INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Patty Dickson
Pieczka
Deji Adesoye
Michelle Bailet-Jones
Steve Barfield
Gale Acuff
Elisavietta Ritchie
Solomon Haruna
Aneek Chatterjee
Karyn M. Bruce
Robert Nisbet
Laszlo Slomvits
Y. Przhebelskaya
Running Cub
Alan Britt
Richard Gartee
Fahredn Shehu
Amit Parmressar
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c)
2021-22 Francis FerdeAll 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, editor
Silver Grey Fox, editing
Running Cub, reader
Fred Wolven, publisher
Submissions via e-mail:
“Coastal Flood Advisory” Warns Weather
The last hurricane flung seven trees
our dirt lane, blocked our exit, our rescue…
Although the country store is running low
we lay in stale bread, leftover army rations, batteries,
hurry home through heavy traffic—then none—
Some side roads already jammed, or closed.
Our rutted dirt lane through the swamp
is already a stream, a river dammed–
Waves splash over our bulwark, hide the dock,
creep inland, cover the scruffy lawn—
Too late to try to evacuate the place:
Puddles become ponds, ponds lakes—
We
haul canoes, kayaks, skiffs, the floating dock,
above the zigzag tide line, tighten hawsers,
bag sails, haul loose gear ashore, padlock
the boathouse, avoid growing puddles--
We
waver toward the century-old house
up four chipped brick steps,
check windows, tighten splintered frames,
rinse saved wine jugs, refill with fresh water—
Lights flicker die. We’ve lost our electricity—
The water pump no longer works--
Candles on the mantelpiece, but where are
the matches? Not in their usual drawer—
Shuffling in the attic—Critters abandon dens,
don’t trust the trees to stand--move indoors—
We
now captain a Noah’s Ark of refugees
but will we all make it through the storm?
The new moon sashays
into my slice of sky
I grasp one uncharted peak
ride the tides of night
beach on some far shore
of this night’s universe
most recent edits: August 15, 202
A Phalanx of Toadstools
Sprang up overnight
outside the front door
Perhaps afraid of their magic
or venom, someone toppled them
But next morning
as if to mock their toppler
like persistent debtors
twice as many appear by the door
These immortal fungi
demand you welcome them still
no longer afraid to taste
I Hate to Miss a Trick
So I
want to live forever
to learn how it all turns out
I
study history to find examples
examples to find history
If a
soldier kills enough
of this week’s foes
or
saves a life
he wins a medal
but he
knows
the other side
is
prepped
to murder him
May we
save
those we can
compose/create/ celebrate
while we can
So let us drink
life to whatever lees
until
whatever
slap dash infinity
shuffles in and waits
to swallow us
Black Cat and I
The
sky is black, the cat is black.
We wake in the white house
with red roof at swamp edge
hungry…
But no food anywhere.
We
slip outside where
a fairy ring of toadstools
sprang up overnight.
Hungry, risk-takers, cat and I
nibble them and the sky
is aswirl with pastels.
Cat
and I sprout wings
and under the sudden sun
we fly over the swamp
land on an island not
on any map…
But
look!
Woods are bursting with berries
and alive with mice—
Elisavietta Ritchie, Solomon’s Island, Maryland