Phallic shafts shock nocturnal waters, wave fingers like fireworks, flags of welcome, of final embrace to small fish daring to flutter about these make-shift flowers. They are their own entertainment, brilliantly blowing, blooming in belligerent pantomime of lighted breath. This crown ring of kings rejoice in banishment, openly celebrating their midnight world. _________________________________________ Photo by […]
is a delayed growl standing several steps behind the starring flash. Backup- singing, supportive round of applause. Darker partner waiting in invisible wings. Eruptive echo marks the distance to point of contact, countdown after-strike. _______________________________________________ Photo by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration via Wikimedia Commons, 2005. Follow the links for Huffman’s bio and […]
The garden sogs under persistent downpour. Green grows with a sickly gray clinging like shadows, cloud contamination. In a quiet corner, lone hibiscus stretches petals toward sky, embraces drops battering against brilliance. Resilient as the solar power color emulates, it remains open, a burst of warming reassurance that the sky cannot fall forever. _________________________________________________________ Photo […]
after “Age of Abundance,” by Osnat Tzadok Flares of imaginary fire burn across forest’s crown. Light and leaves come alive, collectively breathe in mirrored mist, rising like smoke from absent flame. My eyes begin to water in belief. This is the image of sulfured Hell. I pray for the salvation of sun- rise. ______________________________________________________ A.J. […]
The rocks were caught by child’s eye, and changed with the sunset into horns and antennae, goring and grinding, and going off. Bumped into the night. ________________________________________________________________________ You can find more of A. J. Huffman’s work here, here and here.
Flamingos frolic in the surfless still of the sea side morning’s pastoral. Limbs and feathers paint a fantastical fan, this stretching before the sun. The water dopples, dolloped with pink reflections. A mirror ed magic, reflexive of another dimension. Alien in pastel tones of aggressive softness, they adamantly defend their rights to this dance. _____________________________________________________________________ […]
The lavender sky turns. Soundless. Its silvered breath falls, sliding slowly over veined silk. The tiny bud ruptures. Bending backwards (in time) it beads the ground with miniscule reflections, iridescent images bursting the same ideal: a perfect mirror of every dawn’s bloom. ____________________________________________________________________________________________ A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida. […]
Even through the harsh blues of winter, it manages to breathe. Stretching its naked arms across the sky. A living smile. Waiting to be blessed by the sun. ___________________________________ For Huffman’s bio and links to additional poetry, go here. Photo by John Firth via Wikimedia Commons.
The nightstorms are the worst. More terrifying. The sharp shocks of light. They leave a scar. Inside. A memory. An omen. To remember often. How much they look like cracks. ___________________________________ For Huffman’s bio and some additional poetry, go here. Photo by National Severe Storms Laboratory via Wikimedia Commons.
At first it could be any shore. Rocky and a little dark maybe, but still intriguing. Then a flash of green throws your eyes off center. Then another. Until the ground you were about to walk is walking for you. Is waiting for you. With a million teeth hidden in a permanent smile. ___________________________________ A.J. […]