an old writer and his words

  • AMUSEMENT

    Life, he said with his ever present smile,is very much like an amusement park.The preacher, priest, rabbi standsat the ticket booth, gladly taking your moneyand telling you to have a good time,but reminding you of the penaltyfor not following the rules he or shehands you, neatly bound and printedin longer or shorter versions dependingon who…

    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

  • SABBATH

    She could not understand whyanyone, really, would willinglygive up their Saturday morningto sit inside and recite prayershalf in a language that neitherthey nor most of the congregationspoke, and when I said some knewthe translations by heart, she added“then why not recite those.”She had a point, I knew, but wouldI easily concede, as if thatwould make…

    Lou Faber

  • SEASIDE

    The ocean wind sweeps through the citya sudden rain washes sidewalk, shop, and street,carries both dreams and sins back to the sea. For the young child time slides by easily,life a campaign that allows no retreat.The ocean wind sweeps through the city, rattles church windows, so that all can seethe priest stripped of dogma. Christ…

    Lou Faber

  • ANOTHER EVENING SPENT

    I wonder if there are priestssitting on beds drinking Diet Cokeand contemplating the meaningof heaven, of sex,of indigestion from a burgerand fries with onionsin a bar, the angelscovering their ears from the dinof four pool tables,of slipping on the spilled Red Rock,while outside the traffic thinsand the neon blinksits message to the gods. First appeared…

    Lou Faber

  • FUNEREAL

    The priest droned on, a short passage from Micah had some questioning prophecy. Within the coffin we suspect Agnes too grew even more impatient, wanting final rest, wanting the party to begin, hating the tears. Later, with wine flowing, somewhere in the gray sky I imagine her knowing wink.

    Lou Faber

  • AT THE TEMPLE

    The Buddhist priest in golden robes rocks gently to and fro, chanting from the prayer cards over the din of the flea market swirling around him, The faithful stand with heads bowed, as the stone Buddha draped in red and gold nods his approval

    Lou Faber

  • COMPARISONS

    It was Henry Miller who said that the principal difference between a sage and a preacher is one thing: gaiety, and I suppose the same could be said of the difference between the monk and the wealthy man. It was in a small temple nestled in a courtyard of three office towers in the heart of…

    Lou Faber