Ann Arbor Review


Paul B Roth
Duane Locke
Alan Britt
Silvia Scheibli
Steve Barfield
Duane Locke
Alex Ferde
Kristina Krumova
Richard Gartee
Lyn Lifshin
Gale Acuff
Alicia Mathias
Sunday Eyitayo Michael
Running Cub
Laszlo Slomovits
Shutta Crum
Solomon Musa Haruna

Elisavietta Ritchie
Yuan Hongri
Helen Grigya
Fahredin Shehu
Karyn M. Bruce

Robert Nisbet
Deji W. Adesoye

Michael Lee Johnson
Keith Moul
Jennifer Burd

John Grey
Rekha Valliaypan
Fred Wolven

Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2019 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:



I’m Not Talking When You Are Looking Into my Eyes 

It will be a warm spring
I said
It will be a warm night
I said
Under the window
I said
You will make me a serenade
I said
Because you love the blossoming cherries in my yard
I said
Although love poetry is vacuous
I said
You will look at my face in the moonlight
I said
A long time
I said
Until I say



Since hope began to sell so cheaply, there was a queue
in front of all the shops,
that’s why the little lady went in the shop selling hearts
There was no one inside

Summer with a scent of peppermint
Is a cliché
Shedded cherry tears cover the remains of asphalt
under the multitude of lonely feet
And sweat
And silence
A street-car’s whisper in the distance
Calls for escape
From the indifference
Summer drowned in a cigarette smoke
Is poetry



Kristina Krumova, Sofia, Bulgaria



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