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
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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:
Pollens of the mind, season birds.
Like the sandstones of moments they
Quiver, hover, and fly away.
Once-often, and for all in an age.
The trunk of a poem is mahogany
Carved, and possessed by times
Last away like vanity
Immortalize passing chimes.
Born, thus, god of a terrestrial plane
Immortal, as the moon's head
Supreme arbiter of crazed contemplations
Purveyor, steamed ancient interests.
WATERFALL
At your foot I stand, Erin Ijesha
Where you flood me with your white occupation
Your splash of manner cleanses me of pride
Your feet’s royal rush disrobe my spite
But I ask, yet in thought and awe, where you’re headed to
Why water crops from your rock and fall
On your foot, endlessly, in the same cycle?
In the grains of your splash is one and th' only clue---
….because water crops from your rock and fall
On your foot, endlessly, in the same cycle.
Genteel rock,
In you I see no purpose hold true for seconds, except vanity
Nor a moment endure, but change and repeat
At your feet I stand, O vanity
Behold the cycle of your rush and flow, and change and repeat
How they bring this splash of white I wouldn’t know
But they’al happen to me like a ski in snow.
Deji W. Adesoye, Ibadan, Nigeria