an old writer and his words

  • CHARLESTON, WV

    Half of me, according to the twistedstrands of deoxyribonucleic acid,has its roots in Liskovo, which would bea simple matter were there not townsby that name in Poland and Belarus,and none in Lithuania, the language of my genes. All of this is preparatory to my visitnext week to the city where my mother,grandparents and great grandparentsare…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • TONGUES

    Ninety-six years ago today Women gained the right to vote. It would be another five before those who preceded the lot of us were blessed with citizenship, the least we could offer, after our prior gifts of disease, alcoholism and down sizing. Who, our forebears must have imagined, wouldn’t want to live somewhere they had…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHTWAY TOKYO

    It is well into the Season When Thunder Sleeps and the crowds no longer snaked through  Shinjuku Park where even the stones were in quiet hibernation. The sun fell quickly sucking away the light bringing the sleep of dreams and nightmares, of love and terror and despair. The night chant began for yet another night…

    Lou Faber