INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Silvia Scheibli
'Deji W. Adesoye
Chris Lord
Ali Znaidi
Paul B. Roth
Umm-e-Aiman Vejlani
Lyn Lifshin
Laszlo Slomovits
Naim Kelmendi
Richard Kostelanetz
Anton Gojcaj
Duane Locke
Jennifer Burd
David Ishaya Osu
Steve Barfield
Miguel A Bernao Burrieza
Richard Gartee
Violeta Allmuca
Alan Britt
Fred Wolven
Ilire Zajmi
Running Cub
Donal Mahoney
Fahredin Shehu
Peter Tase
Nahshon Cook
Al Ortolani
Alex Ferde
Anton Frost
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Lazlo Slomovits & Jennifer Burd
Karyn M. Bruce
A. J. Huffman
Michael D. Long
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2014
Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
------------------------------------------------
staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
THE FUTURE IS CLEAR
Looking back
on life feels
like a scuba diver turning
over empty conchs, disturbing
irritable Atlantic silt.
The bitter
lips,|
zebra shark teeth
along the edges
like crumpled satin
then rolled from continent
to naïve continent,
Plexiglas see-sawing
a jade ocean
beneath the halogen bulb
of scrutiny.
Bottom line,
how to unzip
flesh from rare moments
in order to deliver Blake’s
wailing infants of imagination?
William
swivels his favorite stool
at his favorite London pub
where nobody knows his name
and muses, Humph, leapt into this
world—don’t
remember saying that.
STRAY DOG
And so this
dog reduced to ashes,
slumped upon courthouse steps.
Crushed
beyond her last shred
of decency.
This mangy,
scrawny, begging for
water and attention, homeless dog.
I wonder how
she finds the will
to survive.
LOVERS IN THE SAME ROOM
Two bananas,
exhausted lovers
reflect the glass dome of a crockpot,
sprawled like teenagers finding
katydids in their fingertips,
scattered like Canadian geese,
charcoal eyelashes curling the chest
says you’ve earned the right,
like geese, you’ve graduated
cosmetics, bank statements,
Ipads & Droids,
anxious evolutions,
or the lack thereof,
two bananas, Cuban style,
ruthless like tigers
escaping the confines
of the Vatican.
FOR ONE
WHO HAS KNOWN THE DESPAIR
OF LOVE
Your waist,
sponge, scorpion of desire
between thirst & third generation faith.
Seagull
pecks the eye of mud-stranded,
black & white dolphin,
dorsal flopped by low tide.
Your hair
coils
then explodes
like a humid rain shower.
Eyelashes,
piranha hips,
mildly barbequed bones—
mollusks spurt orgasmic life.
All the
while purple coquinas shadow the Gulf
gathering silt that other mollusks leave
behind.
Alan Britt, Reisterstown, Maryland