an old writer and his words

  • I WANT

    I want my poem to scream out so loudthat you will hear it even if you are notpaying attention or are busy with other thingsyou think are more important than poetry. Too often my poems just lie on the paper,or are dead pixels on a screen, whisperingwhat I wanted shouted, but I am so oftena…

    Lou Faber

  • OCCASIONALLY

    I can still remember that dayin San Francisco, on Columbusjust down from City Lights Books,a young man sitting on a milk crateanother in front of him on whichhe perched an old typewriter.“A dollar buys you a poem”he said with a mix of hopeand resignation, his fingers poisedover the worn keys, their lettersfading as was his…

    Lou Faber

  • FOR ME OR THEE

    Do not ask me why I write poetrynor for whom I write poems.You will not be pleased by the answer.You assume I have an audience in mindwhen I pick up the pen and put it to paper.That would be a false assumptionfor only the occasional poet writeswith a specific audience in mind.The rest of us…

    Lou Faber

  • WRITING

    I have a Chinese friendwho says I should write poemsabout pomegranates and chrysanthemums.A Japanese business acquaintance sayspoems should be populated by sakura and Lotus.I tend to think of their advicein the deadest days of winterwhen snow presses against the houseas if seeking its faint warmth.As I thinly sliced the tender shootsof bamboo and dampen the…

    Lou Faber

  • THE RIVER OF SADNESS

    I have written poems about my grandfathersand the lives I was told they led,having met none of them, but I knewI was appropriating their stories, claimingthem as my legacy although all I was doingwas adopting them, as their children hadadopted me, none of the stories truly mine,and I only family by the thinnest of tiesthat…

    Lou Faber

  • AI EH?

    Please be aware that this poemwas not generated by nor wasthe writing assisted by Generative AI.The words and thoughts are mine,and mine alone so there is no machineintelligence to take the blame forwhat I might or might not say.I wanted to assure you of thisand thought of ways I could insurethat you would believe me,…

    Lou Faber

  • THIS IS NOT

    This is not the poemmy birth mother meant to writemeant to tuck in my blanketwhen I was handed overto the adoption agencymeant to follow methrough childhood, youth,adulthood, to be readon the day my sons were born.It would be a poemthat would be etcheddeeply into my psychethat would echo in my mindduring the quiet moments.She never…

    Lou Faber

  • MANY THINGS

    There are many thingsyou will never hear a poet say: I wanted to write a concrete poembut every time I floated the ideait immediately sank I love occasional poetrybut I never have foundthe occasion to write any It is no wonder so many poetsare starving because allthey write is free verse I thought of writingconfessional…

    Lou Faber

  • UNSPOKEN

    There is so much that hewould talk about, but dare not say.He knows keeping it withinis a recipe for pain and sufferingbut letting it loose makesthat pain and suffering a certaintyfor others and he is notwilling to do that to anyone.He laughs when he wants so muchto curse language for wordsare all he has and…

    Lou Faber

  • TWO THAT AREN’T IRISH

    There once was a lad from Nantucketwho stuck his foot into a buckethe fell to the floorhit his head on the doorand touching it, said this is where I struck it. There once was a young lad from Des Moinesquite adept at the flipping of coinshe fleeced all his friendsleft them all at bitter endsand…

    Lou Faber