an old writer and his words

  • ON HER TERMS

    NOTE: TODAY’S POST FOLLOWS BELOW: Dear poetry-lovers,           Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following my blog. Some of you have been daily readers since it began 9 years ago, some are more sporadic or more recent followers.  Thank you one and all. As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTER THE UNVEILING

    I threw the first shovelof dirt on your wooden coffin. I expected you to protestthe sullying of the polished wood, or to call out for your mother,or introduce us to your long dead husband,but all we heard was the thunk and chunkof the clayey earth dancing off the cover,while you maintained silence. First published in…

    Lou Faber

  • PUEBLO CHRISTMAS

    The night is that bitter coldthat slices easily throughnylon and Polartec, makeschild’s play of fleece and denim.The small rooms glowin the dim radiance of propane lightsand heaters as the silveris carefully packed awayin plastic tool boxes.The pinyon wood is neatly stackedin forty pyres, some little tallerthan the white childrenclinging to their parents’ legs,some reaching twenty-five…

    Lou Faber

  • DID YOU?

    Sitting on the chairin the photographer’s studiodid you ever pause to wonderthat day, the snow fallingoutside the papered-over windowskeeping the light whollywithin his control,how many lonely menmight keep your picture, youtheir imagined once loverwho left, who died, whogrew apart over time,on their mantle, coffeetable, nightstand, dresser.Did you even know youwould be framed countless timesin several…

    Lou Faber

  • OLD HOTEL, NARA

    Stepping into the hotel, it was like being dropped into a truly alien world. Nothing shiny, no excess of glass and marble. A simple dark wooden reception desk, a clerk in black with a white vest. A bow upon approaching. Your room is simple, no internet, a single light on a small desk. A tatami…

    Lou Faber

  • ODE TO THE HOUSE CAT

    I have concluded that God created the catin a moment of exhaustion or of extreme pique.How else to explain such a soft fur covered creaturecapable at once of a gentle caress and a clawlunging out at a hand or face deemed too close.Why else this projectile constantly launchedonly at those places it was not to…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FIRE THIS TIME

    He said he did not want a funeral, certainly did not want to be buried. It would be a waste of wood and metal, and its only purpose would be to enrich the mortician and it is not like he will run out of customers any time in the near future. Not, at least, until…

    Lou Faber