Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Stephanie Paraschis Birds You are sharp and bright in the morning, sweet and soft in the afternoon.At dusk, your songs are more distinct, like you are cooing for your lover or your mother.The breeze carries you through the day…

Poetry

By: Goutam Roy Iara dwellsin the mysterious realmof the Amazon,where deep forestsshadow the restless riverand hidden currentswhisper beneath the green.In her youth,trained in the art of the sword,she turned againsther own kinand killed thosewho were near and dear.For this,she was…

Fiction

By Benjamin Cameron Davis Jr. Joe and I lay in our beds waiting for Nurse Betty to bring us Jell-O. The room never fully settled into silence. I could hear the low hum of the lamp, the turning of pages,…

Fiction

By: Leon Kortenkamp “Officer, he drove his car right into mine. That’s all you need to know.” “I was pushing down on the armrest with my left elbow and on the center console with my right hand to raise myself…

Poetry

By: MK Kuol imagine yourself god:a fiery-eyed wool-haired patriarchgarbed in a gold-sashed lightsitting on a sapphire-washed throneeyes stretched taut over this universestretching beyond the grasp of mortalimagination seven scarlet stars blaring songsin your hands a double-edged sworddangling low out of…

Fiction

By: Todd Mercer Yes, I do live in my helicopter. Let me address that right off. People sure enjoy being judgemental about that situation. Nobody understands how it happened, but they have plenty of thoughts to share about it anyway….

Essay

By: Eliza Mimski When I was a sophomore in high school, my English teacher returned an essay I wrote (don’t remember what it was about much less her name–crap!) with the word Majestic! written on top. At the time, I…

Books Reviews

By Nasima Rahaman  Some books are read; others are lived. Born of Clay: The Life and Art of Mala Pal belongs to the second category. I began reading the book without intending to finish it in a single stretch, but…

Essay

By Eugen Oniscu It was night. I was walking home, a little tired and sad, reflecting on the troubles in my family—my mother had remarried and was going through a very difficult time—on the film I had just seen, on…

Poetry

By: KJ Hannah Greenberg Rising Moving upward might mean the sort of stretching that transportsUntold growth, or a curious progression.That is, going up can portend, i.e., can herald, favorable bases, orCan signify spiraling, dreadful outcomes. Standing higher, akin to North…