Saturday, May 2, 2015

A.J. Huffman: Poetry

In the Spirit of Flashlight

Forested limbs quiver in the mechanics of shadowed
green.  Not-quite-permeable is their mantra.
I graciously echo their curse, breathe
in atmospheric shades of gray.  My body, rough
with sweat, is a solid form, set for midnight
climbing.  My head is elevated.
Distanced from nocturnal activities, it registers
only glittering stars and empty space.
I am the perfect vessel for spotlit tongues
looking to conquer.  I am brilliant flash
of adventure, a temporary wildness.  I open
with a flare.  The hunt is afoot.  Come quickly,
take your game before dawn.





I Am Pastel

a washed-out hue in a dayglo-bright kind of world.
I am outdated, uncool, a definite don’t.  I am a ghost
of seasons’ past, a remnant of a softer aesthetic.
I am not on trend.  Bury me
in the back of the closet, or in the back yard.
I am humiliation waiting to happen, you
should not be seen in my presence.





This Bed is a Tomb

I have built myself
a perfect, suffocating replica
of a coffin.  Lovingly lined
in satin, it has room only for one.  Me
and the memories I choose to carry
bury ourselves in the darkness
of sleepless nights, drink
in the isolation as if our silence
was the echo of some significant life.





Because Peacekeeper

is not just a temporary title,
but seemingly my given
lot in life, I am forced to hold
my tongue and my tempter
while constantly being
surrounded by family members
who moonlight as drama queens.
Their petty bickerings echo like bullets
in my brain, until my fingers long
for a tangible trigger to pull
and put one or more of us out
of my misery.