Ann Arbor Review

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
------------------------------------------------

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 48 years all together....

------------------------------------------------
 


staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

 

 

AND SO 

“If I get a fresh start,
then everything will be fine again”, he said
and drank from the bottle of whisky.
All around him, on the bed, on the night stand,
on the floor, empty bottles – sad in their
uselessness. The light in the room falls
softly as a feather on the scattered memories.
And books
hundreds of books dead of
reading.

And still the clock
on the wall continues
its endless murmur but
for how
long?

On the desk the photo
of Franz Kafka said that
‘A belief is like a guillotine,
just as heavy, just as light.’

 

RIGHT THERE

I imagine that I live in a cabin
by the shore

O this beautiful silence
filling each molecule of space
and time

(Come to me thoughts come to
me absolute emptiness)
far away from any human
habitation

A bruised melancholy sky above,
alone,
in this vast world
and no one awaits my
return

And I stand
with open
eyes while
in the water
fish share
my silence
wholly alone
in the evening
gloom

Everything else is
whenever, whenever, whenever
and finally
everywhere
A symbol of another time -

A man set out in
the void

Society’s dark thoughts
are drawing nearer and
nearer

 

THE WORD

The night smacks out
of hiding and finds me
sitting on the pew
Wooden eyes under
the halo of nothing looking
into the nothing and
creeping darkness covers
the entire body
I raise my hand
then lower it and
I head out
I always leave with
more questions than
I come in with
I’m always leaving to
find something –

 

Peycho Kanev, Bulgaria and Chicago

   


Ann Arbor Review   |   Home    |  next   previous  |  Back to Top