an old writer and his words

  • DIG IT

    He started digging early in the morning,and hoped that by lunch, he’d be wellon his way there, though he wasn’t certainhow he’d get up out of the holewhen lunch rolled around, but needis a good instructor, so he was surehe could figure it out easily enough.It was slower going than he imagined,slower by several magnitudes.He…

    Lou Faber

  • A WINTER MEDITATION

    I have given up on winter, which is to say that I have fled its iron grip, but the memories I have linger painfully in the rods the surgeon carefully screwed onto my spine. It wasn’t the cold, though it was far from pleasant, but the snow that demanded but also defied being shoveled. I…

    Lou Faber

  • TO A POET, TO THE WEST

    Richard Wilbur lives in Massachusetts and in Key West, Florida according to his dust jackets. If you set sail westward from San Diego you may find your dream of China, of the endless wall which draws the stares and wonder more foreboding more forbidden even than the city, which you visit to sate yourself of…

    Lou Faber