Ann Arbor Review

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:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

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 naÔve 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 Blakeís
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
worldódonít 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 youíve earned the right,
like geese, youíve 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 bonesó
mollusks spurt orgasmic life.

All the while purple coquinas shadow the Gulf
gathering silt that other mollusks leave behind.

 

 

Alan Britt, Reisterstown, Maryland

 

   


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