an old writer and his words

  • NOT HERE

    There were those January nights whenwinter wrapped us in its chill, but withdrewits frequent blanket of clouds, and Iwould go outside peering throughthe fog of my breath and lookinto the sky at the aurora borealis,watching the electrons danceon a black scrim dotted with myriad stars.Years later and miles away I missthe occasional night shows for…

    Lou Faber

  • IN HIDING

    What is it she is hiding so assiduouslythat she always shields one face whilefreely offering the one we already know.And why all the coming and going, whynot just be like her cousins, alwayspresent until the final moment and thenmaking a grand exit for all to see.She knows she pulls on us, on ouremotions, we mark…

    Lou Faber

  • SONG OF THE UNIVERSE

    It was a certain rhythm that he lovedhe felt it in total silence, it fadedin the presence of sound, a doumbekof the soul he would describe it. He remembered how it was beforetheir one God rendered him and his kindmere mythological creatures fit onlyfor poetry and dusty library shelves. He would have his revenge some…

    Lou Faber

  • CELESTIAL RHYTHM

    It was a certain rhythm that he loved,one he felt it in total silence, yet it fadedin the presence of sound, a doumbekof the soul he would describe it. He remembered how it was beforetheir one god rendered him and his kindmere mythological creatures fit onlyfor poetry and dusty library shelves. He would have his…

    Lou Faber

  • DEMANDED TIME

    I’ve made a practicewhich feels more like a demand,that each day I take a fewmoments or more and stopwhatever else I was, orshould have been, doingto write a poem. There are days, perhaps thisone where it seems morea short bit of prose to whichI have added line breaksdespite the protestof the words, condemning themto bear…

    Lou Faber

  • THE WAVES

    We, so far out at sea,see only the waves passing,the rise and fall, the rhythm,and cannot imagineit could be otherwise, You, on the shorecannot perceive the waveswe do, torn by the reefthat leaves you onlyimagining what you thinkthe waves might be. We cannot imaginethe silence, the isolationyou must feel in yourwaveless world withonly memory of…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THE MENU

    The waiter we know so well tells tonight’s server that we are poets and she should ask us to order in iambic pentameter. We write him a limerick, which she delivers with a smile before returning with our wine and a pad to take our order. She seems somewhat sad when our order lacks rhythm…

    Lou Faber

  • A SIMPLE SONG

    Much as every person is a Buddha every guitar can play a simple song. Some will lay it badly, some will break a string, some will play with an unspoken regret, but all have the capacity, recognized or not, to create a moment of memory. On this night there are two, both skilled, honed of…

    Lou Faber