Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Lana Bella
Hongri Yuan
Lyn Lifshin
Duane Locke
Elisavietta Ritchie
Michelle Bailat-Jones

Fahredin Shehu
Laszlo Slomovits
Andy N
Alex Ferde
Lekan Alesh
Michael Lee Johnson
Running Cub
Ali Znaidi
Silvia Scheibli
Robert Nisbet
Richard Gartee
Amit Parmessur

Jennifer Burd
Paul B. Roth
Sanjeev Sethi
Keith Moul
Arjun Dahal
Alan Britt
Richard Lynch
Fred Wolven
Eddie Awusi

Joanie Freeman
Hongri Yuan
Amit Shankar Saha

 

 


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 48 years all together....

------------------------------------------------
staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net


 

JACARANDA BLUES

I am filled with Jacaranda Blues

so much so
that impromptu lilacs
rush my mouth at all hours

Even my hips are imprinted
and my words fall like satin notes
from Nora Jones guitar

flowers and wind
together opened the afternoon’s veins
spinning a light purple cover over the ground

and that’s how
I came to be imprinted with the Jacaranda Blues.

 

FOR SYRIA

I painted the elegant bones

of our Saguaro a phosphorescent green.

I wanted to give our deceased cactus an incandescent voice

a definition & a place.

 

One that would speak to the natural grace of all saguaros

living and dying

in this particular desert
& in all the nomadic sites

where only hunger & terror reign.

 

AT SOTO’S

Ocotillo blossoms perch like
scissor-tailed flycatchers

while
La luna ascends

y la canción del guitarrón
melts among Palo Verde strings

that bind

 

ON MARKET DAY

A Mourning dove meets me on the roof
glancing right
                    then left

she scatters arid sunlight
with plaintiff coos across

the yard

she let's the Spanish tile warm
her belly
and waits

she waits
until long-stemmed grasses
summon her
to fields

 

LAST DAY OF MARCH

No thermals yet

vultures perched
on a few telephone poles
                along the frontage road

not minding
the soft drizzle
                spread like a dirty windshield
across the canyon

hunkered down

hardly preening

 

Silvia Scheibli, Rio Rico, Arizona


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