an old writer and his words

  • PUEBLO CHRISTMAS

    The night is that bitter coldthat slices easily throughnylon and Polartec, makeschild’s play of fleece and denim.The small rooms glowin the dim radiance of propane lightsand heaters as the silveris carefully packed awayin plastic tool boxes.The pinyon wood is neatly stackedin forty pyres, some little tallerthan the white childrenclinging to their parents’ legs,some reaching twenty-five…

    Lou Faber

  • SUBJECTION

    We have now fully masteredsubjection, some say we havedone it so often it is nowinherent in our nature.It is hard to argue that pointand we are now practicing iton more than other groups,we have turned our practiceon nature and her species.Birds are a perfect example.Applying our tried and truemethods we have slowly takentheir territory, forcing…

    Lou Faber

  • PELTIER

    They have youright where they wanted you.They worked hard to ensureit would have you there,ensuring that they tippedthe scales of the blindfolded womanso that their outcomewould be assured, andfor good measure, writingthe fiction they sold as factso why, Leonard, do youimagine after 47 yearsthey will let you breathe freehold your grandchildrenafter all they did to…

    Lou Faber

  • MESA

    This nightin cold moonlightearth rises upclouds float downghosts walk the margin.Old ones singnow shall be thenolder ones still singthen shall be onceto wolf and coyote.In this season of north windssun’s heat barrenspirits rise updreams descendman lies interspersed.Women singwe are bearersmen singwe are sowers. First appeared in Dipity, Vol. 3, April 2023

    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

  • COLOURS

    We hunted him as a stagacross his fields, trophywe called him red man,color of Ares, godssacrificed on our altar,his rivers run with his spirit.I am whitebereft of color,barren, a glarea desert stripped of life.It is I who wearCain’s mark, pluckedfrom the gardenthe sweet taste fadesmy lips are dry.You are blackan amalgam, greenof the grasses in…

    Lou Faber

  • SO SIOUX ME

    Remarkably fewSiouxlive in Sioux Fallsor Sioux Cityalthough theyhave fewreservationsabout doingso. First Published in the 2005 Scars Publications Poetry Wall Calendar

    Lou Faber

  • THE SAINT OF UNCOUNTED NAMES

    A desert again,always a desertand she the saintof uncounted names,her crying eases, nosmile appears for thisMadonna of the coyotes,her orange-orbed eyesshuttered against theslowly retreating sun.Once her tears wateredthe desert sands, mixedwith the blood of a Christnow long forgotten, trans-substantiated into a spiritwe formed in our image,no longer we in his.The Blessed Motherwatches, holding hope,holding space,…

    Lou Faber

  • ABSURD, FL

    The utter and complete absurdityof living in Florida canbe ever so easily illustrated. Last evening the neighbor’sdog decided it neededto express itself and did soin clear and loud terms. The limpkins and gallinulesin the wetland behindboth our homes shouted backand based on my admittedlylimited vocabulary of birdthere were several fourletter words and at least oneupraised…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE DAY

    We stood trapped betweenslack-jawed and reverentlooking at the woman sittingcross-legged outside the doorwaylovingly fashioning a pot,her gnarled fingers gentleon the yielding clay. Others this day fashionedrings and pendantssimple tools on silverand one of a kind treasuresthey would lay outon blankets hoping wewould want morethan just a photograph. Our day on the Taos Puebloended too early,…

    Lou Faber