Ann Arbor Review


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

Holly Day

M. J. Iuppa
John Grochalski
Catherine O'Brien
Joe Milford
Byron Matthews
Joseph Murphy
Dike Okoro

Steve Barfield






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:




I gave my fears a chance to outgrow their source, since I had
A price to pay in order to have my feet planted in a foreign land.

Winter's cruel temper prowled on all fronts, and I needed
The memory of sacrifice to remember Grandma's unspoken

Encouragement, just before I boarded the plane to seek
The pleasures of a new land.  But what did I know then, of walls

That ended dreams even before they started?  A new country
Offered no love to those with a closed mind.  Doors only opened

When friendships and trusted companies are kept, and for this
I cemented relationships before storms arose, playing the careful

Rooster crossing a strange barn with a leg hanging, when I crossed
Paths with those unfriendly, until one afternoon an elderly woman

Smiled at me, gave me a book from which I realized even in winter
There are words that conjure summer, warming both spirit and body,

Breathing life into the child already ambushed by the claws
Of exile.  She would visit and I would thank her, this poetess

Recognized in Africa for writing passionately about the plight
Of South Africans under Apartheid's harsh laws and well endowed

With Africa's tales across the Atlantic and her triumphs from the grips
Of Europe, when independence liberated Ghana and Nigeria and others.

In America she was and is celebrated when great wordsmiths are
Called in numbers and given a wall of honor!  I was

Too young to know it all, the greatness that writers are born with.
My sojourn in her company will be short-lived when the quest

For progress called and I picked up my books and luggage and embarked
On a solitary journey, to East Lansing's world of academic, from where

News of her untimely crossing of life's great river would come to me,
Courtesy of televised national TV news: Former U S Poet Laureate,

Gwendolyn Brooks dead at 83!


Today I run to you
Free from exile's dust
Today I run to you
Eager for your warmth
Today I run to you
Sunny hide of my childhood
Today I run to you
Playful sand of yesteryears
Today I run to you
Leaving behind fears,
Embracing joyful tears.

Dike Okoro, Evanston, Illinois, and Port Harcount, Nigeria

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