Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Bilall Maliqi
Duane Locke
Eddie Awusi
Silvia Scheibli
Amit Parmessur
Lyn Lifshin
Juan Hongi
Shutta Crum
Peycho Kanev
Fahredin Shehu
Lana Bella
Laszlo Slomovitz
Abdulrahman M Abu-  yaman
Elisavietta Ritchie
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Keith Moul
Aneek Chatterjee

Tom Evans
Robert Nisbet
Paul B. Roth
Alex Ferde
Alan Britt

Richard Gartee
Karyn M. Bruce

Ali Znaidi
Running Cub
John Grey

Jennifer Burd
Fred Wolven

Helen Gyigya


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2018 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 51 years all together....

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

 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

WHY ALL THIS TORMENT

…and for so many times
I asked myself why I feel
so much pain and even stigmata
appeared and I am not a Christian
nor any religion ever captured me
as an amber lump seized the unlucky insect
                                       some millennia ago.

When I was born I’ve learned that love shall be
adorned and a kiss be worshiped for eternity and a day more.

This pain oh holy Being- why this pain is so harsh?
Why I accepted this as blessing and not as curse?
Why the ignorant live in peace and the wise is tormented by dreams?
Why the poet loves eternally yet the poet remains on the mercy of all   those
                                  who need the poet and unaware is of his blossoming?

…and after a while the play ends
all masks falls all dress thrown away and all those runners                                  to announce his death rain miserable?

 

THE BOTTLE OF AGE                

Every time and always
I recall mossy ruins of my
distant past where the soul
wandered.

Aghast by the torments and
ropey desires for the life
yet to become.

Lungs are filled with the odor
of oak moss and time by time
pine resin fragrance and
iodized air of the sea.

The breeze brought on that time
soul’s nacre of my memories
and the gurgling whims of youth.

I pitied them as I do now all
traders who merchandised
their creed for the mustard seed.

 

 

Fahredin Shehu, Pristina, Kosova


 

   


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