an old writer and his words

  • OCTOBER

    There is an infinite spaceAround us, a massive voidinto which universes tumbleand stars and planets are born.Outside, the maple leavesburning flame and crimsonspiral to the lawn, whichwaits to receive them.Autumn is the seasonwhen the earth prepares to dieand it is left to usto prepare the gravesite.The albino squirrel standson the fence rail, defyingme to find…

    Lou Faber

  • MANY THINGS

    There are many thingsyou will never hear a poet say: I wanted to write a concrete poembut every time I floated the ideait immediately sank I love occasional poetrybut I never have foundthe occasion to write any It is no wonder so many poetsare starving because allthey write is free verse I thought of writingconfessional…

    Lou Faber

  • ODE TO PATIENCE

    The jetty is replete todaywith tourists, pale as the sunbleached concrete, stoppingto gawk at the fishermenwho ignore them intenton watching the sadly still line. The pelicans sit on the rocksgrooming and posing, talkingloudly on occasion beforespreading wings and flying off.Out on the jetty a pelican waitspatiently for the fishermanto pack up for the day, knowinghe…

    Lou Faber

  • MARCH ON

    We marched regularly, often carring placards,this week against an insane warin a place we had no busines being,next week for the racial justicepromised for a century but never delivered,and then for the ecology, trying to savethe world that our parents promisedfor us as little children and failedto provide, choking through the smogand the teargas, scraping…

    Lou Faber