INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
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
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....
------------------------------------------------
staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cut
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
Talk of darkness
Talk of ambiguity
Is it the fame ?
Is it the money ?
Is it the innuendos?
None of these
Sitting at the dark aisle
Pacing through memory lane
The betrayals
The disloyalty
The forgiven but not forgotten
Heads high in cruelty
The abiss of resentment
The peak of animosity
The lie tales
The hidden realities
The scripted blabbing
Is it a battle for a name or
A battle to make the name immortal
As grass is to the cattle
As fog is to visibility
As ashes is to the wind
As dirt is to the running waters
When reality comes calling
Oblivion is a sure end.
Out of Silence
Sitting down
Glued to the sofa
Heads up
Eyes pacing through
Looking into the dark night
Reminiscing on
The things said
The things not said
The tears cried
The laughter
The pains
The anguish
The time wasted on resentment
The far cry not heard
The what if's
The I shouldn't have's
Just like a dark cloud
On a rainy day
Just like a young plant
Starved of sunlight
Just like a blackbird in the dark cloud
Just like a white bird high up in the sky
The things that are there
The things that were there
But we never saw them
Out of silence are words
heard that were never said.
The Cliff
At
the Top but felt beneath
All I could see was despair
The wind whispering
Heart panting
Body shivering
What could it be?
Am I afraid of height?
Was it stigma?
How can I be so
Afraid of what I craved for
Am I beclouded by pessimism?
Or is it just a flair of fear
Maybe I might fall
Maybe I might not get to make it down the steep
Pessimism got the best of me that I forgot
The optimist in me
I couldn't behold the beautiful view
I couldn't see the aura of nature
I couldn't perceive or feel the freedom
I couldn't see that I could fly even though I had no wings
At the cliff all I ever should have done was to embrace my shadows, the
scarce and learn to fly
again how could I have ever thought.
Solomon Musa Haruna, Kaduna, Nigeria