INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Ali Znaidi
Silvia Scheibli
Richard Gartee
Deji Adesoye
Shutta Crum
Solomon Musa Haruna
Alan Britt
Fahredin Shehu
Laszlo Slomovits
Robert Nisbet
Gale Acuff
Rekha Valliappan
Fred Wolven
Aneek Chatterjee
Alex Ferde
Michael Lee Johnson
Jennifer Burd
Running Cub
Duane Locke
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2020
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 53 years all together....
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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via e-mail:
He revised the fairy tales
Told him
By duteous and daydreaming adults.
"Do you know me?,"
He asked his playmate in pink,
"Only your hands," she answered.
He jabbed a sylph
Dressed in white silk
That was diaphanous
In his panic dream.
She said, "Tell me another version
Of Theseus and his cerise sail."
I can only speak of turquoise sails.
"Can you speak of sails
That are purple or mauve,
Mixtures of blue and red?"
"No, never, no comprise," He said.
This was when she vanished
In a brisk beach wind.
He wondered what her hands
Could have taught him
If she had not disappeared
With a curtsy and a smile.
# 2
His next-to-the-last request
Was to be buried in his pajamas,
The white ones with green stripes.
He said that he was born
To be non-standard, and none
Of his clothes ever fit.
All his life, he wore clothes
Either too loose, or too tight.
He always felt out of place
Among those neatlly dressed
With a small, medium, or large fit.
Now, his pajamas were comfortable,
Not awkward and annoying
Like his other clothes.
The dying man, his cancer
Gave him four more days, said
I want to be buried in my pajamas,
Because the underaker, the preacher,
My wife, my children,
All the rest refused my first final request
To be buried naked.
# 3
She, bold, assertive, called
Herself, "The new postmodern woman,"
Asked me if she could buy me a drink.
"Yes," I am attracted to the
Dimple in your chin and your
Knowledge of Simonides,
Would you like to share my happy minute?"
She was tall and blonde,
Her long legs reached the floor
From the high bar stool.
Her high heels restlessly
Shoved around the peanut shells
And sawdust on the floor.
I asked her if she would be
My happy hour.
"Too long," she answered,
Too long, in this fast moving
Fast-paced economy. When
A new electronic gadget
Is put on the market, it is
Obsolete after a month.
It is replaced by a new improvement."
Duane Locke, Tampa, Florida, R.I.P.
curator: Steve Barfield, Tampa