Bat Mitzvahsonly count as neutral nowthat I no longer practice Judaism.I…

    Lou Faber