an old writer and his words

  • MOTHER

    In so many mythologies earth is a woman, a mother, and we arise from within her. The pure and simple logic of this assumption cannot be assailed, for she is the crux of all nature, and as it seems in life, it is all too often the males that lay siege and wage wars that…

    Lou Faber

  • A TURN

    He is never certain what to do on days like this one, when the winter takes a particularly nasty turn, the temperature hovers at utter emptiness, and the wind elects to try to enfold everything it can reach in a coat of frost, that bleaches life away. He walks each day, through the nearby park…

    Lou Faber

  • A RIVER RUNS

    Once, not long ago, a river meandered through our town. Actually, there was never a river here, and our town is really a small and shrinking city. But the wistful look on your face when I mentioned the river is reason enough to have one. So now I have to move somewhere in Connecticut or…

    Lou Faber

  • ANEW

    The front of winter slowly seeps up from the sidewalk into the street unveiling the last falling of autumn’s leaves. A gentle fog rises shrouding the fact that winter, or the most of it lurks just over the distant hills, which mark the margin of our vision. Even the birds sing in our confusion they…

    Lou Faber

  • FINALLY FALLING

    Outside the snow finally falls and presses the last fallen Maple leaves into the ground free, for now from the rake. Outside the snow finally falls and for a few hours November is redeemed and my shoes are suddenly inadequate even on the half plowed road. Outside the snow finally falls and the full moon…

    Lou Faber

  • GARDEN

    Why do the televangelists beg and cajole me, constantly ask me for my money? Surely they must know that in Eden which they promise, we are all naked and have no pockets.

    Lou Faber

  • APPARITION

    In the night what I am perched on the edge of sleep you appear, just out of the dream shadows, avoiding the light, you are featureless. I call to you and I think you must be smiling but your voice is the wind through the Austrian pines and the drip from the ever shrinking icicles…

    Lou Faber

  • A SIMPLE SONG

    This morning’s song is drawn from the whispers of the passing clouds as the last snow flows gently down the street.

    Lou Faber

  • HIGHER ORDER

    Among certain species of spider at the moment of arachnidal orgasm the female devours her mate for the protection of the young. The lion stalks his prey, then leaps tearing flesh to sate a hunger born of the endless sun beating down on the grassy plain. It is left to man to hunt for trophy,…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILL ROAD

    In the hills that rise gently from the concrete valley two hawks play childlike, rising, falling in gentle circles, grazing the redwoods that reach up to stroke their breasts. To a visitor from the East New York, Tokyo there is awe at the hawks’ grace, slicing the sky into cloudy ribbons but there is no…

    Lou Faber