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 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, editor
Silver Grey Fox, editing
Running Cub, reader
Fred Wolven, publisher
Submissions via e-mail:
Oligophrenic
all those barrels of poison
a man could store inside
deep in the abyss of his
consciousness. So dark and gloom
his face showed no spark
of hope. A battle of proteins
a scientist could explain
Mists of memory and aura
of emotions are visible above
his head. "These are difficult times
to be a human"- could
be read in his forehead and
echo as if it was coming
from the emptiness in canyons
the dwellings of Jinni colony
that settled some millennial ago
Where is the exorcist with
the wand made of hazelwood
and hexes from the Asemic Cosmos
Where is the shaman to wash
him with the blood of all black
rooster who never sang to awake
the devoted for the morning prayer
all those barrels of poison
a man could store inside
deep in the abyss of his
consciousness. So dark and gloom
his face showed no spark
of hope. A battle of proteins
a scientist could explain
Mists of memory and aura
of emotions are visible above
his head. "These are difficult times
to be a human"- could
be read in his forehead and
echo as if it was coming
from the emptiness in canyons
the dwellings of Jinni colony
that settled some millenia ago
Where is the docror who injects
his whims in ampules with
the transparent liquid
I
am now observing human
among Men and the Lady
among Women to realiz
the Oligophrenic I am.
To stay or...?
Petroleum scented Zephyr
the Sun hides behind the mountain-top
it is as death binds your legs
The blood-drops pattern Libra
on my cotton white tunic
To
stay in a dream or
to dwell in here having
the taste of Absynth
in my mouth
The bone marrow
The bone marrow filled with
the liquid gold
and the entire skeleton sprayed
with nanoparticles of the spirit
the taste she felt in her mouth is neutral
almost as nothing to comapare with
the augmented heart is pulsating- lavishly and uncanny
Shall one on one day feel Love as in the past ages
or the Love will transmute into another entity and evaporate like the
essence of the Air and become Ozone
Fahredin Shehu, Pristina, Kosova