an old writer and his words

  • APPROACHING NIGHT

    Arising into nightthe departing suntangos away with its cloud,memories soon forgotten. Other dancers take the stage,now a romance, nowa war dance, feathers raisedin prayer to unseen gods. Night will soon bringits curtain across this stage,the avian casts’ final bows takenthe theater will darken, awaitinganother performance,a new script tomorrow,but for this solitary momentof frozen grace, it…

    Lou Faber

  • LUNA PENDING

    From the heart of the nightthe moon appeared, or a smallcrescent of it, coy this nightas she is on a regular basis. She hinted at her fullness,but we knew that was stilldays off, the moon keptto a rigid schedule always. But her reticence this nightinvited the stars to takethe stage, some we rarely seewhether hiding…

    Lou Faber

  • ACUITY

    Acuity is such a strange word,sharp on the tongue andin meaning, but also a markof what once was, what willnever be again, replaced perhapsby a visual vacuity, comfortableword, no sharp edges, vagueimages floating behind a gauzeseeping slowly into a scrim,knowing the stage will soonenough go dark, despitethe ever brighter lighting.But replaced perhaps byever greater auditory…

    Lou Faber

  • STAGED

    At the moment of your birthmy son, I grew suddenly older,mortality became a realitythat I could no longer avoid. You could not imagine this,and I doubt others could seebut I knew and the infinitecollapsed inside the event horizon. Your brother came later, butthat death was incremental,a single cut among thousands,a step on a path you…

    Lou Faber

  • CONVERSATION

    Arising into nightthe departing suntangoes away with its cloud,memories soon forgotten.Other dancers take the stage,now a romance, nowa war dance, feathers raisedin prayer to unseen gods.Night will soon bringits curtain across this stage,the avian cast’s final bows takenthe theatre will darken, awaitinganother performance,a new script tomorrow,but for this solitary momentof frozen grace, it is wewho…

    Lou Faber

  • HOLDING ON

    There comes that one moment for each who liveswhen he steps out onto the silent stage,speaks such of the lines as he recalls, givesa half-intended bow, and in his rage curses his lost youth like over-aged wine,that is now a shadow of its promiseand he knows that somehow this is a signnot of what he…

    Lou Faber

  • THIRD EYE, NEEDING GLASSES

    You ask me what is the first thing I can remember, and seem surprised when I tell you memory is much like a Buddhist river, never the same twice. Memory is a stage and I am one to forget my lines, today it’s the window in the back of a Miami Beach bus amazed at…

    Lou Faber