Ann Arbor Review


Deji Adesoye
Changming Yuan
Violeta Allmuca
Beppe Costa
Engjell I. Berisha
Narendra Kumar Arya
Akwu Sunday Victor
Michelle Bailat-Jones
Laszlo Slomovits
Stefania Battistella
Agron Shele
Lana Bella
Fahredin Shehu
Alan Britt
Silvia Scheibli
Shutta Crum
Running Cub
Alex Ferde

Irsa Ruci
Jennifer Burd
Paul B. Roth
Richard Gartee
Elisavietta Ritchie
Peycho Kanev
Helen Gyigya
Amit Parmessur
Sneha Subramanian Kanta
Robert Nisbet

Jeton Kelmendi
Duane Locke

Lyn Lifshin

Richard Lynch
Jean McNerney
Fred Wolven


Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2015 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 48 years all together....


Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

Submissions via e-mail:



You see a scene or vision
Looming and zooming
Far beyond the mountain
Or so you imagined, though
You never know what
It is, or could be, so you
Look forward with
Ever-growing eagerness
The rain drops beating each eardrum
Like a myriad of crystalized wires
Angling fishes that are swimming deep
In the heart agitating amidst
Ripples spreading afar
Yes, as long as you keep looking
You will find, as you are ready
To believe, a rainbow breaking
Into colored confetti falling
Everywhere as if from heaven



What do trees
Think of?
All their lives they have been
Contemplating, so attentively
Realized: mindful for certain
Yet without a feeling
Down from the earthly depth
Up against the ethereal boundary
A loose thought travelling swiftly
From bough to bough. Meditating
On what to think of



A fact of fiction
A fiction of fact
Carved with the invisible
Chisels of the tropical wind, you will
Never undertake a finishing touch
Nor do you really need one
To bloom your inner being
Into a solid shape of beauty
Weathering against all civilization



Standing straight against the frozen sky
Your skeletons are the exquisite calligraphy
Of the season
Your name is writ
Not in water
But with wind



As if to emulate God
Recording all His creations
By arranging mountains and rivers
Our first ancestors piled up
Little rocks to remember what they had
Seen and done, most significantly, long
Before glyphs and other symbols
Were invented, even longer
Before we can interpret such rockwork
Into our mother tongues


Changming Yuan, Vancouver, B. C., Canada




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