an old writer and his words

  • AFLOAT

    I have taken tofolding my poemsinto little paper boatsand dropping gentlyinto the riverwhere they saildownstream. Many may drownbut some mayreach the lakeor be plucked outand reador discarded. The river is,in the end,my harshestcritic.

    Lou Faber

  • SHELVED

    They speak of me, never to me,with terms like breakage, as thoughlife, mine at least, is a glass bottleon a shelf with so many others,and a certain percentage are pre-assumed to break and be discardedand no one will bat an eyelash. To them I am nameless, one of many,stock in trade, with no provenance,or at…

    Lou Faber