an old writer and his words

  • EASTER

    Tomorrow is Easter Sunday and Iam certain that neither of my mothers,one who had me, one who adopted me,will rise from their respective graves,with Jesus, all three Jewish.But resurrection is not a taskgiven over to women, the Bible says,with its always careful division of labor.And I will stop and think of the Judasin my life,…

    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

  • REFRAMED DREAMS

    In my reframed dreamI am sitting in a smoky bar,bathed in the neon of Roppongi.with the sour smell of Sapporo and Asahiwafting up from the beer-damp floor.I don’t want to be here, wantto be miles and miles from this placein the shadows of Mount Wakakusawalking slowly through Todai-jiin search of something I haveyet to find,…

    Lou Faber

  • IN ABSENTIA

    It is, I thinkher lips I miss mosttheir butterfly flutteracross my cheekthen her eyes, almost felinethat see withinbehind wallshastily erectedthat fall to her sight.It is all of thatand the whispered wordslinking heartsthat still echoas she slides into sleep.I cry out to Morpheusmy words are swallowedby the droneof the enginesthat fall as raininto the Sea of…

    Lou Faber

  • AUBADE

    The sun peers throughthe skylight, sneakscatlike up the comforter.He strokes her cheek,they are drawn together,lips touch,toes twine,hips press,fingers trace,the mattress a worldof infinite gravity.Downstairsthe cat paces angrily,the coffeemakerthirsts for beans. First Published in the 2005 Scars Publications Poetry Wall Calendar

    Lou Faber

  • WRITING MY STORY

    With the stroke of a pen,they enabled me to write the story,gave a framework on whichI could hang all mannerof dreams and assumptions,inviting a search I neverquite got around to making. I wandered the beachesof Estoril in my dreams,stalked the avenues of Lisbon,looking for a familiar face,but found only ghosts. With the stroke of a…

    Lou Faber

  • SENSELESS

    You place the shroudover my head,it is dark, but Ican still touch her cheek. You cut offmy fingers, leavingonly stumps, but Ican still taste her tears. You pull outmy tongue, there isonly bitterness, but Ican hear her morning laugh. You drown mein a sea of noisenothing breaks the din, but Ismell her sweetness. You fill…

    Lou Faber

  • MITOCHONDRIAL

    I always imagined it would somehowbe romantic, not in the Hollywood sort of way,but in an idyllic, picturesque manner,even if that denied basic reality.Reality, when it comes to origins discoveredis overrated, for the normal percolation timeis denied, and the impact is suddenwith no restraints to temper the blow.Way back when, you learned by storiestold by…

    Lou Faber

  • ERATO PREFERS LATTE

    My muse sits quietly on the shelf over the counter in the Café Espresso at Barnes and Noble nestled between 12 ounce bags of Colombian Supremo and Kenya AA, in the shadow of the plant whose leaves reach out to caress her cheek. She whispers to me between notes from the guitarist performing on the…

    Lou Faber

  • EXPECTATIONS

    You say you appreciate occasional gifts of symbols of love. You expect me to bring you a rose it’s satin petals gently curling back at the edges, always threatening to suddenly unfold, alluring, drawing in the eye promising warmth and release. I bring you an onion, wrapped tightly, it’s papered skin, the luminescence threatening to…

    Lou Faber