an old writer and his words

  • BECAUSE

    The older man walks slowly downthe beach, each foot carefully placedto find a purchase the waves would take away.He shields his eyes from the sun, ignoresthe myriad shells the ocean offers up,does not bother to hear the song of the wavesthat soon will erase all evidenceof his presence here today.He walks along this beach becauseothers…

    Lou Faber

  • CATALOG

    The cat is a fastidious clerk,aware of all new items as they arriveand cataloging them as soonas they are placed in the home.Chairs in particular must beclosely inspected, tested forsleepability and comfort, and yetall seem to pass the test initiallythough some are abandonedquickly, giving way to othersthat have met the test of time.It is much…

    Lou Faber

  • A TROIS

    Each night I crawl under the sheetscurled against the woman I loveand beside me slips your ghost.For sixty years you were no morethan a fleeting dream faceless, nameless,an infrequent visitor to my galleryof hopes, desires, and wishes.You never had a face, did Ihave one you could remember beforeI was plucked from you too soon, youlurking…

    Lou Faber

  • EVER PATIENT

    Fuji-san, its snow cap slowly retreating,smiles down on the ever goldening rice shoots.The holy mountain pays no notice to the Shinkansenhurtling its way from Tokyo to Osakanot pausing to pay homage to the godswho inhabit the venerable volcano and whohave grown tired awaiting the favor of thoserushing, always rushing, to be somewhere else.Fuji-san knows that…

    Lou Faber

  • GALLERY

    I have visited countlessart galleries in this countryand a few in Europe as well and Ialways stop and stare at the masters’still life paintings, how the lightplays off a piece of fruit, howthe glazed porcelain on a ewerseems to make the reflected lightinvite you to dance with it.I wanted to sip tea from a china…

    Lou Faber

  • TRAVEL THOUGHTS 2

    In the City of Chicagoit appears to the visitorthat the expresswaysand most of the city streetswere paved by a blind manwith a rather poor sense of touch. First Appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Vol. 7, No. 10-12, October-December 1989.

    Lou Faber

  • WE HEAR YOU

    He loves looking at the sky, particularly at night for he knows someday they will contact him, and if not him, someone else who, like him, loves looking at the sky. He has no idea what the message will be he isn’t sure he, or anyone, will be able to understand it, but he is…

    Lou Faber

  • ANGRY, BUT ONLY A LITTLE

    You want it spicy, but just so that the tongue remembers it a moment after the mouth has moved on, a lingering sense of having been present. It should be a mantilla, a shawl, not the blanket some claim, gently caressing, lighting up the plate. Its host, freshly from the rollers, was born for this…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTER

    He sits still demanding your attention. He stares at you with green eyes and a defiant look, saying you are a visitor here, this is our world so do not abuse your privilege of sharing this space with us. We were here long before you arrived and our kind will be here long after you…

    Lou Faber

  • ISOLATION

    She wondered what it would be like to be an island, set off somewhere in a vast ocean, tropical preferably where the only sounds were the ebb and flow of the waves, the thunder of the occasional storm and the whisper of leaves tossed by the omnipresent sea breezes. she liked isolation, the silence of…

    Lou Faber