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 47 years all together....

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

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

SOMETIMES IN CALIFORNIA

It's cold, very cold
        at an altitude.
Sometimes I cannot see
        the whiteness of the snow.
Your black gloves burrow
         in your dark tresses.
Your black sunlit eyes
         hide behind a wink.

Your bohemian boots travel
Alone in a dream territory.

Sometimes it's the hair,
         dark and disheveled.
And the dark eyes
         unexplored, uncharted,
A depth within you.

Sometimes I cannot see
         the river Carmel
when you are in the foreground,
         so beautiful.

Sometimes it's too often,
Sometimes sometimes.

 

UXBRIDGE

See how the children run!
Memory freezes a summer
and a day. The moment
doesn't get tired out
into futility. Nothing
should thaw this summer day
growing up years. Nothing.

This refrigerated summer
memory will not grow.
It will not pass out of
school and college. It will
stay uneducated. It will
not learn a lesson or
earn a living. It will
stay a pauper. Always.

This summer day, frozen
in time like a crystal,
will blind our eyes one day.
And the lasers of the future
will break the crystal cataracts
into infinite pieces of
memories dispersing in the
aged air, everywhere.

 

RUISLIP

in Lido
your dangerous faith
a kite, the sky
and the hands
the hands raised
the bay
runs in the garden
sleeps in the air
watches the water
swims in the bed
dangerous faith
in Lido
night becomes
a tired day
everything comes online
time and space
and matter
I touch myself
my hair, my eyes
and feel
your hair, your eyes
in a dangerous faith
everything becomes
matter

 

Amit Shankar Saha, Kolkata, West Bengal, India


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