an old writer and his words

  • FOUR HAIKU

    the morning dew smilesthe rising sun stares deeplylater a merger the egret stands fixedwishing he was a statuethe rippling pond laughs clouds blacken the skythe sun plays hide and go seekwe watch patiently. winter is lurkingbut swaying palms reject itit retreats northward

    Lou Faber

  • SHELVED

    They speak of me, never to me,with terms like breakage, as thoughlife, mine at least, is a glass bottleon a shelf with so many others,and a certain percentage are pre-assumed to break and be discardedand no one will bat an eyelash. To them I am nameless, one of many,stock in trade, with no provenance,or at…

    Lou Faber

  • STRANGE NIGHT

    It was a most unusual nightin the city, and a surprising numberof its residents took note of thatwhich in itself was unusual. By 2:00 A.M., those awake andthose who had awakenedstrained to hear it, but therewas nothing at all, no sounds to which they had becomeso accustomed, and some imaginedthey had been transportedfrom the city…

    Lou Faber

  • A DAY

    a day,clouds drop rainreplacing tearslocked insidestones and clothred and blueunseparatedstill worlds apartorderly ranksall at attentionand silencethundering angera mad worldsoaked in peaceonly untilmidnight. Publsihed in New Feathers Anthology (Summer 2020)http://www.newfeathersanthology.com/a-day.html

    Lou Faber

  • CITIZEN OF . . .

    There was a time that nowseems so very long ago, when Iwould freely admit, sometimes claimto be American, if not acknowledgingmy time in the Air Force as well. Those days are gone, as is the placeI knew, now morphed into somewheremuch the same, and entirely unrecognizable,and I am American by proximity, knowingmy welcome has been…

    Lou Faber

  • IMPENDING DEPARTURE

    They finally used the wordor one near enough to itand she was not surprised,she almost welcomed it.You can grow jealous of thosewith a depth of faiththat a sentence of monthsor perhaps less is receivedwith grace and a smile, a nodand a statement “I’m morethan ready to go home now,back to my husband.”I hope I will…

    Lou Faber

  • HAIL AND FAREWELL

    On very dreary daysI like to drive through the cemeterymeandering among the stonesuntil I find a freshly dug grave.I stop, under the vigilant eyeof the caretaker and carefully placea cassette of Dvorak’s Slavonic Dancesor Smetana’s Die Moldau into the player.As the melodies spill forthI hope they lift the spiritof the resting, bringing them a momentof…

    Lou Faber

  • GENDER?

    So why, pray tell, does my gender even matter, it isn’t like we will ever. meet, and let’s face it, there is a fluidity now which calls binary thinking absurd, so we’ll go with whatever you choose, so long as you realize I am all about compassion and relieving the world’s suffering – thought that…

    Lou Faber

  • CARTOGRAPHY

    On the map are neatly etched lines drawn by a fine stylus in a skilled hand separating blue from yellow. This soil is cinnamon there tending to mahogany no line, only a post here, one there and a gun emplacement to deter those who cannot see a line writ on water. In the wind the…

    Lou Faber

  • BROKEN BOW

    This poem was recently published in the first issue of a new journal, Punt Volat.  You can find it here: https://puntvolatlit.com/issues/winter-2019 Early this afternoon, a Kenworth semi pulling a 53-foot trailer rolled down Nebraska route 92 and entered the limits of Broken Bow. The importance of this event, while not yet obvious, will, I promise,…

    Lou Faber