Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Month: March 2021

Dust to Dust

By: A. Elizabeth Herting The sheet snaps crisply in the wind, perfectly white, a blank canvas hanging on a line. A woman, neither young nor particularly old, bends over a large, wicker basket. Her hands are large and red, prematurely…

A Private War

By: Kathleen Williams Renk In 1975, sixteen-year-old Pham Quan bowed to his parents and ancestors and left his family’s home in Vietnam with his sister.  They escaped the fall of Saigon and traveled to America, while hiding under a tarp…

The origin of dust

By: Karoline Wimmer Dust settles on matterspartly unseen,Dust settles on distancenot the dream,Dust settles on worldslong discovered,Dust settles on seas,yet to be uncovered. Curious it is,and curious it may seem,to dust as it floatsaway from the dream,to rest on a…

‘Apulian Trulli’ and other poems

By: Christian Ward Apulian Trulli Dovetailed roofs shapedlike witch hats dominatethe Apulian landscape,their whitewashed exteriorsborrowed from idyllic tourist filmsespousing la dolce vita. Having been constantly built,taken down and rebuilt to avoidthe taxman, their walls brightenat the sight of tourists who…

Hello, you

By: Philip Charter It was all about the minor details. Move things around too much and she’d notice. As well as having elephant-like ankles, she had a memory like one too. I nudged things an inch to the left one…

Silent Love

By: Mohammad Jashim Uddin How long have we knocked each other?Historians like Herodotus, Thucydides, and Ibn RustahCannot complete writing the history of our love,They might have failed since it’s longer than that of history you guessed. Waters are enough to…

‘Bureau of yokels’ and other poems

By: Stefan Splawinski Bureau of yokels subjected to much ridiculeperennial objects of fungivers of the worlds breadjust as essential as the sun so beware of good shepherdswho herd man not the beastthose who promise abundanceyet never provide the feast the…

The Father and the Son

By Arron Thomas Chris sat feeling his bald head. He ran his hand across the naked scalp, as he remembered better days.  He stared blankly into the mirror. Lost in his own gaze. A loud call from downstairs was not…