an old writer and his words

  • THE FINAL SCENE

    For far too long he had beena marionette dancing to a tunehe could not hear, always staying silent,lost in a kabuki theater of the absurd.But he had grown tired of performingat their every demand, his life livedperpetually on call, no time truly his.He was drained by them, empty,not that they cared for they knewthe adulation…

    Lou Faber

  • GROUND HOLD

    She sits in the middle seat of an oversold DC-9, Carhartt jacket and watch cap pulled tightly over her hair, a blond wisp slipping out the side. She cradles on her lap a tawny brown Stetson with a tooled leather and silver hat band. “It’s never goin’ in an overhead, my fiancee’d go up there…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT WALK

    I walked the cityin the heart of the night,streetlights casting the shadowsof ghosts of those long goneto bed, unknowingthat the city has beengiven over to ravening windsthat find no shelter.I step into an alcoveand the fading lightof the flickering bulb overheadurges me to move onlest she bury mein the darkness of her grave.By day, this…

    Lou Faber

  • PINNING HOPES

    As a child I always avoidedpins, and not becauseI feared at all getting stuck,that could be a small badgeof courage, no my fearwas what might be onthe head of that pin or this.It was more elementalthan that, it raised an almostexistential issue that I wasnot yet prepared to deal with.But I had it on good…

    Lou Faber

  • ONCE, AGAIN

    His mind was dancingwhile his feet were firmly anchoredto the unyielding ground.It has long been this wayhis mind demanding a freedomhis body is incapable of granting.But in his dreams his body hasinfinite flexibility, can moveas the mind needs only to imagine.those moments of freedom, he knowswill depart when the day once againimprisons him, locking himin…

    Lou Faber

  • NOT THAT PICTURE

    Whoever first penned the adagethat picture is worth a thousand wordsand the multitude who haverepeated it ad nauseam in many languagesclearly never attended the partiesI once attended where, when the foodwas consumed, the guests adjournedto a den or living room wheresomeone wanted to form teams“for a spirited game of charades.”Then one poor, lost soul wouldstand…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT VISITOR

    Across Bedford Avenuein the fourth floor windowthe antique bird printis bathed in the lightof a Chinese ginger jar lamp.Her shadow dancesacross the wall, armswrapped tightly around herselfin the sway of Terpsichoresinging her melancholy song.I hear onlythe cacophony of the drunkon the cornerbraying to the moonand the rumbleof the lorryon Tottenham Court Road. First Published in…

    Lou Faber

  • AT THE CAFE

    We sit acrossfrom each otherseparated bythe small tablethat teeters,her cappuccinolicking at the rim.My toes danceagainst hersand she looks upquizzically.I smile and reachfor her handtouching her fingersfeeling the fine silverof the rings on each.She pulls her handback and looksinto the richbrown sheen.I stare out the windowat the odd carlookingfor a spacein the overfull lot,then pullingback ontothe…

    Lou Faber

  • AT FIRST

    The first timeI heard itI knewthat voicecame from a placeI had never visited,would neverbe able to go. It penetrated mereverberatedwithin mea harmonicthat shookme to my core. She reachedand graspedwhat I thoughtI had kept hidden,and as I dancedwith mynew bride,I knew Ettahad led meto loveAt Last.

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING NIGHT

    Arising into nightthe departing suntangos away with its cloud,memories soon forgotten. Other dancers take the stage,now a romance, nowa war dance, feathers raisedin prayer to unseen gods. Night will soon bringits curtain across this stage,the avian casts’ final bows takenthe theater will darken, awaitinganother performance,a new script tomorrow,but for this solitary momentof frozen grace, it…

    Lou Faber