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TREACHERY
René Magritte was born and died in Belgium, neither happened on this day, but he painted a most realistic picture of a pipe, which he captioned “Ceci N’est Pas Une Pipe,” which of course it was not since it was only a picture of a pipe and he entitled the work The Treachery of Images.…
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THE POET’S JOURNEY
Between here and there is an infinite gulf, and finding yourself here yet needing to get there, what will you do when you discover that all you have is this pen?
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NOW LISTEN UP
I read a poem today, about a cat and it reminded me, actually the memory of my last cat came to mind, that cats have an innate sense of people, that people utterly lack. It may be that cats are completely unfooled by the masks we wear, or simply that they could care less how…
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CORSO
When my back was turned, Corso slipped away somewhere in Wisconsin silently, without protest carried off by Charon across a gasoline river. There was no bomb to announce his departure, no Queens orphanage stopped frozen in a silent moment. In the small park at the north end of Salt Lake City no one lifted a…
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ERATO’S NIGHTMARE
That one summer I worked in the plant I could hear them whisper in the break room, with its always empty Coke machine. They’d get real quiet when I came in some would nod a hello and quickly leave. At first I thought it was because I was only there for the summer, but once,…
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APPEARANCE IN PEACOCK JOURNAL
This isn’t my usual post. It’s the second of the day, and it’s a gentle self-promotion. Three of my poems have just appeared in Peacock Journal. My work appears at this link: http://peacockjournal.com/louis-faber-three-poems/ I found Peacock Journal thanks to a dear friend (and marvelous writer) Anne Michael. Her blog (https://annemichael.wordpress.com/) is a joy to…
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A POET IS
A poet is a child who on seeing a blank page must fill it with dreams hears the song of the nightingale in the din of passing traffic comforts the lonely mother recalling the pain of a thousand births sees in each passing cloud the tears of a generation feels the heat of the sun…
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OH, UNSWEET ROSE
There are days when nothing less than a full blown cliche will suffice, and any attempt at brevity will result in an utter and total failure and wit will mourn it soul. You might as well spit in the wind, because you simply cannot swim against that tide, and it and time will never wait…
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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…
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FALLING IN LOVE, WALES
I I fell deeply in love with her, I standing in a small jewelers shop in Bangor Wales on a November morning. In truth, cradling a small silver Celtic cross in my hands I knew then that I, taken that plunge within moments of our meeting and recognition was all that remained. II We poets stood…
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an old writer and his words 