an old writer and his words

  • MISPLACING

    The river through the city hereis badly misplaced, not so much boringas missing something a city river should have.There are no tall buildingsstaring down at the river, no peoplegazing out of office windowswatching the shadows of their prisonsdance on the moving waters.Even in smaller cities the riversbisect its life, people noticing,peering down as they cross…

    Lou Faber

  • A TROIS

    Each night I crawl under the sheetscurled against the woman I loveand beside me slips your ghost.For sixty years you were no morethan a fleeting dream faceless, nameless,an infrequent visitor to my galleryof hopes, desires, and wishes.You never had a face, did Ihave one you could remember beforeI was plucked from you too soon, youlurking…

    Lou Faber

  • THE DARK SIDE

    She is so often presentas the sun makes itsdaily retreat, weimagine she ismysterious asshe hides, ordoes she takerefuge in the shadows.?Only a fewhave truly seen herand they speak onlyof her luminescentalter ego.

    Lou Faber

  • MISSING SONGS

    The problem, or one of them, isthe lack of music today. We haveall manner of what people call music,but not the music of the sortwe need, needed once and found,as we stormed the bastionsand bastards who mired us in war,who shunned darker brothersand sisters, who made alienablebasic rights to half of us withoutrhyme or reason,…

    Lou Faber

  • APPARITION

    In the night what I am perched on the edge of sleep you appear, just out of the dream shadows, avoiding the light, you are featureless. I call to you and I think you must be smiling but your voice is the wind through the Austrian pines and the drip from the ever shrinking icicles…

    Lou Faber

  • THROUGH THE LENS

    There are moments he said, when everything is suddenly clear and obvious to me. But they slip away and their shadows quickly fade away. She said if you stop looking for the fog the clarity might linger besides, how do you know what is clear and what is not.

    Lou Faber