Tuesday, August 29, 2017


Drying Leaves - Gresham, Oregon. August 28, 2017 - www.aflitt.com

There is an interesting editor at vocal.media today, and all of my posts are being rejected due to length or due to "content that makes direct or indirect assertions or implications about personal attributes and/or beliefs such as race, ethnic origin, religion, beliefs, sexual orientation, or gender identity."

With some of the shorter poems, adding the additional content - index of the old book, a paragraph about the old book - seemed to make the shorter poems acceptable.  Yes, the poem wasn't 100 words, but the post was, but today?  No.

This poem, however, was rejected due to the sort of objectionable content mentioned above. Really? 

Maybe the poetry editor on staff today just doesn't like my writing?  Fair enough.  

Anyway, life is too busy to be bashing away at these over and over, so unless there is a clear and easy fix, once content is rejected there, I'm just going to post it on Rubble.  Already today, it's taken me four times as long as usual to get through my "quick" daily post due to these issues...


The stone I am sitting on

is becoming difficult and


But there is shade here,

For now... For a moment...

Sanctuary from the hot sun,

the day too hot,

the months too dry;

A bleak summer of desolation,

not done yet...

Uncomfortable, unpleasant tasks

wait for me, back at a home

that is no home,

no more...

Soon, the hard work begins,

preparing for the cold times ahead,

the lonely times,

the hungry times,

The times when the fears

of empty fields grip

my cowardly heart,

Times when the dark

fills my eyes with

imagined visions of death.

The death...

Of hopes

Of dreams

Of others...


Who I so imperfectly


Sacrificed for...


For not enough.

My throne, alone,

in the shade,

out of the glare of a summer sun

too hot, too blunt, too severe,

For any of us-

Uncomfortable refuge from an

uncomfortable season, an

uncomfortable day, hour, minute, an

Uncomfortable moment...

A second in time

Where hope lives for only one

random moment,

Where death pardons life for one

fleeting second,

Where life does not suffer futility,

For one moment.

A tiny moment.

One small refuge

away, so far,

From the brutality

of a lonely season,

away from the

lonely season ahead...

Living life not as a hunter,

not as a gatherer,

But only as prey...

In this moment, I raise

a quiet prayer to

a quiet God...

I ask-

Can eternity exist

In a moment such

as this?

August 28, 2017

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A. F. Litt on vocal.media


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