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
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 54 years all together....
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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven
Submissions via
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A POET’S INSTANTS
The word was born at the heart just like epic stone
Here and there traces are revealed
Signs are amid the paths of a body
So, I kept the word under my skin.
The day is depending over the arms of lyrics
The night is enlightened and dressed from lightening
A poet is loading his words on a backpack
Unloads them every morning on the world’s doors.
Therefore when the dawn is gone in the kids’ eyes
Their voices gather the earth and sky
Rain is falling and words are wet on the window’s glass
The horns of lightening are shaking the clouds and the sky.
Every time the poet’s instants must be blessed oh man
The word is crowned in a fire and connects two shores
We are birds of memory under the grey capitol
And some squeaking knights of darkness.
I MISS YOU
I miss a light sparkle to
start a fire
I miss my city and the voice of a sublime word
I miss a soul and a divine dream
I miss the face of stones in a blessed land…
I miss the tree of winter
that suffers from emptiness
The old Oak and petals over pink rose
The old roof cracked from rain were solitude is soaked
Painted walls with carved names below.
Over the shoulders of a
river are missing the sufficient stars
That appear to be waiting to waving across the shore
Muse is attracting me to write although I was not alone
Snow covered with whiteness all of a sudden is lost.
Over the rows of water and
of space I listen to your voice
After the dreams I gathered the particles divided piece by piece
I saw the love brightening that was walking on foot
And muse was not escaping, nor leaving me to die…
DREAMS ARE FLOURISHING…
I was sad because darkness had broken my words
Solitude was looking silently far away the galaxy in dawn
What would I do without a word where I planted the tree of verse
Day, enlighten today this night and roots just like my soul!
Every time I was empty, I called a human breath to come
Words entrusted me, but were suffering from memories of loss
Day was coming very pure with a breath and wind and a few rain drops
Time was separating in the middle just like a sparkling while hitting.
At the deck of a ship I painted with blood your name freedom
Walking through darkness while my time was surveyed
What would I do without you, only to be a guardian of words fleeing
And to empty, while escaping, the verses that were killed before the world
Night gone was an
insufficient hope colored in grey
Was hitting time, but then stars begun to scintillate
What would I do without words, without a man, hope nor freedom
I trusted life when stating, that even dreams are flourishing…
TIME OF WIND
Always I have thought that
time was coming like a prayer
I kept it in my hands, was descending over the fingers every time
Was staying close to me in a field brightened far away
Was ascending over my shirt and turned into a wind.
Lucky fireflies were
brightening the sleepy night
And the river’s water were white butterflies were descending
Darkness had dressed itself in black from the lost dream
Sweating I could not find a place for other days.
Today the time of wind
part by part has vanished them completely
The views of thunderstorm surfacing just like in a movie without event
Over our bodies enlightened from an old light bulb
Night was overwhelmed just like magic from surrealistic shadows.
In the morning I kidnapped the dawn and turned off the lit bulb
Time was crawling from the wind and was cleaning my eyes with cold air
All day I fell in love with a heart that I kept in my hands
This is why I kept my soul in rays, to keep it warm.
Violeta Allmuca, Vienna, Austria (formerly Albania)
Translator (from Albanian) Peter M. Tase, Milwaukee, Wisconsin