Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Deji Adesoye
Changming Yuan
Violeta Allmuca
Beppe Costa
Engjell I. Berisha
Narendra Kumar Arya
Akwu Sunday Victor
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Laszlo Slomovits
Stefania Battistella
Agron Shele
Lana Bella
Fahredin Shehu
Alan Britt
Silvia Scheibli
Shutta Crum
Running Cub
Alex Ferde

Irsa Ruci
Jennifer Burd
Paul B. Roth
Richard Gartee
Elisavietta Ritchie
Peycho Kanev
Helen Gyigya
Amit Parmessur
Sneha Subramanian Kanta
Robert Nisbet

Jeton Kelmendi
Duane Locke

Lyn Lifshin

Richard Lynch
Jean McNerney
Fred Wolven


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2017 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

 

 

CONTINUITY

I knew my grandparents by how they cultivated their land
In their form of fingers interrelating
While the line of life
Had to start in the east
They wake up with the crown of sun every morning.

As a borderline between what belonged to them
And the indifference for what did not
Were the graceful oak trees
Equal with the age’s roughness
That just to bother
Threw its shade in the neighbour’s garden
Who my grandpa always mentioned
With a little envy
Because his trees gave more fruits.

The adour of sail while it was cultivated
I remember it even today… reminds me of childhood
Generations are raised by memories!

Ah, I haven’t forgotten the offenses of my grandparents
Their silent curses for those who stole a little grape across
The street (never in their proud touched).

Now, that I tread that earth with a bunch of dreams in my hands
I feel that in it there’s again essence
That time wouldn’t fade away!
Everything has died because of the winter cold
But the amaryllis of the earth inherited a spring that will ever cherish…

 

NO SOUND

I’ll carry my fate in my shoulders
And go
Somewhere… where I don’t even know where
Without holdbacks, a bunch of tears
With the world who inseminated me
In perversity!

I will close my eyes to escape
Without turning back
Me the child of broken cradles
Me the lass’s essence
Me the women
Kneeled because of love!

What direction I will travel by?
Maybe by heart
Because leaving is always an emotion hurting
The care, the Achilles heel,
Castles always fall from inside
Victories are defeated glories
No one wins in a game of losers
Despite ego
And gazing defeated by the memory.

I am a peaceful getaway
Longing, hurricane, image
My self brings me back from my way
She stands alone even when I am gone…

 

THE OTHER’S SELF

I am scared by the winds blowing in this unclear time 
Living in the mist 
Without asking “Why?”
Seeking the cause at the other 
Strange happiness 
Strange suffering 
Strange betrayal 
Myself mentioned in formless form 
Borrowed from sufferin’!

I am scared of what my eyes witness everyday 
People drowned in rancour 
Pulled from the vanity of greed 
Formless, vicious.

Oh… with words I will break down barricades: 
Enough already! 
Give your life the chance 
To find happiness in the air 
To fight for freedom with feelings’ strength 
To glory of being 
HUMAN!

Fate is destined by Zeuses 
Low, very low beings are dozen 
Daubed with the poverty’s mud 
Without a sound, 
Without a single sound?!

Meanwhile beyond the fence rest the poets 
Who into dreams rebel to other’s self!

 

BLESSED IN SIN

After that birch fence
Where now a magpies group are holding conversations
Had stepped for the first time
The Devil's Foot,
While it escaped in search of hope
In exchange for a poisoned life...

Since that day, but only lord preserves the land
With his humble shepherds
In wisdom
Knowledge is gathered little by little, silently
With a mom simplicity
As she pampers her baby's forehead...

In that forest of sins
Today it grows snakes, they age, and are inherited,
But every generation that goes keeps awake the legend
Of infertility...

After that fence of sin
We listen our conscience
Clean
To prove that the taste of sin
Devilishly was born with human beings!

 

Irsa Ruci, Tirana, Albania

 

   


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