an old writer and his words

  • FOR ME OR THEE

    Do not ask me why I write poetrynor for whom I write poems.You will not be pleased by the answer.You assume I have an audience in mindwhen I pick up the pen and put it to paper.That would be a false assumptionfor only the occasional poet writeswith a specific audience in mind.The rest of us…

    Lou Faber

  • HOME

    I don’t know what I expected to findstanding on the corner of a residential streetin Charleston, West Virginia, the domeof the capitol peering up in the distance.That is not surprising, the orange brick homewas much larger than I had assumed, but youlived there only a few years before leavingQuarrier Street to start a life of…

    Lou Faber

  • YOU OF COURSE, OR NOT

    Someone, at a reading, asked me“who do you write for?”I avoided the obvious answer,“You” since he was there lesthe say someone dragged him alongmost unwillingly and my readingconfirmed his initial reluctance.The honest answer is that I writefor those who might stumbleacross my words, might seethem online browsing, or comeacross them in a coffee shopwhere I…

    Lou Faber

  • WORDS, ONLY WORDS

    How many wordshave I writtenyou will never readcould not hearstill we speakto each otherin a languageknown onlyto the deadand the mourningto a motherand a forgottenchild now grown. First appeared in Homer’s Odyssey Magazine, June 26, 2024https://homersodysseymag.com/blog/f/missing-my-judas-dream-on-and-words-only-words-by-louis-faber?blogcategory=Poetry

    Lou Faber

  • THE OLD MAN

    My father was the old mancurled in the hospital bed,his mind and memoriesseeping into the sheetsuntil only the husk remainedand I knew that it, too,would soon be reduced to ash.In my dream I wasthe old man in that bedbut I knew it was not mefor I clearly rememberedmy fading father wellwhile he, in those days,remembered…

    Lou Faber

  • BREATHING

    Somewhere at this very momenta baby takes its first breath,a man dies unexpectedly,a fledgeling bird takes flight,a star is bornor enters its death throes,one of the last of a species is gone,a battle is fought in a senseless war,a waterway is fouled with pollution,smog grips a city,an old man clings to memories.I am still aliveand…

    Lou Faber

  • MY JUDAS

    He, the one I called brotherwanted whatever I hadto give, a droit deprimogeniture, and Icould easily be cast aside,a genetic other with claimonly of time, not blood.Why did they concede to himor were they aware?It hardly matters nowfor they are gone, sheto rest with her daughter,he I know not wherefor there was nothingin the text…

    Lou Faber

  • A PEELING

    Why do we persistin peeling the onionas if expecting wewill find anythingother than onion below?We cling to false hopeknowing in the endthere will be nothingdespite our efforts.We are the oneswho curse the coreof the apple asspace taken wherefruit should benever imaginingthere could be nofruit if nature choseto grant our wish.

    Lou Faber

  • HELPLESS

    When night finally concedes,and departs for the horizondragging off my dreamsand pulling its shadow behind itinto a thickening fog, a scrimthat hides the dawn’s arrival,I realize what has been lost.I have tried to grasp dreamsas they recede but it is graspinglimpid mercury that obeys nodirection or request save thatof gravity, and that reluctantly.They will be…

    Lou Faber

  • ON ARRIVAL

    When I arrived it was as thoughyou had expected me, althoughneither of us had anticipated meeting.You wondered if we had metin some former life, but I wasthen a skeptic for circumstancehad never really conspiredto cause me to cede my tightgrip on what I was certainwas the only possible reality.When that evening endedmy flotilla of certainties…

    Lou Faber