Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Michelle Bailat-Jones
Amit Parmessur
Steve Barfield
Fahredin Shehu
Karyn M. Bruce
Richard Gartee
Running Cub
Dejoy Robillard
Yuan Hongri
Lasz.o Slomovits
Silvia Scheibli
Stephen Sleboda
Alan Britt
Gale Acuff
Elisavietta Ritchie
Shutta Crum
Patty Dickson Pieczka

Duane Locke
Jennifer Burd
Aneek Chatterjee
Robert Nisbet
Robert Penick

Alex Ferde
Solomon Musa Haruna

Violeta Allmuca
Fred Wolven
 


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2020 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 54 years all together....

-----------------------------
staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

CULTURE SHOCK

           Night
           sticks
            turn
             to
       prayer beads

              fill
             eye
           sockets
               of
       ghost dancers

              float
            past
               the
            midnight

             gasps
               for
             breath

                on
        any avenue
              called
              home.

         The battering
              bone
         now broken
         and thrown

             lands
               in
           column
               of
             hands
              with
             sweat

             ready
                to
               nest

                 in
                 the
              depths
                 of
         fire, in water.

 

 FLAMES           5/29/2020

Flames 
from 

building
at 
the 
crossroads 
of 

nation 
drowning 
in 
tears, 
billows 
of 
smoke 
flood 
the 
waves 
of 
night.

 

Down to the Vision 1/27-28/2020

Then there was that time down in Ybor City
Or maybe Davis Island in a ray-glo rubber room rhyme
When the notion to take hold of the Astral Physics
On the red sweater nurse with shiny wine nails spilled out of the play time locked ward floor.

Cozy as it was in the open door closet
The whistle blew and blew and blew in the unarmed guards
And from the strong armed rescue
With the day room parachute in mind

That lead down to the Vision
And how we’ll all get off
Holding on to the dirty white ragged robe
To leave this world, to leave this age.

 

Stephen Sleboda, Holyoke, Massachusetts

   


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