Ann Arbor Review


Paul B Roth
Duane Locke
Alan Britt
Silvia Scheibli
Steve Barfield
Duane Locke
Alex Ferde
Kristina Krumova
Richard Gartee
Lyn Lifshin
Gale Acuff
Alicia Mathias
Sunday Eyitayo Michael
Running Cub
Laszlo Slomovits
Shutta Crum
Solomon Musa Haruna

Elisavietta Ritchie
Yuan Hongri
Helen Grigya
Fahredin Shehu
Karyn M. Bruce

Robert Nisbet
Deji W. Adesoye

Michael Lee Johnson
Keith Moul
Jennifer Burd

John Grey
Rekha Valliaypan
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

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 51 years all together....

Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven

Submissions via e-mail:




bridle cut
reins torn off
Locked in the field
spiked with saplings
laced with briars
prey to wolves
She hears the band
breaks into a danc
leaps the fence

A leg snaps
and she tumbles
in the thorns
Takes a crane
to right her
drag her to a trench
She breaks away
leaps the fence
leads the band



“You going the distance, honey, with me?”
asked the handsome professor, revving
his Harley. “I’ve a room, we can hide out—”
I clung to his back while
we zoomed between Iowa cornfields
off to his college where I was meant
to accept first prize for me first book.
On arrival he said, “Too stoned to teach.
Take over my class…Let’s meet tonight—”
A fieldful of crows rose, flew out of sight,
I too slipped away…But forever whenever
I see a Harley, I remember his invitation…



Must climb this mountain!
Grass lies beige, geese gather grey.
I’m glad for my grey coat.

To blend in, my lifelong quest.
Why this sense of outsider even when
I am not? The geese fly off.

The tangled trail is maze of twists,
the far side known to hold a meadow
with herbs for wisdom, longevity…

Timber wolves! They snatch my rations,
my coat, run ahead up the trail, look back
as if daring me to follow…More wolves!

One she-wolf sniffs me, grabs me, drags me
through the gap, into a cave—She drops me,
guards me, the rest disappear through the maze—


Elisavietta Ritchie, Solomon’s Island, Maryland

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