an old writer and his words

  • A FOOL’S BUSINESS

    At the end of a long day spenton the business end of poetry, andyes there is a business end but do notconfuse that with money for thathas nothing at all to do with poetry,I stare at the page knowing the wordsare going to be stubborn this day,will refuse to exit the pen, hidingin the darkness…

    Lou Faber

  • WITH PEN AND PRAYER

    It all came crashing down. That was the ending he had written, so that was how it would end. And this time he actually liked the ending which was not often the case. He could not remember a time when the ending came to him so naturally. And the ending was always the hardest part.…

    Lou Faber

  • RULES

    W. Somerset Maugham suggestedthat there are three rules for writinga novel, but no one knows what they are.I suppose the same could be saidfor writing poetry, with a twistfor there are three rules for thisas well, but everyone knowsprecisely what they are not.Writers and poets must be rebels,writing what must be saidand damning the consequencesfor…

    Lou Faber

  • YOU OF COURSE, OR NOT

    Someone, at a reading, asked me“who do you write for?”I avoided the obvious answer,“You” since he was there lesthe say someone dragged him alongmost unwillingly and my readingconfirmed his initial reluctance.The honest answer is that I writefor those who might stumbleacross my words, might seethem online browsing, or comeacross them in a coffee shopwhere I…

    Lou Faber

  • WORDS, ONLY WORDS

    How many wordshave I writtenyou will never readcould not hearstill we speakto each otherin a languageknown onlyto the deadand the mourningto a motherand a forgottenchild now grown. First appeared in Homer’s Odyssey Magazine, June 26, 2024https://homersodysseymag.com/blog/f/missing-my-judas-dream-on-and-words-only-words-by-louis-faber?blogcategory=Poetry

    Lou Faber

  • ENDING HERE

    I am still not certainhow I ended up hereon the other side of silencewhere words go to slowly die.It was to be foreveruntil severed cruelly by deathbut neither of us diedin manifest ways, justsmall deaths that over timesevered the bonds that still held,a death-borne parting of sorts.It was never a mistakeor an omission of logic,…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT ISN’T LEFT BEHIND

    When a poet dies they will be mournedby those who loved them,those who admired them.Obituaries and eulogieswill be offered, tearswill be shed and memorieswill begin to slowly fadeafter the short possiblesale spike has run its course.I am no differentthan all of the other mournersbut I take an extra momentto mourn all of the wordsand the…

    Lou Faber

  • A READING

    He walks up to the podiumsmiling at the introduction he wrotedelivered by someone who likelyhad never read his work, and set his bookand notes down on the lectern.As he begins to read he cannot let onthat he is a magician poet for theywould demand a trick and allthat he is prepared to do this nightis…

    Lou Faber

  • WRITER

    He knew he had the novel in him. He had no idea where it was hiding, but it was there and all he had to do was to find it. He had looked in most of the obvious places but all he had found was memoir and the odd bit of non-fiction. They were fine…

    Lou Faber

  • A MOMENT

    A night of broken dreams,a day of trembling handsminutes of knocking kneeswearing a path into an alreadyaging and worn wooden deck.A moment of sight,a moment when time stoppedand words failed, paralyzedby fear, by beauty, by a smile.A meal prattling on, tryingto see signs, not knowing whatthose signs might be.Twenty-three years of a joyI hadn’t known…

    Lou Faber