an old writer and his words

  • ON THE CUSHION

    The day has slipped away,or mostly so, as they often doas if nature provided a hiddengrease that lets them outof our grasp no matterhow hard we try and hold them.It is little consolation, laterin life, that nights demonstrateand equal unwillingnessto remain very long, as ifour dreams must be hurriedas are our days and nights.Sitting on…

    Lou Faber

  • IN THE CITY OF DREAMS

    my demonssink into the abyssof memoryand drownin the hollowbetween her breasts,she touches my armand presses backwe are Siamese fetusesfloating untetheredin the sea of night,I can smell the sweet soapand taste the sweatbeading on hershoulder blades,I brush my fingersacross her thighand cling to sleep. First published in Discretionary Love, June 2023https://www.discretionarylove.com/in-the-city-of-dreams-louis-faber/

    Lou Faber

  • IN DREAMS

    In my youth so many of my dreamsseemed full length novels, on occasionsome were serialized over several nights.That did not last of course andas I aged medicine stepped into keep my pressure in checkand the magical diuretics decidedI could get by with dream novellas,which were certainly preferableto the other option, fabula interrumpirBut I continued to…

    Lou Faber

  • VINCENT

    When we visited Arleswe expected to see paintingsof wildflowers, night skies,all the images that Van Goghleft as his legacy. We did see posters,postcards and booksbut not a single paintingis to be found by the masterwhere he painted. We at least hopedthe night sky from the boatwould be somethingto remember alwaysbut clouds over Arleslook much the…

    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

  • ELAPSED TIME

    Time measured outin a slow twistingof a fork, pitchedinto day’s heartbleeding heatas pulses fade.Tequila breezeblows acrossthe verandahpalms rustlingto rhythms of lifebodies snatchedcarried off, placesunseen, unimagined.Wings float upliftedher face in sleepserene, feline.Night’s morphine dripedges into sleepdreams of her touchcloses eyesto phoenix’s ascension. First published in The Berlin Literary Review, Issue 01, May 2023https://theberlinliteraryreview.com/issue-one/

    Lou Faber

  • WIDOWER

    In the cold nightof another winterhe stares outacross the barren fieldswhich have long forgottenthe taste of the sun.He watches carefullyfor a signbut the naked branchdenies the breeze.He remembershow it once wasin the heatof the dying firethe sweetness of her lipslingering on his tongue.She is gone, has beenso long, her faceis hiddenby the gauzy veilof time.He…

    Lou Faber

  • MESA

    This nightin cold moonlightearth rises upclouds float downghosts walk the margin.Old ones singnow shall be thenolder ones still singthen shall be onceto wolf and coyote.In this season of north windssun’s heat barrenspirits rise updreams descendman lies interspersed.Women singwe are bearersmen singwe are sowers. First appeared in Dipity, Vol. 3, April 2023

    Lou Faber

  • CALLING

    As I age, I more willingly accedeto the sirens call of sleepfor as night washes over mepulling up its blanket of starsshe takes me on a voyageto destinations she willnot disclose until our arrival.The journey may be pleasantor the seas of night can beroiling, but her grip is firm.But in her never certain worldage can…

    Lou Faber

  • UNDER THE BED

    There was a ghostor two for a short while,that lived under my bedwhen I was three or four. My mother said theywere not real, she couldn’tsee them when she looked,so they were all in my mind. I had to tell her that youdon’t ever actually see ghosts,you just know they are therebecause you sense their…

    Lou Faber