an old writer and his words

  • ALL BETS ARE ON

    It is a game, of course, and one you cannot win. The question is how much will you lose if you buy into the game. The odds favor the house. There would not be a house if the odds did not favor it. But you know you must play the game. There is no other…

    Lou Faber

  • FOUR HAIKU

    At night’s marginsdreams may ferry you acrossrivers of doubt Paper boatsfloat slowly down riversof deep felt hopes Paper lanternsslowly carry awayancestral spirits A thousand craneslift into a scarlet skyand chase the sun

    Lou Faber

  • INTO THE DARKNESS

    We live in an age when logic has failed and our days come with the darkness of night leaving all of our plans and dreams derailed. We imagined a world, fully detailed to leave our children, that was their birthright. We live in an age when logic has failed and the battles we fought, the…

    Lou Faber

  • THE PAPER

    He was 11 when he first discovered it. Jimmy knew immediately that (1) it was something remarkable, (2) he didn’t understand it at all, and (3) he dare not let his parents know he had it. It was (3) that gave him the most worry. Not what they would do to him if they discovered…

    Lou Faber

  • BEING A PART

    He wanted, most of all, to bea part of something, butsomething that had never existed,a dissonance in an orderly universethat was slowly devolving into chaos.He was a shadow, seen only by dayand often ignored, not invisible, but nearly so.He would soon emerge from the darkness,welcome the day, the sun’s too briefappearance, his footsteps would echoa…

    Lou Faber

  • UNBOXED

    They thought they had himboxed in, contained, constrained,but he would not be truncated, cast aside.He would make a quiet escape, proceedcarefully so they would not realize,until it was too late, that he was freeof their control, their rejection, their spite.They wanted him in their psychic morgue,one more corpse sacrificed on their altarof conformity, but none…

    Lou Faber

  • VULCAN’S FLAMES

    The ark of hope had sailedalmost empty, their realitywas free falling, their dreamsconsumed in the furnaceof their greed, their arrogance.Time was hanging suspended,they were grasping at the handsof the clock perched now inover the growing abyss.Once they had been gods, orimagined themselves so, nowthey were fuel for Vulcan’s flames.Once they were prophetsof an unbounded, unbridled…

    Lou Faber

  • RISING TIME

    Night rises slowlyfrom tangled rootsdragging ocher and rustfrom reluctant trees,promising only winter.We cannot see this,we sense only time eroding,slipping off untilthe trees are naked.They want onlyto hide themselvesin a shimmering gownof snow, recallingtheir verdancy, imagininganother season, a seasonof hope, a seasonof consecration, of light,of resurrection.We stand emotionallystripped on the banksof the stream into whichwe cannot…

    Lou Faber

  • FLATTERY

    I have never bought into the conceptthat imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.That said, I have spent far too long scouringthe small shops of Crete, Santorini, Lesbos,the back alleys of towns on Rhodes, Corfu,Naxos, Lemnos, Chios, driven throughThessaloniki, Patras Piraeus, Heraklion.Throughout, I’ve carefully marshaledwords and phrases, outlined forms,honed allusions, alliteration, the odd chiasmusI’ve even…

    Lou Faber

  • PIGGIES

    I have to stop and wonder ifthere is a parent alive whohasn’t gently pulled on the toesof achild too young to objectand recited “this little piggy.”And of course most children gigglebut not for the reason the parentssuspect or hope, but at the sightof a large person turning intoa somewhat ridiculous child.If they could comprehend justwhat…

    Lou Faber