Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Amit Parmessur
Elisavietta Ritchie
Donal Mahoney
Fahredin Shehu
Richard Kostelanetz
Alex Ferde
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Duane Locke
Chris Lord
Nahshon Cook
Al Ortelani
Shutta Crum
Ajibola Tolase
Silvia Scheibli
Laszlo Slomovits
Emmanuel Samson
Lyn Lifshin
Running Cub
Nikita Parik

Alan Britt
John Grey
Bhisma Upreti
Paul B. Roth
Jennifer Burd
Sunday Michael
Michael H. Brownstein
Burd
Ali Znaidi

Richard Gartee
Kanev Peycho

Engjell I. Berisha

Fred Wolven
Petraq Risto
Carolyn Elias
Alabi Oyedeji



 

 


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2015 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
------------------------------------------------

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 47 years all together....

------------------------------------------------

 

staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub

Fred Wolven
 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

IN THE SUBURBS

 

A small house in the road with a heroe’s name

Everytime I enter into her brest

To me the road up to there is shown by stars

The day a book with light up front

 

My time water, air and soil

Grows me as very young

In the play of life played in the stage

 

In my time is written

This book

Is raised this statue

Has been born this kid

The bells are falling early                   

 

        

 

THE GREEN TIME

 

One day the flower blossomed in a vase

It greened my view

From the room where you can see the road

Through which is coming my child

 

That I don’t have another job

Including you at every morning

Of the water with sweet water

With a sacred water

 

And when the flower blossomed in the window

I said what is the value of it when you have no feet

To come after me, beauty

At the roads where roofs emerge

 

Exhausted

And at night awakened with many blossoming flowers

Through its paths

The water turns into green

 

                                                                                            

 

 

From The Shining Songs

 

THE BRAVE

 

While emerging from the body

He squeezes his quietness in goodness

The word shot

Shots at the target of manhood

 

As a bird shrunk in rain

At the end of the room

You say that quietness is equal to existence

When its emerges is known

That work demands it anyhow

 

While searching justice at times

Departed with stars at those times  

Where an unpassed mountain grins

 

 

 

 

Engjell I. Berisha, Kosovo

 

        Translated by Peter Tase, Milwaukee, Wisconsin 

 


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