Time

June 8, 2023

WIDOWER

In the cold night
of another winter
he stares out
across the barren fields
which have long forgotten
the taste of the sun.
He watches carefully
for a sign
but the naked branch
denies the breeze.
He remembers
how it once was
in the heat
of the dying fire
the sweetness of her lips
lingering on his tongue.
She is gone, has been
so long, her face
is hidden
by the gauzy veil
of time.
He awaits
the edge of dawn
that sleeps eternally
beyond the horizon.

First appeared in North of Oxford, May 2023
https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2023/04/10/two-poems-by-louis-faber/

June 6, 2023

OUT OF HIDING

The hidden joy of youth, and its
inevitable disappointment, is
in finding that special person.
Each time it is the birth of true love,
eventually, save in rare circumstances,
it is the death of an illusion
and the aching pain accompanying the loss.

The certainty of youthful emotion
is a bondage that is most often inescapable,
and there is no desire to leave early on.
It is only the passage of time, the growth
of two, each at his or her own pace,
that yields a force capable of breaking
the chains of desire that, to that moment,
successfully masqueraded as love.

Old now, and certain of love, I can
reflect on the foolishness of youth,
the mistakes made, the consequences
to myself and others, and I can regret them
but always with the knowledge that I
am here in joy, very much because of them.

April 28, 2023

ROCK ON SLOWLY

In yet another sign of age
I realize I simply cannot
enjoy much of today’s music.
I know it has merit, I know
most love it, sales and downloads
don’t lie, but it doesn’t work for me.
I want the music of the 80s, the 70s,
or even the late 60s, but with,
dare I say it, a bit of a twist.
I want the older music to come
from a different room of the house
the older the farther from my ears,
as though distance and time
were intimately related, and
when one song piques my interest
I can walk back into
my youth to hear it more clearly
as I did when it first touched my ears.

April 25, 2023

STILL

Someone once told me that pain
is a good way of knowing
that you are still alive.
I did want to kill that person,
but thought better of it,
why not simply smile and
leave him in a life of pain.
More recently I was told
that I would get used to
my chronic pain and
over time it would seem
to hurt less if I just live with it,
accept that it is always there.
So now I have an always
angry roommate who speaks
only in single words, who
explains nothing when questioned
but appears when I least
want to see him, jabbing
and stabbing until I
want to scream “I’m alive,
so go to hell, you’re needed there.”

April 22, 2023

HOW OLD?

People say that dogs can live
to well over 100 dog years,
but each of our years
is seven of theirs, so
our self-delusion feels complete.
We want old age for our dogs
to feel they have lived a full life,
something we also want for ourselves
and so we project on our pets.
The odd thing is that as we age
we wonder if our pets will
outlive us, and the older
we get, the more it begins to feel
that time is attempting
to behaves like dog time
the years seeming to pass
ever more quickly.

April 15, 2023

I WISH

You probably imagine that
the life of the poet is one of great
excitement and adventure.
There are moments that might
be deemed exciting or adventurous
but those happen just as often
in the lives of those who despise poetry.
And believe me, poetry is not only
not a career, it’s not a job unless you
sit in some city square and offer
to write a short poem for anyone
offering you a dollar, a prescription
for homelessness and starvation.
The life of a poet is setting aside time
to stare at a blank page of a journal
trying hard to imagine words appearing
and organizing themselves into
neat lines and stanzas, then
you put the Journal away in frustration
promising yourself to try again tomorrow.

April 11, 2023

SOON

They are coming for him and he is ready. He has been waiting for this moment for quite some time. It Isn’t what he wanted certainly, but now it isn’t something to fear. He knows that once they come, he will look back on it and regret the moments he spent being concerned. He will think of all of the things he could have done with that time, moments wasted, enjoyment forgone. And he also knows that he will repeat the entire process again next year. That’s just how it is with the first day of a new elementary school year.

April 7, 2023

MARKING TIME

Life Is of limited duration but we
never know what that duration is
until the moment it ends, and then
we have no reason to care.
But as we age and that period
necessarily shrinks, some pause
and wonder what’s left, wonder
what they might have done differently,
where they would be today if they had.
But they don’t stop to consider that
every moment spent in the past
is a moment taken from the present
and stolen from what the future offered.
You want to keep your memories, but
the price of storage is great, so there
is a tenuous balance to maintain.
Still your past is a shadow that
follows you, and the question is
whether you want to spend ever
more precious time looking
over your shoulders rather
than engaging the world around you.

April 1, 2023

ON ITS HEAD

Death has an uncanny knack
for turning normalcy on its head.
My mother was never ready
at the time my parents had to leave
either selecting outfits
or jewelry, the right shoes,
as my father stood by fidgeting
and looking at his watch,
knowing better than to say anything.
Yet she left without notice,
no delays at all, just suddenly gone
so unlike her to make a simple exit.
And he, the man who was always
punctual, who left at the exact
moment planned save for her issues,
he lingered, a slow departure
by inches, fading away, until
only a shell of the man remained
and that, too, finally slipped away.

March 25, 2023

CONCEIVE OF THIS

No child, no youth
wants to imagine the moment
of his or her conception.
Now, that is the moment of personhood
in some places, a moment when
two cells become one and is
a life of its own, but it isn’t
the convergence of sperm and ovum
we avoid, but the act leading to it.
When you are an adoptee
and only later in life discover
your now dead birthparents
that moment, that scene
is a small void in your life
among larger voids you want to,
but cannot ever, seem to fill,
so it is left to your imagination
of time, place, circumstances
and ultimately action, but you ensure
that scene ends moments before conception.