Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Brenton Booth

Ignis Fatuus

What a special period
it was. Living in a
miniscule apartment
in the red-light district.
Without family. Without
friends. Without
females. Without sex.
Just books, books–
books! And the belief
I would be as great
as the authors of those
incredible works.
Magical years standing
miles ahead of the
crowd. Years that now
feel like seconds.
Abandoned too long

The Time of Their Lives

Watching the cars
through my window
on a Friday night.
Loud, bright, powerful
machines gliding
along the road like
ancient chariots.
Packed with anxious
teenage boys. Some
looking for girls.
Some looking for
fights. Some looking
for even greater thrills.
Last week a boy killed
a pregnant woman
driving out of a
supermarket carpark
with his friends.
The concrete block
effortlessly penetrating
the driver’s side
window. Triggering
an immediate
round of high-
fives and cheers.
Fleeing shortly after
with smiles and
great laughter.
Boasting about it
the entire night.

The Beautiful People

The first
time they
have to
do more
than just
they will
than their

Last Chance

My neighbour
hates me. Had
a double stroke
a few months
back. Does
everything she
can to make
my life more
difficult. Brutal
words. Constant
slamming of
doors. Perpetual
honking of her
car horn outside
my house.
Always trying
her best to
assassinate me
with her dark,
vicious stare.
Old, failed and
dying. Blaming
me. Blaming
everything. Not
we all experience
the same demise.
Some sooner
than others. Hers
long overdue.

South of Heaven

We all
end up
the things
we always
said we
The tragedy
is when
you start
to like


Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry of his has appeared, or is forthcoming in Gargoyle, New York Quarterly, Chiron Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Main Street Rag, Heavy Feather Review and Nerve Cowboy. He has two full length collections available from Epic Rites Press.

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