INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Lana Bella
Deji W. Adesoye
Chris Lord
Ali Znaidi
Francis Annagu
Olajide Vincent Ajise
Lyn Lifshin
Akor Emmanuel
Duane Locke
Running Cub
Paul B. Roth
Fahredin Shehu
Laszlo Slomovits
Silvia Scheibli
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Amit Parmessur
Irsa Ruci
Elisavietta Ritchie
Alex Ferde
Richard Gartee
Robert Nisbet
Alan Britt
Changming Yuan
Nahshon Cook
Peycho Kanev
Jennifer Burd
Fred Wolven
Karyn M. Bruce
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2016
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 47 years all together....
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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
ECO ECHOES 2016-21
Looking through empty spaces
Between bare branches that resemble
Japanese Zen paintings
At part of a vacant lot with tall green weeds
Spotted with large chrome yellow flowers
That bees with rainbows on wings
And gold circles around brown bodies enter,
They look directly, but they do not see,
For they are mentally occupied
With their confabulation about outer space travel.
They talk about setting up a new colony
And establishing an anarchy.
One present at this tea ceremony
With its precise rules and regulations
Is bored by their discussion of fantasies
Starts staring intently at the color of the tea,
And how its hue is changed by being
In cup whose rim is gold-scalloped
And whose inside is a Cadmium yellow.
He does not any longer hear
What is being said about outer space,
But starts daydreaming he is a character
In Herman Melville’s Typee
Running away from natives who
Want to tattoo him.
ECO ECHOES 213
An everglades airboat afloat—it was as noisy
If nose is said to resemble, a type of cacophony,
An aleatoric musical composition when tin cans
Are roped together as if lassoing each other to fall
Down an iron fire escape. But this noise we heard were
Hearing had a rattle as if Hispanic, like shook castenets.
Although one remarked it sounded like an out of order
Machine machine. We concluded our aural analysis
By generalizing it as “Everglades Music.” But it imposed
Or apparent or faked unity was by interfenced with
By the squaw of a disturbed sea bird. This is how
Dawn came in to erase a darkness that in the morning
Resembled a twilight. This was another beginning
Of our apartness, for we all knew, that although it
Was designed by false speech as the same, in a world
Where there is no samness, we all heard a different
Musical compositon. The converstion about what each
Heard was unknowable, but we pretended we understood.
ECO ECHOES, II-18
On this day of news about a child’s arson,
And an artist whose work amended Malevitch,
What a human’s brain constituted to be still
As it quivered in the invisible wind with its
Movement up and his movemet down in space
Was the end leaf on a long, thin, oak twig.
The observer directly looking at its green,
His thoughts added an embellishment,
A movie star’s green eyes, a girl never actually seen.
But what his fantasy, his conception converted
Perception would soon, very quickly,
Be erased into oblivion ‘s oblique obfuscation,
The leaf’s consciously unobserved mobility
Would osmose through hair, skin, bone
And join synapses’ explosion and neural fireworks.
What
was unknown to him saved him
From living totally a life of observations turned into lies.
Duane Locke, Tampa, Florida