INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Paul B Roth
Sunday Eyitayo Michael
Solomon Musa Haruna
Karyn M. Bruce
Deji W. Adesoye
Michael Lee Johnson
Ann Arbor Review
is an independent
International Journal & ezine
Copyright (c) 2019
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida
note: in print 1967 - 1980. Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.
As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 51 years all together....
Silver Grey Fox
If our everyday lives are scribbles from a pen,
Our acts determined by its alphabets.
If our reality is fictitious, an endless storyline
With each life closing with the full stop and
A new birth, a fresh paragraph
If our zeal or apathy,
Loveliness or hatefulness,
Beautiful or ugly looks,
Are just adjectives from the Authorís finger.
Just, what if
Our shattered dreams, hopeless living
Are just the tragic parts?
With birth and death as recurring clichťs
Our life is so constrained to the script
That we cannot change it
If thinking of changing it was
Chapter 2019, paragraph 0201,
Two lines before the full stop?
What if, we were just destined?
Life, a drama
Earth, the stage. We, the cast
Though unrehearsed, yet perfectly acted
Dramatis personae; everyone has a part to play
Creative script of God, perfect punctuations
Creation of Adam- scene one
Fall of Satan- the last scene
Adamís privilege, Eden- my struggle
His chance wasted,
Perhaps, I would do worse.
From S.A to U.S.A in search of green pastures
Itís like Eveís being massaged in a Jacuzzi
Or Zuckerberg on a tree in Eden.
We are different characters with different roles.
Role confusion leads to poor acting- no imitation
If I were a star, I would be the brightest
Now that you are you, are you the best you?
Iíve never seen you,
But I will recognize you if I do
Perhaps, you will have:
White furs, for my hopes to lie cushy,
Eagle wings, so my dreams can soar,
Burning eyes, directing my frail feet.
Iíve never heard you,
But your voice will oscillate my earlobe
Perhaps, you will have:
Needle words, to sew my torn heart,
Melodious intonations, to send my spirit dancing,
Burning tongue, to roast my fears.
Youíve never touched me,
But your palm will send shiver to my brain
Perhaps, it will feel like:
Burning coal, setting my soul ablaze,
Blue ice, keeping my heart refreshed,
Waterfalls, washing down my sorrows.
Iíve never known you,
But when I do,
I know you will be love.
Sunday Eyitayo Michael,