an old writer and his words

  • SIR, YES SIR

    The hardest part wasn’t the marching,wasn’t the godawful food, although almost so,wasn’t the heat and humidity of San Antonio.It wasn’t the thought that I had nearlyflunked out of college under the sway,or was it swaying away with, recreational drugs,until I cut a deal with the Dean, my futurefor producing a DD-214, an honorable discharge.It wasn’t…

    Lou Faber

  • IN ABSENTIA

    It is, I thinkher lips I miss mosttheir butterfly flutteracross my cheekthen her eyes, almost felinethat see withinbehind wallshastily erectedthat fall to her sight.It is all of thatand the whispered wordslinking heartsthat still echoas she slides into sleep.I cry out to Morpheusmy words are swallowedby the droneof the enginesthat fall as raininto the Sea of…

    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