an old writer and his words

  • THE SHORE

    The sea steals the edge of the shore, replacing it with something familiar and yet different. It is much the same with the waves of sleep that lap at my dreams leaving fractured memories and holes left to fill with desire and imagination. Walking along the shore of dawn and awakening, I feel time creep…

    Lou Faber

  • WINDSONG

      Far out on the mesa the wind sings an alluring song to the melody of the wooden flute. You can sit among the sage, and like the orange orbed coyote around you, stare up at the moon and look for the spirits of the ancient ones that lived in these mountains, the tricksters who…

    Lou Faber

  • SHINJUKU

    The sun rises slowly painfully, stiff from the cold night air, creeping upward, barely warming the streets. In Shinjuku Central Park the trees are still despite the cold breeze. The small group gathers for morning stretches and Tai Chi, smiling toward the fountain and the ten foot waterfall they call Niagara. The siren cuts through…

    Lou Faber

  • THIS POEM

    will not marvel at the dawn will not stare at the ebb and flow of the sea will not see ghosts in the clouds over Dachau  will sit on the page staring back will remember the torn wallpaper will cry out, always unanswered  will not trace your spine, lingering on each vertebra will not make…

    Lou Faber

  • LETTING GO

    Dawn is announced by the sound of the bell, its echo chasing off the ghost of night leaving but whispers of what he cannot tell. Looking inward the mind seeks to rebel, to vanquish the simple call of the light. Dawn is announced by the sound of the bell and the peace of dreams shattered…

    Lou Faber