an old writer and his words

  • A HAUNTING

    The ghosts that haunt my dreamsspeak in many languages, eachfamiliar, twisted deep inside me.I cannot answer for they do not listen,say they do not know me, know me well.I want to sit, to talk with each in turnbut I have no voice they can hearchoked off by cruel Morpheuswho only releases his grip oncethey have…

    Lou Faber

  • TO A FATHER, NEVER KNOWN

    You were to be my prophetand you played Jonah one morningby clutching your chest at the sinkand dropping to the floor, dead.You left me to wanderthrough Ninevah, a beggartwice robbed of originground pulled from beneath my feet.Why did you flee your taskthe one for which you were anointed.Couldn’t you see our home laid ruinconsumed by…

    Lou Faber

  • GALWAY

    I remember it as thoughit was yesterday, not eight years ago,the evening cool, the streetcrowded, the pubs along High Street:Freeney’s, The Front Door,Tigh Neachtain, Sonny Molloy’sstill warming up as the nighttightened it grip, the Guinnesswashed the taps, filled the pintsand people sat along the streetsome with guitars, one a bouzouki,and all with a song whichyou…

    Lou Faber

  • AUTHORSHIP

    If birds could write, which birdwould write like which author.The Osprey would clearly be Hemingwayknowing the sea, but with no need for an old man.The common Gallinule might becomeBilly Collins, an easy laugh and always entertaining.The crows could be so many writersattending workshops, all still lookingfor a voice to express themselves withoutcausing their audience to…

    Lou Faber

  • EULOGY

    In a perfect world it would bea requirement that every personupon reaching the age of 40would be compelled to writea draft of a eulogy in the voiceof each lover or partner whoserelationship he or she chose to end,one that the spurned loverwould deliver at his or her funeral.The task would comewith the caveat that one…

    Lou Faber

  • SHHHHHH

    Step outsidelisten carefullyto the morning breezehear its songenjoying itsilentlylips not movingyour voicea chorus.

    Lou Faber

  • SHEEPISH

    As a child, when Ihad trouble falling asleepmy mother would trot outthe ancient saw and tell meto just count sheep. I tried to point outto her that we livedin an upscale suburband there were no sheepfor miles for me to count. This hardly deterred herand she repeated herdirections, in a strongertone of voice that she…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT WOULD YOU SAY

    I am just wonderingwhat you would sayif you were calledto testify about allthat you had seen,all that had disgusted you,all that you condemnedbut did and saidnothing while it occurred.What would you sayif you had no choicebut truth, no shading,no mincing of words,just the harsh lightand you in a chairin an empty room,a disembodied voiceasking endless…

    Lou Faber

  • AT FIRST

    The first timeI heard itI knewthat voicecame from a placeI had never visited,would neverbe able to go. It penetrated mereverberatedwithin mea harmonicthat shookme to my core. She reachedand graspedwhat I thoughtI had kept hidden,and as I dancedwith mynew bride,I knew Ettahad led meto loveAt Last.

    Lou Faber

  • A PRAYER

    Last night, as I sat poisedon the edge of sleep, I askedGod for continued blessings,for I have been blessed morethan I likely deserve. I heard Her reply that Iwould always have Her love,on earth and heaven, and Iknew my request, selfishfor certain, had been answered. But now I wonder if it wastruly She or your…

    Lou Faber