an old writer and his words

  • THE FACT OF ADOPTION

    The fado fades under the weight of the Highland pipes and dreams of Cascais fade into the Scottish sky. Where once I thought of wandering Lisbon looking for my face, I imagine I see it in the Grampians, reflected off the lochs whose headwaters now feed my dreams. One joy of being adopted is that…

    Lou Faber

  • LUNA BECKONS

    The perigee moon hangs heavily over the city, clinging to the horizon as though it wishes to flee deep into the night, turning away the attention in inevitably draws. We are pulled toward it by some deeply felt force that we know we dare not question, for we must honor the moon’s secrets as we…

    Lou Faber

  • ROAD TRIP

    Two nights gone and sleep has come fitfully, and I stir each time I reach across the bed and you aren’t there, and there is only the faintest smell of bleach and cleaning solvent. I want very much to dream of you, to trace your cheek with dream fingers, to taste your lips on mine,…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT CHANGES

    Night alters sound in ways we can never precisely determine. It is possible our hearing changes with the flight of the sun, but the moon scoffs at this premise. A train rattling across the landscape in the heat of day becomes a musical instrument in the relative silence of night, playing a melody that insuates…

    Lou Faber

  • DEMONS

    In the night there are no demons, just the sound of your breathing, and your soft touch on my back, your foot against my calf.

    Lou Faber

  • IF EINSTEIN WAS

    If Einstein was correct relatively speaking, the arrow of time, rusted in place, indomitable, can be freed, torn from its mooring and set adrift defying its natural inclination.                           As the lights of Seoul were engulfed by a blanket of clouds which in…

    Lou Faber

  • A POET IS

    A poet is a child who on seeing a blank page must fill it with dreams hears the song of the nightingale in the din of passing traffic comforts the lonely mother recalling the pain of a thousand births sees in each passing cloud the tears of a generation feels the heat of the sun…

    Lou Faber

  • WITHOUT WITHIN

    Within a rock there is another rock that sits in the middle of the stream, in sight, just out of reach. Within a cloud there is another cloud whose rain has fed a barren field. Within this city there is another city whose streets I have walked in countless dreams. Within this mirror there is…

    Lou Faber

  • DREAM

    She took the flower, placed it gently, arranged just so, between the pages of the giant tome, and closed the book setting it carefully back on the shelf where it would remain until someone, seeing its leathered spine might pull it out, blow off the dust and open to that page, and look into her…

    Lou Faber

  • DREAMS

    Somewhere, tonight a bagpiper is playing., Notes from the drone and chanters lick the sky, piercing passing clouds, embedding themselves in the stars. Somewhere else a flute player fingers the stops as notes pour forth and dance on the moonlit lawn. Neither piper nor flautist hear each other, but I weave both into a song,…

    Lou Faber