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Visitors to Canyonlands by A. J. Huffman

Wednesday, June 12th, 2013

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.

One Leg Up by A. J. Huffman

Tuesday, June 11th, 2013

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. _____________________________________________________________________ […]

Memoirs Written in Rain by A. J. Huffman

Monday, June 10th, 2013

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.  […]

The Grey Tree by A.J. Huffman

Wednesday, January 23rd, 2013

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.

Dancing Sky by A.J. Huffman

Tuesday, January 22nd, 2013

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.

Crocodiles by A.J. Huffman

Monday, January 21st, 2013

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. […]

Cloud Cover by A.J. Huffman

Thursday, August 30th, 2012

Cloud Cover collapses. The sky breathes free from the oppressive smother of sorrowful shadows encasing recycled tears. _____________________________ This is the third and final panel in a triptych of poems by A.J. Huffman. Look here for the other two poems and a bio. Photo by Michael Jastremski via Wikimedia Commons.

Orange Rain by A.J. Huffman

Wednesday, August 29th, 2012

_______________________________________ This is the second in a triptych of poems by A.J. Huffman. You can find the first, and her bio, here. Photo by Gary Curtis via Wikimedia Commons–”Gold Coast (from the Spit)”

A Break in Drops by A. J. Huffman

Tuesday, August 28th, 2012

The storm rises, exquisite dawn. Sun forcing backlit bows of silver streaming about the blustering black. Wind rolls the picture; motion floods the sky. A gravel’s whisper now, but the image remembers just how loud the lightning cried. __________________________________ A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has published four […]

How to Train Your Squirrel by April Salzano

Tuesday, July 23rd, 2013

            How to Train Your Squirrel to eat from a bowl is not an easy task. You should choose a color other than blaze orange, a material besides plastic. Cajun almonds and salted sesame sticks placed near the patio door seem to cause aggression toward what used to be his […]