an old writer and his words

  • CABERNET

    Sitting at the table lookingat a glass of cabernet sauvignonits legs long reaching from rimto dwindling pool I ask myselfif I could imagine tending the vinesin France or more likely Napawatching the purple orbs take formand cluster, caring for the canesthat have deemed themselvestoo old to bear any longer.My knees are tired and dirtycutting the…

    Lou Faber

  • FOR THE BIRTHDAY BOY

    On April 23 of this coming year,Wiliam Shakespeare will celebratehis 450th birthday, a momentous occasionto be certain, but knowing how cantankeroushe can be the odds of him showing upat the party I want to throw for him areabout as slim as the odds of Bob Dylanever sitting down on the edge of the stagewherever he…

    Lou Faber

  • CABERNET

    I should pause for a momentand mourn the plump orbsvinaceous in the morning sun,torn free, placed in basketsand carried off to be crushed.But the cabernet beckons,its first sip telling the taleof the California summer,the oak having long forgottenthe tree from which it was cut,and I watch as the sunreluctantly retreats,a flaming farewell, the promiseof a…

    Lou Faber

  • SHE

    You were a young beautyto my middle aged eyesthat knew, despite the mirror’slies, that I too retainedsome large measure of youth. Even that is now behind us,and I can no longer denythe mirror’s sad truth,my face unable to belie whatI knew time had wrought. And yet your beauty hasnot diminished, rather grownas does a fine…

    Lou Faber

  • DUSK

    There is nothing like, nowords to adequately describe,that moment when a cloud-hazed sun lingers wishfullyjust above the horizon, graspingthe sky with brilliant talonsof light, fearing becominglost in a darkness that will,on this night of the new moon,engulf us all in its inky shroud. We know, or pray, the sunwill return in hours, justas the sun…

    Lou Faber

  • ANCESTRY

    Children have an innate senseof their ancestry.I was a child of the cityit’s streets my paths, alwaysunder the watchful eyeof my warden – mother. Dirt was to be avoidedat all possible cost,so I never dug my handsinto the fertile soil of myvillage in the heart of Lithuania,or tasted the readying harvestthat dirt would remember. I…

    Lou Faber

  • DINNER PARTY

    Technology has effectivelydestroyed the intimatedinner parties that oncewere the core of a social life. You fretted over whetherthe souffle would collapse,if the wine was chilledto the right temperature,if the entree was back timedsufficiently to allow timefor the hors d’oeuvresand if the guests wouldarrive at the scheduled time. Now it is a fear that Grubhubor Doordash…

    Lou Faber

  • CRUCIFICTION

    I am mystic, thief, madman,all that, considerably more,never begging, always takenwhat is arrayed before mefavor curried, passage guaranteedcoins gathered, stored so thereare none to cover the eyes or paythe ferryman’s wages.I can turn wine to waterand hide fish in the midstof loaves, the trick isto distract you so the orderis reversed, a sleight unseen.I am…

    Lou Faber

  • HOLDING ON

    There comes that one moment for each who liveswhen he steps out onto the silent stage,speaks such of the lines as he recalls, givesa half-intended bow, and in his rage curses his lost youth like over-aged wine,that is now a shadow of its promiseand he knows that somehow this is a signnot of what he…

    Lou Faber

  • DIFFERENT TODAY

    The air we breathe is different today,and we inhale more deeplywith the energy of our youth. The tears we cry today are notsolely tears of loss and sorrow,but also of promise and hope. The wine that we drink todaywill be the same as before, butnow sweeter on the tongue. The sleep that we sleep tonightwill…

    Lou Faber