an old writer and his words

  • THE FINAL SCENE

    For far too long he had beena marionette dancing to a tunehe could not hear, always staying silent,lost in a kabuki theater of the absurd.But he had grown tired of performingat their every demand, his life livedperpetually on call, no time truly his.He was drained by them, empty,not that they cared for they knewthe adulation…

    Lou Faber

  • HOME, STRANGELY

    When you visit Galway cityyou will stand slack-jawedat some, most actually,of the buskers you seeon almost every street.Young and talented, you needto find a bank where youcan stock up on oneEuro coins, lest your tripcost more than youever intended at five eurosfor each performance.And when you visit a pubat night, come preparedwith a song, or…

    Lou Faber

  • ARIA

    After years of embarrassmentI have finally come into the light.It isn’t that my writing has improved,although I surmise that wouldbe a narrow space to fill,or that I can now draw thingsthat were once stick peopleand animals and things. What has improved, andimproved significantlyis my singing voice, oncea three note range, and onenot known to music,but…

    Lou Faber

  • SOTTO VOCE

    For reasons I cannot determinethe cat sings to us each morningat 4 A.M. and why I am awaketo hear her songs is alsosomthing I cannot determine. She has a sweet voice andshe does know several tunesbut when I do get uptwo hours later, she refusesto tell me what the lyrics were. I suppose one morningat…

    Lou Faber

  • STARING

    He liked nothing betterthen to sit outsidehis small cottageand stare into the pondonce the blaze on the waterset by the sun was consumedas fire must always be by water.As night deepened, he staredinto the sky, seeing the moonslowly rise, chasing alongthe sun’s now deserted path.He knew the myriad of starsshared his interest, staringbut he abandoned…

    Lou Faber

  • MORE OR LEX

      She wants to ask me how many lawyers can dance on the head of a pin, but she knows that at their hourly rates no one will pause to count them. There is that and the fact that lawyers are used to calling the tune, not dancing to it. There is that, she says,…

    Lou Faber

  • ROBERT ALLEN ZIMMERMAN IN HELL

      Baby Blue stormed into the room. Jones never saw  her coming, was totally confused. Angry didn’t cover even the half of it. “I’ll tell your sorry ass when it’s over Jones and not the other way around, got it!? Oh, yeah, and by the way you are really packing on the pounds of late,…

    Lou Faber

  • THE MUSIC OF SPRING

    The music hides, just out of sight, beyond the edge of hearing. We assume it must be something by Mozart or at least Bach, a tocatta and fugue, swallowed by the trees, the cardinal singing faintly, mirroring the tune, but there is only the wind meandering throught the pines which have cast off the weight…

    Lou Faber