an old writer and his words

  • A SOMBER CELEBRATION

    Once again we celebrate a groupthat even most of its members wish wenever had to celebrate, wish there wasno need for, wish the very conceptof war was never realized or imagined.You have to pause and wonder why Godin his or her infinite wisdom allowedCain to kill Abel, allowed the seedsof greed to take purchase in…

    Lou Faber

  • IF ONLY

    Were we birds we wouldhave our talons dug so deeplyinto the soil, our wings unableto lift us into a waiting skyfrom our gravitation prison.The egrets peer down at usfrom a thousand hued blue skycloudless again this dayas a maleficent sun glaresdown on us as we slowlybake in the oven we createdby our malfeasant stewardshipof nature’s…

    Lou Faber

  • FORGOTTEN

    In the great cemeteryin a corner reserved for thatostentation only wealth can buyI am struck by one massivemarble walled mausoleum.Who lies within is of noimportance to anyone otherthan the ones who lie within.Small graves in common bulksections are dotted with freshor faded flowers waitingto nourish the soil, or is itthe souls of those who lie…

    Lou Faber

  • MULTIPLICATION

    If he thought about it at allhe probably thought himself akinto Johnny Appleseed, casting his seedand being fruitful in every sense,but some might say he was moreAttila, a Hun pillaging where he couldthen moving on, his prizes claimedthe emotional wrappings discarded.Of course we can never know whichfor some secrets unless exposeddo follow you to the…

    Lou Faber

  • TOKYO SNAPSHOTS

    In the small yardof the matchbox housethe lone Ginkgotwisted by timefeels the barrennessof winter’s tongueand mournsits solitude. The apartment building looms upover the tracks of the Narita Expressthe balconies are deserted, savefor the laundry which flapsin the morning breeze,slapping with the gustsinto the small satellite dishesbolted to the railings. The ancient trees are twistedand gnarled,…

    Lou Faber

  • MEMORY

    She regularly visits the cemetery,sits for hours on the little folding stoolshe brings with her, at his gravesiteand reminisces with him over momentsof joy and sadness they had shared.Once a year she brings flowerswhich she leaves in the small pot.When she planted them in the soilbut would find them dead by her next visit.She wondered…

    Lou Faber

  • GALWAY

    I remember it as thoughit was yesterday, not eight years ago,the evening cool, the streetcrowded, the pubs along High Street:Freeney’s, The Front Door,Tigh Neachtain, Sonny Molloy’sstill warming up as the nighttightened it grip, the Guinnesswashed the taps, filled the pintsand people sat along the streetsome with guitars, one a bouzouki,and all with a song whichyou…

    Lou Faber

  • SAINTS AND SINNERS

    I am a distant grandchildof saints and Herod,kings and lords, andVisigoths for good measure. That half of me iswoven of ever thinnerbranches on a treethat threatens to topplefrom the lightnessof its other side, rootsdeep in the rich soilof Lithuania, the rootshitting bedrock, andthe branches stuntedand there a simpleAshkenazi Jew.

    Lou Faber

  • NO CLICHES HERE

    The birds in this part of Floridahave found a way around the clicheand we are thankful they have done so. As we saw last week whenthe neighbor’s yard was regraded,and before the new sod arrived,the “soil” was mostly sandand there was not a wormto be found anywhere. Yet the birds, early and lategot all they…

    Lou Faber

  • HAVOC

    They took up shovels,pickaxes, bare fingersto pry up the seedlings,the saplings just takingroot and the seedsjust planted still wateredby the sweat and tearsof those who lovinglytilled the brittle soil. They offered nothingin return, barren groundwhere only anger grew,fertilized by fear, byby greed, by blindness. Will we sit by and watchas promises wither underan ever stronger,…

    Lou Faber