an old writer and his words

  • EXTINCT

    You want us to believeyou are small, kind creaturessucking hungrily on the teatof democracy. We see you for whoyou really are, parasiteswho would suck the teatdry until democracywithered and died. Some believe you,accept you blindlybut what will they doif you succeed, for likeany invasive specieswhen the host is gonethere is only mourning.

    Lou Faber

  • DON’T BLAME ME

    On the day after I diethere is a real possibilitythat the sun will refuseto rise, an appropriateeffort at mourningwhich would be appreciatedif I were only thereto not see it. So I will just take iton faith, and as for thoseof you who survive meI will apologize in advancefor your day of darkness,although we both knowyou…

    Lou Faber

  • REAR VIEW MIND

    I spent too much time lookingbackward, looking into the past,looking into the mirrorto frame a dream historyof my desires and fears.He called one morning, lefta message, “Mother died,more details will follow.”A mother his by birth,mine by legal act.I should have felt stunnedanger, I said quietly to myselfhe’s cocky, has issues, and wentabout momentary mourning.That is…

    Lou Faber

  • AND UNDER THIS ROCK

    There is one thing that noneof the books on discoveringwho you are when you areadopted bother to tell you. If they did, it wouldn’t changeanything, but it is a burdenyou assumed you’d easily bearthat grows heavy with time. What they don’t warn you isthat you will discover yourself,your heritage that was deniedto you for one…

    Lou Faber

  • THE SUN ROSE

    The sun rose this morning,as if the day were not in anyway out of the ordinary, daynumber far too large to countfor those with finite capacity. The birds begin, their harmoniouscacophony, though they thinkit their lauds, matins of reflectionburned off with the dew underthe gentle glare of a morning sun. They watch us begin to…

    Lou Faber

  • KEGON RETURNS TO DELUSIONS 鐵笛倒吹 語十二

    If a gentle flowerfalls from its branch,do you mourn its departure?The fool attemptsto place it back in the tree,the wise one waitsfor another flower to appear. Each is the same flowerbut how will the foolbecome wise? A reflection on case 52 of the Iron Flute Koans

    Lou Faber

  • A SUDDEN DEPARTURE

    You sneaked away one night. You were there, but while sleep claimed me, you were gone without notice or warning. Where should I look for you? In these barren hills where the spirits of the first nations roam, looking for their ancestral land? Where should I look for you? Wandering these verdant fields where a…

    Lou Faber

  • BASHO, REDUX

    This poem was recently published in the first issue of a new journal, Punt Volat.  You can find it here: https://puntvolatlit.com/issues/winter-2019 If Basho were here today, in this America, at this time, stop briefly and consider what he might write, how he would describe the faces of parents mourning children gunned down in random urban…

    Lou Faber

  • SELF?

    There is one thing that none of the books on discovering who you are when you are adopted bother to tell you. If the did, it wouldn’t change anything, but it is a burden you assumed you’d easily bear that grows heavy with time. What they don’t warn you is that you will discover yourself,…

    Lou Faber

  • IN A ROOM OF HORSE MANURE

    My sister only wanted a horse an my parents thought they could solve that dilemma with a pony at her fifth birthday party where she would get all the extra rides, her friends and playmates be damned. Like most great parental plans, this one was doomed to failure, and failure marched front and center as…

    Lou Faber