an old writer and his words

  • LOWER FLAT, BUFFALO

    It was a small house, that muchI still remember clearly, not wide,what some called a railroad flat,but ours had two floors, as if tworailroad cars had been stackedone on top of the other. We, luckily, had the bottom, orat least that’s what my father said,and his varicose veined legs applaudedhis selection of our new home.…

    Lou Faber

  • TOO LATE

    Do those, whoimagine themselves leaders,or smarter and betterthan the rest of us, andwho deny science, (no,the amassing of moneyis not a law of physics)plan to take up swimming? Or will they waituntil the bears areat their door, theirwhite coats grayedby the lastbelches of soggycoal, and then bemoanthe fact thattheir yachts havefloated off onthe rising seasthat…

    Lou Faber

  • ME ME

    Coming soon perhapsbut hard to saychoose carefully a moment whenmeme andavatarmerge and youcease to exist or exist twiceand whichyou isreal is leftto others but that youis immortalnow unlessbeset bya magneticcatastrophe, butyou’ll likelybe ashes andshould notgive a damn.

    Lou Faber

  • SENSELESS

    You place the shroudover my head,it is dark, but Ican still touch her cheek. You cut offmy fingers, leavingonly stumps, but Ican still taste her tears. You pull outmy tongue, there isonly bitterness, but Ican hear her morning laugh. You drown mein a sea of noisenothing breaks the din, but Ismell her sweetness. You fill…

    Lou Faber

  • GROUNDED

    it was so much easier when I could stillimagine myself a bird, untetheredand free to take flight on a whim. In dreams I often flew, no Icarusbut a raptor, peering down, seeingwith a clarity the earth denied me. Now my roots have taken holdin the enmeshing soil plunged deepand spread tendrils anchoring me, and even…

    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

  • THINGS TO COME

    One morning last week I decidedto plant myself at a busy intersectionand begin reading poetry, mostlymy own, I have to admit. I was generally ignored, my usualstate, and that sadly of most poets,when a scruffy, bearded young manset up easel and paint next to me. The morning seemed to relishthe stillness of this urban way…

    Lou Faber

  • A CITY LIKE ALMOST ANY OTHER

    somewhere within three blocksof here a limo is disgorgingor swallowing up passengers a child is dreaming of takinglessons on a piano or violinof Carnegie or Alice Tully Halls a woman is rememberingwhat the touch of his fingersfelt on her cheek, tracing her jaw, not shattering it,a tagger prepares for battlecarefully loading his makeshift holster after…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT’S IN A NAME?

    He only wants to knowmy spiritual name, “your falseworld name is of no matter.” I tell him I have only one name,the one my parents gave me,and it has worked to this point quite well, and no one has eversuggested I might need another,although my Jewish friends have two. “No,” he says, “your spiritual nameisn’t…

    Lou Faber

  • GENTO’S WATER PAIL 鐵笛倒吹 二十語

    In the gardenwhat do you seein the old bucket,is it still waterreflecting the moon?Is it a cloudresting in its travels? Turn the bucket overwhat do you see within?Does the Bodhireside there? A reflection on case 25 of the Iron Flute Koans

    Lou Faber