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
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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:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

 

 

CRIMSON JOY

Red candle, the beating heart that keeps you alive.
Red candle, the invisible instinct of the self. Feel

red blood circulates your whole body! Feel
the warmth of your blood, whether you live in a tree

or in the web! Feel it (now) at the steps of desire,
while it climbs up to the apex.

Donít sip lemonade!
Sip strawberry juice, & at least tomato juice,

and touch the red candle before it melts away
& before sand suckles on your blood:
Donít let worms creep into your crimson joy!

Just catch them & give them to the hungry birds!ó
At least, when you die their fledglings wonít excrete
on your grave of crimson joy.

  

DARKNESS

was already there in the interior of everybodyís cave.
Storms wail beyond the coarse walls. Shadows get inside
w/ fathomless shades. Post-modern theories of darkness
take place inside. And if not darkness itself, then its aftermath.
In the interior of everybodyís cave,,, always room for another
mathematics. In the sum of all shades {gathering of layers}
a mourning chorus lamenting perhaps the original word;;;
the original sin,,, or the first attempt of experimentation.
People have been fighting icons of power. Now they steal
each otherís algorithms. Darkness becomes enormous, adding
more layers. The original word has been irretrievably lost.
óInstead, expect people to regurgitate cud w/ grief. And
darkness returns, electric, eclectic. Maybe this is another
version of a post-modern theory of interior design.

 

 

Ali Znaidi, Redeyef, Tunisia


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