an old writer and his words

  • PERSONIFICATION

    The black cat walked by the patio again today. He won’t stop and engage no matter how hard I try to talk to him. Some cats are haughty and this one clearly isn’t deaf. Some say it is feral, but it’s too well groomed for that. More likely it has spent too much time with…

    Lou Faber

  • SMART ONES

    We marched for hours, going nowhere really, but nowhere was the point of the marching so we achieved the goal the Air Force set. We didn’t even think it odd that they made us shave our heads, so we’d all look like fools, there was a war on and we were in the military, so…

    Lou Faber

  • AN OLD FRIEND

    More than a bit ratty, would be mildly putting it, near bald almost everywhere, fully so in far too many spots to count. Eyelashes are minimal, hard to see for their fineness, one eye a bit out of focus, a faint cloud covering its internal horizon. You might say it is sad looking, and no…

    Lou Faber

  • STARE DOWN

    I stand still, staring, as you stand as still staring back, neither of us yielding in what will be a long played-out game on a day of intense sunshine. I am certain you will concede will depart, and I am ready, much as you assume I will tire as my kind always do, and turn…

    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

  • IF YOU BUILD IT

    In the midst of this pandemic everyone, it seems, is offering playlists and lists of movies to watch during the endless days of isolation, and so long as the internet goes on, we may die of viral complications, yes, but not of boredom soon. I have aggregated the various lists, stricken movies far too close…

    Lou Faber

  • WRITING MEMORY

    It is well past time I wrote a poem about the great joys of my childhood, for memory should bubble up like lava through the crust of time, they should rain in flashes as so much matter dropping into the atmosphere in their ultimate light show. This isn’t going to happen, of course, whether because…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT

    In the end, it always comes down to night, regardless of the moon, if any, it’s faint light drowned by the city’s oppressive glow, headlights, streetlights and once, spotlights painting the sky, traceable down to that new place we don’t wish or can’t afford, would never dare to go. Death is omnipresent, his shadow is…

    Lou Faber

  • THE GIFTS

    They brought him myrrh on a flaming salver and all he could do was say “This is something I would expect from a butcher or a carpenter, and the camera angles would never work, so bring me napalm or punji stakes that we have proven to work.” They brought him ripe oranges and the sweet…

    Lou Faber

  • ER

    They are arranged like so much ill-stacked cordwood, pressed against walls that are indifferent to their presence. They watch the double doors leading to the examining rooms with trepidation, wanting to be next, wanting more not to be here at all, knowing that the options are none or fewer. He isn’t bothered by it all,…

    Lou Faber