an old writer and his words

  • MISPLACING

    The river through the city hereis badly misplaced, not so much boringas missing something a city river should have.There are no tall buildingsstaring down at the river, no peoplegazing out of office windowswatching the shadows of their prisonsdance on the moving waters.Even in smaller cities the riversbisect its life, people noticing,peering down as they cross…

    Lou Faber

  • A CITY LIKE ALMOST ANY OTHER

    somewhere within three blocksof here a limo is disgorgingor swallowing up passengers a child is dreaming of takinglessons on a piano or violinof Carnegie or Alice Tully Halls a woman is rememberingwhat the touch of his fingersfelt on her cheek, tracing her jaw, not shattering it,a tagger prepares for battlecarefully loading his makeshift holster after…

    Lou Faber

  • CUBIC

    In the center of every city there ought to be a park, an expanse of green, trees older than the first European to arrive, so old they need not feign indifference to the humans who have invaded and refused to leave despite the mother (nature)’s request that they do so immediately. Some cities comply, but…

    Lou Faber

  • THE SKY ABOVE

    Only in New York will you find a giraffe looking up at taller buildings and not thinking this the least bit strange. People always look up at buildings and it is never strange, but people know that giraffes must be different and their looking up is by its very nature strange. Giraffes look down at…

    Lou Faber

  • CITY OF FORGOTTEN

    The lake in Central Park and its cousin rivers reflect the gray of a cold sky, an April afternoon. None of this is seen by the multitudes traversing the streets and avenues, a people who barely remember the sky.

    Lou Faber

  • AFTERNOON STORM

    From twenty stories up lightning rends the fully fogged sky, a translucent gray curtain hung from an angry black ceiling. Nearby buildings and the streets below fade into misty oblivion. Even the approaching dusk sits back in wonder.

    Lou Faber