an old writer and his words

  • THE MESSENGER TIRES

    He says, in a quiet aside he hopes no one will overhear, that he has grown tired of being an angel. And not for the reason we might think, he adds with a wry smile. The work is not all that difficult, in fact there seems to be less of it week by week, but…

    Lou Faber

  • AN OVERHEARD CONVERSATION

    “It will never be what you think it should, and not what you wish it to be, unless by pure happenstance, so just relax and allow things to happen as they will.” “I know I can change the outcome, have it conform more to my will with enough effort, if others like you don’t get…

    Lou Faber

  • ANGELIC REALIZATION

    She says she is certain that she has seen the archangel Gabriel. It was late at night, to be sure, but it clearly wasn’t someone of this world and equally clearly not an alien since there was no UFO or wormhole. She knew, as well, it wasn’t God, “Why would God trifle with me, when…

    Lou Faber

  • OH, UNSWEET ROSE

    There are days when nothing less than a full blown cliche will suffice, and any attempt at brevity will result in an utter and total failure and wit will mourn it soul. You might as well spit in the wind, because you simply cannot swim against that tide, and it and time will never wait…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FORM OF A POET

    It seems odd driving by Mount Hope Cemetery knowing Adelaide Crapsey’s grave is there. If Basho were there a much smaller grave would do under summer’s sun. Shakespeare is buried in Stratford-Upon-Avon so this can end with twelve lines to spare.

    Lou Faber

  • TEN DIRECTIONS

    It would help, she said, if you would stop thinking of yourself as Sisyphus and all of life as the rock. You might actually, one day, begin to enjoy what you do. It would help, he said, if I could be like a great blue heron, grow wings and take to a summer sky leaving…

    Lou Faber

  • REALITY RHYMES

    Little Jack Horner sat in a corner suffering from a severe narcissistic personality disorder. Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he, until he died from a combination of cirrhosis of the liver and emphysema. Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet eating her curds and whey, and…

    Lou Faber

  • SIGNS OF AGE

    1. I wrote a note to remind me to remind you of that thing you didn’t want to forget, but I can’t remember where I put it. Have you seen it? 2. I am rapidly approaching that point when counting black hairs on my head is easier then counting years. 3. This year I finally…

    Lou Faber

  • HISTORY AS IT WAS?

    The reason the Jews spent forty years wandering in the desert had nothing to do with bad directions, or generational turnover, according to Larry’s father who worked in advertising. It was quite simply because God got really pissed off at Aaron’s marketing plan, “A Golden Calf, my ass!” is what he probably said. “I had better…

    Lou Faber

  • ADAM’S RIB

    Adam’s Rib was not, she said, a barbecue joint on Beale Street in downtown Memphis, nor a beloved Spencer Tracy movie in which sidelong glances with Kate Hepburn meant more than audiences realized. It most certainly was not proof of the claim that woman, born of man, was meant to be subservient for all time…

    Lou Faber