INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Gerald Clark
Lyn Lifshin
Paul B. Roth
Ndue Ukaj
Anne Babson
Laszlo Slomovits
Qinqin Huang
Duane Locke
Adhar Maheshwari
Shutta Crum
Odimegwu Onwumere
Anthony Seidman
Chris Lord
Running Cub
Amit Parmessur
John F. Buckley &
Martin Otto
Joanie Freeman
Alan Britt
Jennifer Burd &
Laszlo Slomovits
Sonnet Mondal
Karyn M. Bruce
John Tustin
Jennifer Burd
Michael Gessner &
Daniel Davis
Martin Camps &
Anthony Seidman
Fred Wolven
M. J. Iuppa
John Grochalski
Catherine O'Brien
Joe Milford
Byron Matthews
Joseph Murphy
Dike Okoro
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2012
Fred Wolven
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
------------------------------------------------
Fred Wolven, editor
Submissions via e-mail:
There is no
sound
over this silence
no
breathing
no
thoughtless voice
no
song simply
muffled
by falling leaves
no
single ripple
lapping
this shore
of broken shale
no
dry leaf veins
drifting
across this lake's
slow water
only
one stone
from under which
a string
of bubbles rises
and in black
circles
the reflection
of this new moon's
slender waist
WITHOUT EVER GOING BACK
Even though
I can't always
see the waves
I hear this early
evening
Even though
I can't always
feel the energy
spring rains rush
down its feeder
stream's
uneven stone steps
I'm still able to see
myself
as that fisherman's
silhouette
guiding his skiff
among diamonds
the setting sun
harvests
from Owasco's
calm furrows
of water
THE ONE
I am
a circle
on one
who both
follows
and leads
myself
right after
bringing
myself back
from never
having
left
without
once getting
caught
by the speed
of my own
blood
FUTILITY
Early evening's
pale sky
blossoms
between maple leaves
into stars
as if
there's more
than enough
night
each time
the still face
of this lake
stirred
then rippled
by weightless insects
upholds
how myths
are more times
than not
the tricks our minds
play on us
when first facing
the unknown
Paul B. Roth, Fayetterville, New York