an old writer and his words

  • NOT HERE

    There were those January nights whenwinter wrapped us in its chill, but withdrewits frequent blanket of clouds, and Iwould go outside peering throughthe fog of my breath and lookinto the sky at the aurora borealis,watching the electrons danceon a black scrim dotted with myriad stars.Years later and miles away I missthe occasional night shows for…

    Lou Faber

  • CHATTER

    The cat tells me thatlong after we have goneto bed for the night shehears the argumentsof the authors of the bookslining our living room shelves. The poets, she says, quibbleover rhyme and meter, claimthis one is academic, thatone merely skilled in doggerel. And don’t, she adds, get herstarted on the Buddhistauthors, who argue endlesslyover their…

    Lou Faber

  • NEVER EVER

    For those who cannot see the picture above, please imagine this text is the most hated font of all time*: There are certain sinsa poet learns never to commit,whether by teaching orsimply bad experience. Poetic sins come in manyshapes and sizes, grammatical,typographical, metaphorical,or just about any -al you choose. Bad rhyme is a minefield, unableto…

    Lou Faber