an old writer and his words

  • WORKSHOP

    Grace settles into the chair,less an act of sitting thanof floating down onto the seat.She has borrowed my grandmother’ssmile, kind, gentle, inviting.She pulls a book from her bag,its pages or most of themdog eared, and I glimpsesome annotations in the margins.We sit around her like childrenawaiting presents on a holiday,as acolytes seeking knowledgefrom a font…

    Lou Faber

  • REVERY

    Seen from a great distance the rowboat is a speck on a lake which appears far more like an oversized pond. You are so far off you cannot see if there is a person in the boat or it is merely floating about free of its mooring, imagining itself a water-lily basking in the midday…

    Lou Faber

  • CERULEAN

    He is certain that the sky is always blue and when it seems cloudy it is just that Magritte has risen from his grave and brush in hand, painted the sky and clouds. She scoffs at the idea knowing full well the clouds are merely rice paper cutouts floating on a gentle breeze.

    Lou Faber