Ann Arbor Review

INSIDE THIS ISSUE:

Richard Gartee
Fahredin Shehu
Steve Barfield
Silvia Scheibli
Laszlo Slomovitz
Shutta Crum
Running Cub
Sodiq O. Alabi
Stephen Sleboda
Alan Britt
Aneek Chatterjee
John Grey
Michael Lee Johnson
Robert Nisbet
Jennifer Burd
Alica Mathias
Roo Bardookie
Gale Acuff
Alex Ferde
Fred Wolven

 

 


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2019 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 51 years all together....

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staff:
Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

 

Submissions via e-mail:

poetfred@att.net

 

 

I donít create poetry    

to crowd
dusty layers of the human brain.  
These dwell on  
pages of a poetry book,  
laptop or the glorious cubicle
of the famed library.  
My verse rides in a bicycle to the red light
or barren fields  undiscovered in dreamy pride.  
The agony of anguished tires, iron chains, or
does not cover the gamut of wisdom, id.  
Insomniac nights for a stupid & discarded line, 
finally placed in the cleavage of your breast
are not mentioned in the curriculum. 
How long will the list go?
When the footpath cries for the destitute,
the road does not go through my university  

 

Wanderer

Frequently, I come across a wanderer;
Frequently I visit a garden & find
feast of colours & a lonely onlooker.
Iíve seen him in hills & deserts,
in markets & pubs.
Iíve seen him on endless roads,
trudging along, lonely.  

Frequently, I come across a wanderer
inside the concrete walls;
glass mirror.

 

Foolish 

Iím looking for a foolish person
who is happy like a pig
(someone said, only pigs can be happy).
Whoís wild like a storm, and tastes
delicious on my
clever tongue.
Who laughs loud, looks at my eyes

without blinking  

Iím looking for a foolish person
in a sea of blinking eyes
for some straight, naked rays
to scan me, friends.

 

Fire, hundred miles away

I close my eyes in extreme comfort
& pleasure.
Fire, hundred miles away touches
my eyelids, cornea
& says, you have no dream
left to be burned

 

 

Aneek Chatterjee,  Kolkata, India

 


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