Tag Archives: reflective poetry

Memoirs Written in Rain by A. J. Huffman

Drops_Of_Cosmos_by Audrey from Central Pennsylvania

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.

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAA.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published six collections of poetry all available on Amazon.com.  She has also published her work in numerous national and international literary journals. Most recently, she has accepted the position as editor for four online poetry journals published by Kind of a Hurricane Press. You can read more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work. Huffman has published with WIZ previously.

Photo by Audrey of Central Pennsylvania via Wikimedia Commons.

Degrees of Separation by Paul Swenson

440px-Ullstein-Thorak-Mutter_Erde_fec grave marker

Do the dead know when we speak of them?
Cell phone to my ear, I hear Alex say, “Yes,
every time we say their names—it is like food
to them.” I’m in Liberty Park, watching

a gray squirrel negotiate the irregular bark
of a broad, green locust tree. “You
know,” he says to me. “I didn’t think
to mention this before, because it happens

naturally, but Michael sometimes comes
to me at night.” Wait, I say, you mean my sister,
Michael? (Dead ten years this month.) “Yes,
your sister,” he says. What can I say? Since

month is May, led to recall— today is birthday
of another sister, May, twenty-two years dead.
And at the overlook in Logan Canyon,
just this afternoon, a devotee cleared snow

to fix a plaque and make a space to raise
her poem, “Above Bear Lake,” wherein
she wrote of scabs of lovers’ notes,
welts inscribed in aspen trees. What

is this spell that rules the day? Another
poet, another cell phone call. My friend
Cheryl’s voice—breaks, cuts in and out,
as she descends a hill by bicycle

in Carolina—filled with distant ache
and doubt. She’s let the gremlins out
Pandora’s Box and cannot lock them
in again. At least, the living’s wounds

eventually reveal to us. Of the dead,
so far away, we only speculate. Alex,
do they hear us when we pray for them?
“They pray for us,” he says.

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Paul’s first book of poems, Iced at the Ward, Burned at the Stake: And Other Poems, was published in 2003 by Signature Books. His second collection, In Sleep: And Other Poems, will be published in the spring of 2012 by Dream Garden Press.