Ann Arbor Review


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

Aneek Chatterjee

Richard Gartee
John Grey

Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2018 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 48 years all together....


Francis Ferde

Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

Submissions via e-mail:

We reckoned our chortling was pealing
a version. Pandects were unwrapped to
accept this in toto. Disowning requires
courage or new codes. Delicateness is
daunting. Like in a spell of sadness
another’s happy smiling photograph
hits one hard. Karma is inalienability.

From the home of cimmerianism that lambkin hails.
In his eye is void of endless volumes: urge to let go
the effluvium of edginess he does not understand.
He accepts his perch like most people .Some of us
have scaled a trestle or two. He knows not what he
needs to ascend. There is no lotusland. I see in his
eye the eyes I left when I procured my first pair.

Your traceries embellished our wrappings with
lisle of words. I was young. I believed in them.
Happiness is tortile. It never tarries on its own.
Its convoy is escorted. That ally is now my pard.

Parenthesis became the norm at every attempt
in communication, we were ready for others.
When you’re conductor of a queue,
remember, another one awaits you.
In temporal settings permanence is sought.
Thus hums the human construct.
Megalopolis: maquette snakes itself
skywards, arrogance of erection at play.
When happiness whisks past my wicket,
I itch to wheedle her to my wheelchair.
Do you have the strength
to show me your soft side?
Douceur has its advantages. Can one trek
all of one’s tenure with tenuous connections?
Cajole me with positive karma
I will dipsy-doodle to your dictate.
Morality raises its axe
when desire isn’t stoked.

Sanjeev Sethi, Andheri (West), Mumbai, India

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