an old writer and his words

  • GABRIEL, AT HOME IN OHIO

    I saw an angel settle slowly over Akron dancing in the smoke rising out of the stacks of the ancient plant. It flitted, darting in and out of the gray haze, one moment she, the next he, and as the sun settled slowly down, for an instant no more than a cherub. It was not,…

    Lou Faber

  • MILES FROM HERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes – that’s where the music is. We heard him, we smiled, we anticipated the next note and the next. Outside my window a blue jay recites his morning prayer, the child’s laugh breaks the frozen sky and shivers the maple. Then all is silence –…

    Lou Faber

  • SEKITO’S GREAT AND SMALL CANON

    This wave touches the shore just as it should. That wave touches the shore just as it should. You may wait an eternity for a wave that touches just not as it should, just as it should not, or you can sit and let the waves wash over you.   A reflection on Case 53…

    Lou Faber

  • WITHOUT BEES

    In the photograph the two great blue heron’s stare at each other. We are not certain if this is love, or there is something far more ominous impending. Birds have a way of being inscrutable, and herons are often mistaken for cranes, although I cannot imagine a senbazuru of herons. In the photo, their beaks…

    Lou Faber

  • DEFIANCE

    The stone defies the flame, drawing it in unyielding, until it is licked by the snow of winter The page defies the words, denying them purchase, they are flat without eyes to see them the repose unbroken The barren earth defies the king who orders it fertile as sand swirls engulfing the palace tearing at its…

    Lou Faber

  • DREAMS

    Somewhere, tonight a bagpiper is playing., Notes from the drone and chanters lick the sky, piercing passing clouds, embedding themselves in the stars. Somewhere else a flute player fingers the stops as notes pour forth and dance on the moonlit lawn. Neither piper nor flautist hear each other, but I weave both into a song,…

    Lou Faber

  • AND WHAT IS LEFT BEHIND

    She calls them around her bedside but they stand back fearful of the withered ghost hovering on the sheets, until one, eldest, touches her extended hand with a finger as if passed through a flame. I will be leaving soon she tells them, if not tomorrow then a day later and I will take the…

    Lou Faber

  • NEON

    Tokyo floats on a sea of lights washing to the horizons, whitecaps of neon break the placid surface, golden arches bob like fishing boats awaiting the dawn and the rebirth of life. The urban sea is manned by sailors each in his uniform, some scampering up the rigging, hoisting the sails of steel, concrete and…

    Lou Faber

  • ORPHAN

    I was a foundling wandering from Guinness Stout to Ouzo and back, in search of identity. In Schul I would cry out to Him asking, “Who am I?” and He would answer, “you are, you are.” The balalaika of my mother’s grandfather sounded tinny, a cacophony lost in Oporto, Lisboa. On the streets of Vienna…

    Lou Faber

  • REALITY RHYMES

    Little Jack Horner sat in a corner suffering from a severe narcissistic personality disorder. Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he, until he died from a combination of cirrhosis of the liver and emphysema. Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet eating her curds and whey, and…

    Lou Faber