an old writer and his words

  • 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

  • THE NEW GODS

    From their two-bedroom apartmenton the outer edge of Cupertino,the Gods evicted from Olympusare creating their pulsating metahell.They know how easily we, lemmingsenchanted by the sparkling void,offer ourselves up in sacrifice, alwayswanting still another gigabyte,entranced by the idea of the Deusex machina, blind to our own truth.They promise us eternity, a heavenof a parallel binary universe,redemption…

    Lou Faber

  • FORGOTTEN SOULS

    From the heart of the infernoDante and Lucifer grow boredwaiting, waiting for the ferrywhile Charon stops for lunchyet again at a Greek dinerin the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.They take up a game of catchtossing Molotov cocktails,raining fire onto the brimstone,setting the Styx ablaze.Each knows this is not necessary,for necessity is a creatureof heaven and there…

    Lou Faber

  • HARLAN

    You came, Harlan, to Rochestersomewhere in an endless winter,“Ellison in Tundraland” you said.We all chuckled approvingly. You said a short prayerclimbing into the rusting Opel,sliding on the edgeof oblivion, andthe approaching snowplow. You stood, hoarse, smellingof Borkum Riff and English Leather,a tweed jacket over a polo shirtand thinning jeansand told us of the insanityof television,…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • PANDEMIC DREAMS

    What I most want to do now,locked in by something unseen,is to wander the streets of citieshere, Europe, it hardly matters,and find statues whose plaquesare worn away or gone missing,now nameless souls of oncelesser fame meriting a bronzeor of such ego as donatingtheir own image to the town. They are forgotten souls, oftenrightfully so no…

    Lou Faber

  • CHANGE

    They lie in the field uprooted slowly desicating in the harsh sun, the fruit they might have borne trapped in the dying flower, the seed of another generation denied. It was not supposed to be like this, the sun should have fed them, the soil nourished their souls, their stalks growing thicker, drawing ever more…

    Lou Faber