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

  • AN AWAKENING

    Take one partGrand Marnier, oneFrangelico, a short cupof coffee, whipped creamonly if you wish,curl on the sofawith your life’sgreatest loveand your firstreal, truly yourfirst Christmas Evemakes you wonderwhy you waitedso long. First published in The Poet: Christmas (2020 United Kingdom)

    Lou Faber

  • I SPEND THE EMPTY HOURS

    I spend considerable time thinkingabout what it is that I am, what is I,whether Descartes’ God or Spinoza’scould possibly exist, or must if I can havemeaning beyond self-reflection, needinga godly mirror, and image reflected.Cogito, on what basis can I draw that conclusionwhat logical proof, carefully constructed willnot fall under the weight of the axiom, cogito…

    Lou Faber

  • CALENDAR

    As a child I lived next door to a calendar,but not the kind mother always hungon the wall next to the refrigerator, two,one for school events and the obligationsattendant on parenthood and the otherfor holidays, and adult social events,the important one she’d say whenshe thought we couldn’t hear.My calendar was Mrs. Kanutsu,the woman next door,…

    Lou Faber

  • GODS ONCE

    The once gods have been reduced again to mere mortals and find the change disquieting. Just the other day I saw Hermes meandering along Fifth Avenue pausing to look at scarves in a window of a store he never imagined. Even the once great queen finds herself behaving like a love-struck teenager. One who bred…

    Lou Faber