an old writer and his words

  • NIGHT AT THE ALLUSIVE TAVERN

    He had been sitting there for hours, days,how many “last calls” had he heard?He watched Beckett and Eliot come and gobut he sat waiting, patiently, no Godot for him.He had long since lost his now empty pen,his pockets grown stuffed with damp cocktailnapkins, the story of his life bleeding slowlyinto the worn fabric of the…

    Lou Faber

  • ANOTHER BAR, THIS ONE TOKYO

    This poem was recently (February 5, 2019) published in the Beatnik Cowboy.  Check them out at: https://beatnikcowboy.com/   “Another,” he said, his knees pressing against the mahogany panels of the old bar, “and keep them coming until I can take no more. There won’t be a last call tonight.” The clatter of caroming billiard balls…

    Lou Faber