an old writer and his words

  • LACKLAND

    They marched us to the middleof nowhere, sweat running downour backs, our olive drab uniformsnow three shades darker. They handed us a rifle, an M-16they told us in class, with a 5.56round, it would tumble afterit hit its target, good for killing. We lay on the ground, shoulderedthe weapon, aimed it at thetarget, a bottomless…

    Lou Faber

  • DEEP

    Deep beneath the Arctic icethe whale songs shimmerin the harsh lightof a frozen sun.We strive to hear them,hear nothing, hear onlyour thoughts echoingthrough cavernous memories.With thoughts of what was,what we wish had been,we are ambient noisein a universe whichcradles hope, craves silence.Dolphins dream of dayswhen the sea was theirs,lives lived in a slow paradisea world…

    Lou Faber

  • FALLING

    I fell deeply in love with herstanding in a small jeweler’s shopin Bangor, Wales on a November morning.In truth, cradling a small silverCeltic cross in my handsI knew then that Itaken that plungewithin moments of our meetingand recognition of itwas all that remained.

    Lou Faber

  • FLAME

    He watched as the flame licked at the lip of the candle, the wax slowly conceding and falling in, forming the cradle on which the flame danced. He wondered how something as simple as a wax cylinder could have an inherent knowledge of beauty and simplicity and yet he stared at it certain the knowledge…

    Lou Faber