an old writer and his words

  • HALT

      But what if, just once time slowed significantly or even stopped. A bird becomes frozen in the sky, not moving, not falling, staring at the distant tree in total stillness. A drop of rain hovers just over the grass dreaming of chlorophyl. If you had such a moment how would you wish to spend…

    Lou Faber

  • THINKING MAKES IT SO

        Words, words, words Polonius, it’s all this damn book is full of, but don’t let it bother you, for your time is so limited, I’ll see to it soon enough. It’s the price of doing the bidding of the devil. Did you really think it would be otherwise? This is, remember one of…

    Lou Faber

  • MINDFUL MINDLESS NESS

    The difference between before and after is the moment we can never seem to grasp. In the time it takes to read the definition of evanescence, its meaning is lost to history. That, ultimately is the failure of thought and logic, for the process is so overwhelming what we process is turned to dust in…

    Lou Faber

  • TIME OUT

    She is fond of saying that time is on our side although we both know that time does not take sides, is incapable of action, is passive in passage. It is something of which we may never have enough but we are certain no one has more than we in this moment. She cannot imagine…

    Lou Faber

  • OLD MEN

    It is always odd watching older men gather, talk about their lives, about how much they no longer remember, of last year, and a decade ago, about the infinite details they can clearly recall about the time they spent in the Army, Navy, Air Force, the smell of Slop-on-a-shingle, of field stripped butts in a…

    Lou Faber

  • SLIPPING AWAY

    Each day I am certain something more slips away, forgotten, no longer able to be recalled, lost in the vast abyss of yesterdays. I would like to think this happens because something new, something better has taken its place, and I had no choice but to displace it. That is the convenient story I tell…

    Lou Faber

  • ARRIVAL

    Twisted strands tell a strange story – acid, a trip you never intended to take – amino pairs that walk you into a world that is yours alone and universal, a foreign place you now must call home.

    Lou Faber

  • THE WATCHER

    He stands transfixed on the bridge, arms outstretched, staring at the river always flowing slowly by below. He wears a garland of gold, an inscription in Hebrew, the holiest of holies, mocking those who hold him a man. Did he peer out of the corner of his eyes as they marched them across the bridge…

    Lou Faber

  • THIS IS HOW WE MOURN

    This is how we mourn: we don’t berate the clouds for gathering, nor begrudge the rain’s ultimate descent. Our tears fall to the earth as well, and there are moments when we need the gray, moments when the sun would be an unwelcomed interloper. This is how we mourn: we wipe the walls clean of…

    Lou Faber

  • BODHI VILLANELLE

    Sitting beneath the Bodhi tree I wrestle with passing thoughts in an unending struggle with me. The true face of the pain I see results from what I have wrought sitting beneath the Bodhi tree. I grow tired, wish to flee– above all, to avoid being caught in an unending struggle with me for a…

    Lou Faber