Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Fahredin Shehu
Elisavietta Ritchie
Uvie  Gwewhegbe
Jennifer Burd
George Miller
Robert Penick
Laszlo Slomovits
Richard Gartee
Gale Acuff
Stephen Sleboda
Robert Nisbet
Chris Spitters
Silvia Scheibli
Michael Lee Johnson

Alicia Mathias
Alan Britt
Y. Przhebelskaya
Helen Gyigya

Aneek Chatterjee
Alex Ferde
Running Cub

Joanie Freeman
Shutta Crum

Fred Wolven

Steve Barfield

Deji Adesoye

Michelle Bailat-Jones


 

AAR Logo 


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 55 years all together....

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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

FLAMENCO  GUITAR

Gypsy with a pinched felt fedora
enters the tavern,
straddles a wooden stool,
and tilts his dingy brim to strum Seguiriyas
from a silk guitar.
Swallows like ashes rise from the guitarís belly.
Late afternoon sun with hips of dice
scatters shadows across the floor.
Two shadows hunch beneath a white ceiling fan
while others ravage the splinters of sunlight.
The guitar exhales.
Coquinas tap Morse Code
against an old womanís loneliness
as she rises to brush her heels
against the wooden dance floor.
The guitar teases her
with a goblet of Graciano dreams.
Droplets from the guitarís crystal waist
shatter beneath the old womanís heels.

 

BELOW THE SURFACE

(What does the sea want?
Its whips falling and falling.)
      
~Ye Chun

Iíve got a reed for a brain
burping algae bubbles
below canal water.
But Iíve got a drum
and a vision.
Hear the hammer on nails,
felt hammer
tapping delirious strings
attached to
a horned owlís tympanum?
Iíve got a drum
and whatís left of a vision.
So, I might as well,
as Ye says, embrace
the sea whips
falling and falling,
instead of giving birth
to snowmen, who bleed
to death on a strange planet
with unfriendly weather?

 

THE MYTH OF CATS

So, this is it?
Death swirling us down
the drain of existence?
Death with a Byronic foot
invading our comfort zone?
Death in ostrich re*nery
nursing the milk of life
from the frozen nipples
of the universe?

 

Alan Britt, Reisterstown, Maryland

   


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