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 Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
TODAY, APRIL 15, 2015 AT 10:15 AM
I was driving East
on Smith Road
toward Airport Boulevard,
thinking about
what love is
and where found
when I saw a white
Pontiac Grand Am
crashed into a light pole
on the side of the road,
and a young man
laying on the grass
in the snow.
I pulled over
and got out of my car
to see how I could help.
There was already a person
covering the young man
with an olive green blanket.
Another person
in an orange
Home Depot apron
said, He’s going into shock.
An ambulance is on the way.
When I knelt down
and said, Hello,
the young man
reached his left hand out
trying to give me
his cell phone.
When I asked his name
he opened his eyes
and said, Daniel.
SELF PORTRAIT AS ANDREW
I’ve worked in India
and have seen the joy
that fills people’s life
when you build them a house
that has no electricity
no running water
has a tin roof on it
and four walls
but these people
were raised on the street
their great-grandparents
lived on the street
they were born on the street
they were delivered in birth
on the street corner
washed their face
in some dirty water
out of a sewer gutter
and the mother
continued prostituting herself
just after having given birth
to buy milk for the baby to drink
the joy that’s on their face
to see a glass of decent water
that’s not muddy
with urine and dirt
and they’re happy
REQUIEM
Those two young men
You could call them boys
Strung him up
To a wooden fence
On the side of the road
And beat him to a bloody abstraction
Nine days later
October 16 1998
Softly falling snowflowers fell
On a small congregation
Of crucifying Christians
Who stood across the street
From the red-brick Episcopal church
On the corner
Of South Wolcott and East 7th
And protested his memorial service
With little black leather-bound Bibles
And lewd signs
And filthy mouths shouting
God’s supposed hate for gays
One of the most beautiful things
I’ve ever seen is the sun
Shinning its light into a world
Where wars are fought
To try’n keep people
From being who they are
And even though sometimes
It feels like everything I’ve done
Up till now has been wrong
I still think fighting over religion is stupid
It’s like calling someone Jean
Whose name is George
And expecting them to answer
And the more I pray and the more I live
The more I see that truly being
A human being means love
And love means helping someone else
Find their own way
Whether this is true or not
I don’t know
But sometimes
We have to deceive ourselves
To stay alive and keep going
Nahshon Cook, Bankok, Thailand