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:
MILTON
FRIEDMAN REVELS
Mechanize economics to regurgitate profit
Compound echelon-earned interest
Privatize the zoo and each little zoolet
Miss Plutocrat presents her roseate cheek
* * *
Wall Street shines in spite of oxygen-deficiency
* * *
The stench we all breathe is called neoliberalism.
* * *
Milton, your God takes notice and will be impressed
* * *
People are granted baby licenses, home licenses,
cow licenses if they can persuade the cows to come home
to swell the crowd watching the boot-strapping spectacle.
VENOM, VIRTURE AND FUN
"Only a virtuous people are capable of freedom.
As nations become more corrupt and vicious, they
have more need of masters." Benjamin Franklin
Some among us risk the edge of reason;
some dispute fealty to constitutional oaths;
some laugh at, some fear others' ideologies;
some may lord over us with wit and whip:
whose virtue, yet, is not questioned: Ann Coulter.
That I suffer my affinities dark too, like coffee;
that purpose in a cause can be a special blend;
that my reliance on cream prompts Ann's sugar.
But my refreshment is no act to incite, naught
but synaptic charge through dark energy that,
with Ann, boils off for a thick, true espresso; we
both evidence deep distrust of our human nature,
an encomium beneath water of a polluted pool
in which we drown if we choose not to swim.
Ann lifts her cup in praise of the pointedly pure
Keith Moul, Port Angeles, Washington