INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Lana Bella
Laszlo Slomovits
Amit Parmessur
Elisavietta Ritchie
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Yuan Hongri
Yevgeniya Przhebelskaya
Alex Ferde
Karyn M. Bruce
Rajuish Mishra
Alan Britt
Patrick Ashinze
Shutta Crum
Fahredin Shehu
Paul B. Roth
Helen Gyigya
Aneek Chatterjee
Joanie Freeman
Gale Acuff
Robert Nisbet
Fred Wolven
Sreekanth Kopuri
Michael Lee Johnson
Silvia Scheibli
Richard Gartee
Ali Znaidi
Jennifer Burd
John Grey
Running Cub
Peycho Kanev
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2019
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....
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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
SOME, TOO INDIFFERENT TO SPRING WINDS(After Emily Dickinson’s “SOME, TOO FRAGILE FOR WINTER WINDS”)
All things must rise—or die, it seems.
From darkness comes desire.
Or so mad Spring would have us think—
From holding back, comes fire.
But I have not decided yet
Who tells the truer tale.
Perhaps in ice we really live—
When pain’s what we inhale.
For all that Spring’s delirious,
It’s Winter’s craven turns
That brings us to our knees with grief—
Ignites the heart, and burns.
WINTER HUNT
(a pantoum)
He’s hunched into a question mark.
He glances once, he glances twice.
The mink’s routine is swift and stark.
Then—bullet-like beneath the ice.
He glances once, he glances twice.
The muskrat’s den is by the dock.
Then—bullet-like beneath the ice.
He drags the rat upon a rock.
The muskrat’s den is by the dock
where minks patrol the icy shore.
One’s dragged his catch upon a rock.
Here, life and death’s accounted for.
Where minks patrol the icy shore,
the mink’s routine is swift and stark.
Here, life and death’s accounted for
and hunched into a question mar
Shutta Crum, Ann Arbor, Michigan