INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Robert Nisbet
Alan Britt
Jennifer Burd
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Running Cub
Elisavietta Ritchie
Odimegwu Onwumere
Laszlo Slomovits
Lyn Lifshin
Ramesh Dohan
Silvia Scheibli
Alex Ferde
Richard Kostelanetz
Richard Gartee
Irsa Ruci
Duane Locke
Janet Buck
Nahshon Cook
Jim Daniels
Fred Wolven
Peycho Kanev
Ali Znaidi
Sunday Eyitayo Michael
Karyn M. Bruce
Arsim Halili
Engjell I. Berisha
Muharrem Kurti
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2015
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 Cut
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
Apple Cores
The apple tree over the fence
is switching between
clocks of winter and spring.
Last year’s crop was packed with worms;
the ones that fell in our yard
landed too hard to put in a pie.
My bones agree with weaker branches
flopping from pillars of the thick, gray trunk.
People I love are breaking
like old paperclips.
Even in youth, I’ve always known
health is just a flock of pigeons
dining in Trafalgar Square.
A gasp comes from my surgeon’s mouth,
I take too many steps at once,
and suddenly the birds are gone.
I am scarecrows in a field—
one who tells the lucky ones
to hold on tight to what they have.
Alone between the stiff white sheets,
I’m wondering what matters now.
Why does my phone neglect to ring?
But quitting’s just a slick raccoon
that ruins gardens when it’s dark.
Every day I tell myself
to shoot invaders of the night,
replace the soil, plant new seeds,
when morning arrives like a gift on the porch.
I tell myself—take photos of the Northern Star.
When eyes grow weaker than they are,
I’ll study disappearing light.
Janet I. Buck, Central Point, Oregon