an old writer and his words

  • UNMOVED

    In the community parking lotin the center of Taos,and old pickup sat complacentmore than parked, rustingin spots, last paintedby someone in the late ‘70sperhaps. It might havebeen able to move, but itshowed no desire to do so,tires not flat but wishing so. That was thirteen years ago,and it is likely no longerthere, or collapsed into…

    Lou Faber

  • WHEREVER I LAY MY HEAD

    You say that you are uncertainif this place yet feels like home,and look at me silentlyquestioning how I feel. I answer as silently thatyou are here, I am hereso it does feel like homejust as everywhere wouldwhen we are together there. Without speaking you remindme that even I would admita hotel room is not home…

    Lou Faber

  • VISITORS

    We keep looking, some of uscertain they are there,others as certain they are not,as God didn’t mention them. We hope to see themto reach out to themto understand them,to learn from them. Of course, we knowthat if they are herethey are so much moreintelligent than we and hardly likelyto announce theirpresence given whatthey must know…

    Lou Faber

  • I HAVE NEVER BEEN

    six foot four with a full headof longish brown hair neatly cut five foot ten as the Air Forceclaimed although I neverconformed to their assumption sitting on the deck of a yachttrying to decide if it wassufficiently large enoughto meet my desires sitting on a beach in Hawaiimy oceanside villamere steps away,the housekeeper beckoningwith a…

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING AUTUMN

    This is the seasonwhen the maplesbegan their rainof colored tears. It may still be so,but not here,and the palmsknow no seasons. Once there wasa veil of lilac,bushes trying tooutdo the others. But at leastthe magnolias carenothing for distanceoffering their beauty here and where wenow have onlymemories of the ebband flow of seasons.

    Lou Faber

  • RETURNING

    The Great Egrets swoop low,make a slow banking turnand alight in the leafless tree. They sit imagining water,the wetland they knewa month or so ago, nowmore a mud flat all waitingfor the rainy season’s arrival. They leave as night approaches,the once wetland suddenlyagain silent, and we areleft to dream of the flocksof ibis, herons and…

    Lou Faber

  • REGARDING HISTORY

    We stand aroundin the shadowof the Coliseumstaring atthe Roman Forumimagining lifein the timeof the emperor. Fast forwardtwo or threemillennia,and imaginethe facesof those staringat the ruinsof our civilization if we have notdestroyed alllife by then.

    Lou Faber

  • FLIGHT

    As a young child, I always imaginedmyself a bird, poised to take wingthe next time my parents told meI couldn’t do what I wanted,to swoop around, out of their grasp,until it was time for lunch or dinner. Years later my dream was to bea pilot, Air Force not Navy, I mightget seasick and that isn’t…

    Lou Faber

  • CUISINE

    When I was younger (much), Icould wander Manhattan and bewhat any neighborhood required,so long as I stayed southof 110th Street or north of 155th. I was Greek ordering gyros,Russian at the Tea Room,Italian along Mulberry and Canal,although in Chinatown I was justsomeone who wandered a bit farfrom the heart of Little Italy. I could order…

    Lou Faber

  • THE WRITER STUMBLES

    Each yearin Pamplonathe bulls begintheir slow descentdown the narrow streetsgaining speednostrils flaringmuscle and sinews tautthey forge aheada white wavepreceding themin their mad dashand each yearthere is one,some years twowho, by slip of footor lapse of judgmentmeet the hornsof the lead bullwho in disgustsnorts“this oneis noHemingway.” First published in Defenestration ,Vol XVI Issue 2 August 2019

    Lou Faber