an old writer and his words

  • SOULMATE

    He had been lonelyfor as long as he could rememberalways wishing for loveor a relationship he could call love.That emotional emptiness hadbecome crushing and he knewhe had tried every possible option:church groups, singles events and bars,and countless dating sites and apps.He read that some like him,had turned to AI to createwhat his life was lacking.He…

    Lou Faber

  • IN PASSING

    There are always eerie momentswhen you learn of the deathof someone you knew brieflyseveral decades before.You struggle to remember allyou can of your interactions,places, events, even conversations.But the departed always seems justas they looked when you lastsaw them hardly older, hardto imagine death has claimedsomeone you see as young,while your mirror constantlyreminds you of how…

    Lou Faber

  • A PAUSE

    Now just stop and imagineif one event in your youth had gonein a wholly different direction,where would you be today?Follow this alternative universebounded only by imaginationand such amount of logic as you choose,and create the framework of a lifethat never existed until that moment.If you wish, pick another event,and another until you havea cosmos of…

    Lou Faber

  • ME, MYSELF, AND I

    I suppose I would be justifiedin hating it, and I do admita little spite, but I tread carefullyaround it for I know the consequences.It’s fragility, seemingly suddenand unexpected, can be infuriating,and it has developed this tendencyto fail me in ways great and small.While I should expect thisand I have made efforts to accept itas graciously…

    Lou Faber

  • PAYMENT IN FULL

    On this day I will give the cat a bath.this involves an elaborate ceremony,as befits an almost unique occasion. I awaken at the usual hour, performmy usual bathroom ritual, to the mirthof the cat who curls up on the dirtylaundry in the basket in the closet. I dice the pear, slice the banana,pluck and carefully…

    Lou Faber

  • FESTIVAL

    They ebb and flow like tides down the half-empty street from venue to venue, many with that lost look of years in the desert, driven on by promised the land of honey notes, the mother’s milk of jazz. The event passes flap in the breeze created by their wake, some checking programs, their personal map…

    Lou Faber

  • BROKEN BOW

    This poem was recently published in the first issue of a new journal, Punt Volat.  You can find it here: https://puntvolatlit.com/issues/winter-2019 Early this afternoon, a Kenworth semi pulling a 53-foot trailer rolled down Nebraska route 92 and entered the limits of Broken Bow. The importance of this event, while not yet obvious, will, I promise,…

    Lou Faber

  • STILL SMALL VOICE

    We listen carefully certain we can hear it if and when it appears. We hear nothing, but we are used to not hearing, but faith is a far more patient than it is given credit for and we have nothing to do in any event, other than to abide an event we cannot predict and…

    Lou Faber

  • EXPECTATIONS

    Nothing unexpected happened today. That, in itself, was entirely unexpected. On this and certain other days, you have to expect the unexpected. When that doesn’t happen you are left to ponder why what was logically expected went so unexpectedly wrong. Nothing unexpected should happen tomorrow. At least anything unexpected happening would be a truly unexpected…

    Lou Faber

  • ECLIPSED

      Tomorrow the moon will be full of herself hiding behind the cape of the afternoon sun. It is of no matter the moon would say if asked, for this doesn’t happen often. She would dazzle our eyes if she dared show her ancient face but not tomorrow, not this once in a blue moon.…

    Lou Faber