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. […]
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.
_______________________________________ 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)”
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 gravelâ€™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.Â She has published four […]