an old writer and his words

  • 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

  • TICK, TICK

    Ignore what the physicists tell you,for truth defies their neat lawsand time accelerates as you age.Stop and consider that the timeyou have left, however much it is,will, per unit of their measure,grow increasingly shorteruntil, of course, you have none leftand then it will cease to matter.So it is best to get on with living.Put aside…

    Lou Faber

  • BUT

    On more than one occasionsomeone has come up to meafter an open mic readingto tell me that they love my work. I am honored and tell them sobut curious as well, since Ionly read two poems, whichhardly counts as my work. I offer to sell them my bookat a substantial discount,but they inevitably tell me“Thanks,…

    Lou Faber

  • ORIGIN

    I am told that I should writeabout my origins, that is the stuffthat long poems are made of, orrather the soil from which they bloom. I have written about my birth motherand visited her grave in West Virginiaseen those of my grandparents, meta cousin, I’ve written all of that. So its time to write aboutmy…

    Lou Faber

  • UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

    It was a plain white envelopequite large, laying in the mailbox,a name and return address,nothing out of the ordinaryuntil I realized there were nostamps, just a marking,Postage PaidMelbourneVic. Inside was a magazineand within two poemswith which I was familiarbut which were nowbeing read on the oppositeside of the globe and Ihad to wonder whatthe Aussies…

    Lou Faber

  • IN THE WETLANDS

    Walking through a nature preservelike Wakodahatchee Wetlands youmust always keep a sharp eye. The birds are everywhere, they areunavoidable and even the alligators,imagining themselves coy are soon enough easily recognized,snouts appear just above the surfacewary eyes scanning the shore. Here you are also surroundedby poems, but they are far moreable to hide, among the eggs…

    Lou Faber