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:
“The pink
beach house almost hidden in bamboo grove is
Now colored at sunset a particularized red, a dusty red,
Akin to a Pompeii red, sits there, awaiting our moving in
When married.”
I looked in her direction, focusing on the same space
She stared at.
I saw nothing but white sand, 0at white sand. I saw
Empty space—not even one sand dune.
“I am so happy, “ she said, “We will drink Campari together,
No matter what the atmosphere colors the front.”
I looked again at the same space she was looking at.
I saw only empty white sand.
I said nothing, sat there, wishing I were somewhere else,
And distressed with the anguish of feeling forever homeless.
POEM WRITTEN BY NINETY-
Should I beseech the Fates
Like Friedrich Holderlin beseeched the Fates.
Beg the Fates to grant one more summer.
One more summer, so I can write
What I inwardly feel, deeply, darkly feel,
The reality that I do not understand,
This unknown reality of my unknown self.
One more summer, so I can let these
Never-to-be understood feelings engender words.
Words that unconceal the concealed,
Words that defy, deny that reality
Can be understood through the clear,
The dis
Words that invent a mind that can perceive
Most all of the beliefs and values we live by are lies.
But I will not speak to the Fates. No.
I will not beseech the Fates, because
The Fates do not exist.
POEM WRITTEN BY 97 YEAR OLD, NO 10
When we were tossed onto this earth,
It is spoken that we have a body.
We don’t know what our body is
Until some older person tells us his guess.
Some even older person told this
Older person what was told him by an older person.
Body has been spoken of as evil matter,
Soul’s prison house, separate from soul.
Others has spoken that that the existence
Of the detach
Some say the body is a wonder and the founder
Of terrestrial mysticism, if the body is not understood.
We have many lies spoken about the body:
Maurice Merleau Ponty has made the best guess.
People have spend much time speculating on
Who was the first to discourse on the body.
Only a few have spoken the truth about the body,
The vast majority have only spoken lies.
Most of the human race lives by lies.
Duane Locke, Tampa, Florida