Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Lyn Lifshin
Richard Kostelanetz
Karyn M. Bruce
Duane Locke
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Laszlo Slomovits
Kufre Udeme
Michael Lewis-Beck
A. J. Huffman
Nugent Karhu
Fred Wolven
Shutta Crum
Fatmir Terziu
Steven Gulvezan
Kyle Hemmings
Adeeko Ibukun
Chris Cialdella
Paul B. Roth
Fahredin Shehu

Chris Lord
Dike Okoro
Jennifer Burd
Alisa Velaj
Joanie Freeman
Jeton Kelmendi
Richard Luftig
Dzekashu MacViban
Mike Berger
Al Ortolani

Ndue Ukaj
Alan Britt

Jennifer Burd &
Laszlo Slomovits
Diane Giardi
Running Cub
 



Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2013 Silver Grey Fox
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
------------------------------------------------


staff:
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

MAZE

I want us to get lost
in this corn, get stuck
in dead center, meander
so far that the cars
from the county road
sound like pings in a cave,

get in over our heads,
drop out of sight,
lost in the maze,
delight in amazement
at our plight,
light and luck.

here in a hearth
of tassels and whispers,
is where I might spread
out my arms, hold you
tight to my chest
and spend what's left

of this night, this life,
these breaths,
not caring to ever
return from the center
of these soft, slow circles
that make up our lives.



TURNING TOWARD MARCH

The shovel stands alone on the porch,
while out front a collage of dirty snow
is scattered about the brown, bare patches
of what used to be a lawn.
Down the street, the empty lot
is beginning to show its old tires,
bleach bottles, plywood and plastic bags
and the storm gutters are filled with the twigs,
dead leaves and dross of last December.

In the neighbor's front yard, a child's bicycle
balances seat down, the handlebars
a snow angel, pedals pointing up
like the beginnings of new flowers,
while in garages, Hot Wheels begin
to awake from winter's hibernation,
counting the days until first equinox,
waiting for the emergence
of owners their silent engines idling.





Richard L. Luftig,
Pomona, California


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