Ann Arbor Review


Bilall Maliqi
Duane Locke
Eddie Awusi
Silvia Scheibli
Amit Parmessur
Lyn Lifshin
Juan Hongi
Shutta Crum
Peycho Kanev
Fahredin Shehu
Lana Bella
Laszlo Slomovits
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

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 51 years all together....

Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

Submissions via e-mail:




Gardenias bloom late in summer
turn pink & gold in the sunsets.
Birds criss-cross across the lake
& settle into trees
as the last moments of day
form dusty shadows.

There are no words between us
only the touch of hands & eyes.
I feel your breath slip across my skin
like a whisper of rain,
your fingers tracing the glimmer of moonlight
across my breasts.
You pull me closer & I surrender
to the darkness inside me.
I speak your name
& know who I am.



I wanted to leap
farther than a tiddlywink
jumping up and over the title
of that poem and around the corner where
the milkman still delivers milk in glass bottles
to the doorstep of every house on the block.

I waited for him all day sometimes
just to get a chunk of ice to suck on.
But it didnít always happen.
Sometimes he was in a bad mood
and there I stood hot and thirsty
wishing I could leap onto that truck
and yank the ice back into my poem
instead of playing with my dolls
who couldnít understand the sophistication
of my anticipation.



Karyn M. Bruce, Biscayne Park, Florida



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