INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Paul B. Roth
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Amit Parmessur
Lana Bella
Elisavietta Ritchie
Peycho Kanev
Helen Gyigya
Alan Britt
Shutta Crum
Ali Znaidi
Lyn Lifshin
Ann Christine Tabaka
Silvia Scheibli
Fahredin Shehu
Robert Nisbet
Laszlo Slomovitz
Rajnish Mishra
Keith Moul
Eddie Awusi
Andy N
Running Cub
Sanjeev Sethi
Alex Ferde
Deji W. Adesoye
W. M. Rivera
Shantanu Siuli
Duane Locke
Jennifer Burd
Violeta Allmuca
Fred Wolven
Michael Lee Johnson
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2018 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
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AAR history note: in print 1967 - 1980. Irregular publications 1980 - 2004. As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 48 years all together....
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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
My great, great, great grandmother,
in 1800s peasant-village Hungary,
relied on ritual for healing.
She believed in herbs
gathered by moonlight,
in secret salves and teas
passed on from her mother,
and most especially in
candles and incantations.
And they seemed to work
well enough — she lived
into her late eighties,
hardly ever sick. But when
her arthritis started telling
the weather every day,
her grand-daughter,
my grandmother,
brought in at great expense
a young doctor from
the big city. He took
some white pills from
his black bag and said,
three of these a day.
She looked him up and down
and asked him sideways,
now tell me, just how
does that little pill
know where I hurt?
WISDOM
Walking with my son
by a handwritten sign,
"free stuff," with an arrow
pointing down the block.
I lean and croon,
"I'm drawn to free."
He pulls, voice gruff,
"I'm repelled by stuff."
And we keep walking,
light and free.
Laszlo Slomovits, Ann Arbor, Michigan