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

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 47 years all together....

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

staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

NIGHTS CAN BE LIKE THIS, AND THE SIGHT OF WILD                  FLOWERS GROWING WHILE LISTENING TO THE LYRICAL SOUND OF A BIRDíS SONG ON A SPRING DAY CAN BE OVERWHELMING  

Is it really possible that the blue jay alighting in the tree along
side the gravel trail early this morning without breaking into
a traditional jay-jaying understands why the small brown
furred rabbit scooted across our pathway a little slower
than usual?  The pair of red wing blackbirds darting across
in front of me and as quickly settling in trees is some
indication of the lively aspect of our natural surrounding,
or perhaps not.  Not in the manner of giving any indication
of the continuity of life, or any sense of the connection of man
and nature.  When I remember hearing the whippoorwill, moving
about the area, stopping at corners to mark its territory, and
returning to be in similar and closer hearing I know all is right
within the world around us.  Last night, one lonely, night friend,
a Barn Owl emitted its whoo, hoo hoo call distinct in the quiet air,
yet neither too loud nor too silent to be heard.  Merely letting its
family and predators know of its presence, of its near location.

It gently sways in the field across the road, its reddish hues
bright in the afternoon sun, light glinting off its petals, color
affixed in exacting character, the wild rose noticeable in spring
air, remarkable in durability, notable in the wide-ranging field
and captured in the slow movement of a soft flowing breeze.
Such natural, distinct elements of natureís remarkable mark
within our surroundings continue reminding us of her wonder.
Yes, nights can be like that, and the sight of wild flowers growing
while listening to the lyrical sound of a birdís song on a spring day
is as close to overwhelming as I imagine Roethke was while taking
in his surroundings sitting on a rock in his Puget Sound woodlot,
or earlier still, as a youngster, walking in a Michigan field or forest.
Such is the durable impact of oneís environment let alone.

 

SLEEP IS NOT QUITE LIKE SNOWFALL  

Donít know why itís so late again.
Perhaps it is just because I canít
fall asleep early or maybe my
dreams keep me alert more than
I think.  But, it may just be the weight
of these ideas spilling out like dandelions
seen tumbling down a park hillside
in early summer time.  Or, then it could be
more like opening a champagne bottle
and the pressure releasing so suddenly.
And it could really be more like the sap
when tapped from maples in winter
slowly filling pails.  I really donít know.
But, this I do realize--the lack of needed
sleep is never quite like an early snowfall
melting all too soon and leaving little residue.
Memory lasts, returning again and again
whether in sleep or recollections in passing days. 

 

Fred Wolven, Southeastern Florida

 


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