an old writer and his words

  • RIDING A TIDAL WAVE

    For how long had he been staring?He didn’t know, didn’t need to,time had ceased to matter,carried off on the gravitational tide.He had been walking for daysto get to this place, each stepa new beginning, each going nowhere.He knew he might seek solace here,knew he could never leave,here, now, was his ancestral home.There was a succulence…

    Lou Faber

  • CHARLESTON, WV

    Half of me, according to the twistedstrands of deoxyribonucleic acid,has its roots in Liskovo, which would bea simple matter were there not townsby that name in Poland and Belarus,and none in Lithuania, the language of my genes. All of this is preparatory to my visitnext week to the city where my mother,grandparents and great grandparentsare…

    Lou Faber

  • A DAY

    a day,clouds drop rainreplacing tearslocked insidestones and clothred and blueunseparatedstill worlds apartorderly ranksall at attentionand silencethundering angera mad worldsoaked in peaceonly untilmidnight. Publsihed in New Feathers Anthology (Summer 2020)http://www.newfeathersanthology.com/a-day.html

    Lou Faber

  • THE CANNERY, LATE INTO THE NIGHT

    The cannery, long before it was a mall, sat on the verge of the bay bellowing steam into the night sky shrouding the stars in a gauze blanket, listening to the braying of the harbor seals pleading for the morning’s dross to be returned to the bay waters. The otters lie on their backs peering…

    Lou Faber

  • GLASS HOUSES

    You want to yell at him, tell him to stop, that it is too soon, that he is not ready, cannot be, won’t be for months to come, but you know he will not listen to you standing, gesticulating, imagining a stone in your hand, shattering the glass walls, the crackling gaining his full attention…

    Lou Faber

  • THIN ICE

    When we were much younger we would meet by the edge of the pond each day after winter’s first taste and pry rocks from the bank with frozen fingers, one the size of a fist, others even larger. We would carefully aim and in a crystal parabola watch as they hit the frozen surface, one…

    Lou Faber

  • HARLECH CASTLE

    stones speak in lost tongues to sheep grazing by the wall clouds gather laughing voices of dead kings echo off cloud shrouded hills she whispers in dreams a November wind cuts deeply across the keep distant hills crying slash of claymore glinting in the morning sun bird with wings unfolded moss encrusted stones remember long…

    Lou Faber