Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Year: 2020

Fury is my name

By Russell Waterman “Sterling, dearie, nobody likes a grumpy wumpy. Here, let’s turn that frown upside down,” his mother leered as she stretched his lips into a deformed jokers smile. In a snit, the young boy pushed his mother’s hands…

Roots

By: Erin Weber Boss  Ron had roots in the community. He was grown from the rocky North Carolina dirt and nourished by its streams and lakes. Like everyone, he had dreams about leaving his hometown, but knew it was probably…

Footprints in the sand

By: Bobby Z The Jyd Conspicuous moments—like footprints in the sand.leave you void of emotions—unresponsive to any commands. evaporating memories—disappear like hidden treasures.complicate your desires—to search for forbidden pleasures. wounded dreams—that fail to reveal.leaves you yearning—what is fake and what…

Late Night

By: William Masters The Da Vinci Café, a San Francisco landmark, stood at the corner of Broadway and Stockton Streets for thirty-nine years. Its door-sized front windows overlooked both Chinatown and North Beach. Opened originally to supply fake documentation (passports,…

‘Pre-life’ and other poems by Neera Kashyap

By Neera Kashyap Pre-life Discrimination may be about colour caste race gender.Discrimination may also be about perceiving right from wrong;friend from foe; good from bad; law from justice….Sometimes a person feels like a friend because she has arrived;a rash of…

Beautiful Black Bird, Fly

By: Kelly L. Miller Black bird, beautiful black bird, take flightInto the greyness of the nearest nightThrough the blend of darkest ebony and lightest whiteTo the greatest of brand-new twinkling heights Black bird, beautiful black bird, do you ventureTo scope…

Lolo and Lala Under Cover

By: S. B. Julian Two women, burka-covered, meet in the street. They chat. Observers can see nothing but their eyes – when they’re’ close enough. Otherwise they see only two shrouded post-like figures, with voices. Hello Lolo! You’ve put on…

Pier’s Picture

By: Raluca Sirbu I looked for minutes at the picture that he once gave me. He was stretching a smile for the camera; the small six-year-old gave that gift to the person who took the picture.             There was another…