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:
The Wood
The wood or the stone you found had small ripples inside, or gentle air that transmitted oxygen to souls.
Winters were claustrophobic in the town; in the small alleys, with 17th century hanging bulbs. And when you melted in the face opposite; your painted lips
drew
undeciphered scripts on the newly discovered stone.
Surging
waves only rolled
behind the
wood, faceless.
City Folks
Love of city
folks for jungle,
brought the
latter to our doorsteps.
The more
determined became bear, bison, rhino,
elephant,
lion, tiger etc.
In any rule
of the masses, number of powerful
is always
great. Therefore, some more became
hyena,
leopard, fox, wild dogs etc.
The reptile
in me decided to crawl on dust
& mud to
reach out to other lizards, snakes, leeches.
The jungle
offered many colors; bright &
dark places;
many anecdotes; many alive & dead souls.
Love of city
folks for green had no fault.
By the time
green reached our doorsteps,
it became
red, -- due to unashamed pollution.
Burning Meadow
A burning
meadow clamors for rain;
green
sprouts on soil; some flowers from
different
shades; souls of transport.
Rains are
galore here, all through the year.
Flowers
bloom in plenty, of many shades
and colors.
No souls tread on soil.
The burning
meadow peeps from inside.
But retreats
quickly, because of the blinding,
blazing rays
from above, all through the year.
Another Year
Yellow
flowers are back,
back in
abundance, shining,
exactly
after a year.
At this time
last year, the pandemic
came to our
doors & we were
horrified,
frustrated & confined.
The yellow
flowers bloomed &
smiled at me
from a neighboring
tree,
sheltering buoyant birds.
They
chirped, flew, came back
to nests,
made little pranks with
yellow
flowers, siblings.
They waved
at me, they sang to me.
My boredom,
confinement flew to the tree
& yellow
flowers carefully nested them.
Welcome
back, sunshine.
Welcome back
vibrancy & life.
Another year
has passed & we’re smiling again.
Aneek Chatterjee, Kolkata, India