an old writer and his words

  • CITY OF FORGOTTEN

    The lake in Central Park and its cousin rivers reflect the gray of a cold sky, an April afternoon. None of this is seen by the multitudes traversing the streets and avenues, a people who barely remember the sky.

    Lou Faber

  • AFTERNOON STORM

    From twenty stories up lightning rends the fully fogged sky, a translucent gray curtain hung from an angry black ceiling. Nearby buildings and the streets below fade into misty oblivion. Even the approaching dusk sits back in wonder.

    Lou Faber

  • SEOUL OF A NEW MACHINE

    I Apartment buildings sprout, neat orderly, so many headstones in a cemetery marking the gravesite of ancient rural culture. II A slow morning in Itaewon, for you special deal finest leather, best quality gems, but I prefer precipitously plunging prices of Rollex’s last chance, $6. III Apartment building faces studded with small satellite dishes perched…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING SONG (AWDL GYWYDD)

    The sun creeps down city streets,  dew retreats from the grasses and fills the air, with sweet scent until spent, the bus passes. The robin sits in the tree as worms flee into the lawn. The morning foretells the rain that will slowly drain the dawn. The city quietly wakes and stretching, shakes off the…

    Lou Faber