Literary Yard

Search for meaning

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‘Romain Blue Domain’ and other poems

By: Darren Stephen Lynch Romain Blue Domain Unlatch the cities fragrant eyesMind trailing abreast in the abode of beating nightOpen along the passageA kin of raptured taleLevelled by this promiseElaborating too the sight of forwarded poseA touching divinityWarmth rushing freedEntered…

Shattered Face

By: Erik Priedkalns Where’s Happy now?Why’s it so hard to get that fix?Lows stay forever,Highs go like an LA snow.What about you, Smiley Face?Softly speaking, Calm.Never heard a single word.Never saw the red sky warning.Never.Where’d you stow the frenzied Beast?Snarling,…

Hmmm! Who will tell?

By: Sheila Henry I question myselfat this stage of life,a lot of living behind me,more than three scores and tenand not as much ahead—I surmise. A junction reached for pauseto take inventory,no more forks in the road to worry about,no…

‘Pallas’s cat’ and other poems

By: Christian Ward Pallas’s catOtocolobus manul The OG grumpy cat. It memesitself every time it steps outside,every pika and squirrela flashbulb never cooling down.A chubby pile of grey furreshaped by cold-pressed code.Perhaps, instead, it dreamsof a domestic life – the…

‘Coming Clean’ and other poems

By: J.K. Durick Coming Clean Cleaning up is easy to doWe know the basicsAlmost by instinct.Things are put backWhere they belong orWhere we think they belong.Then trying to strike a balanceWe arrange objectsStraighten the picturesRearrange the statuesPluck out the dead…

‘Dancing Machine’ and other poems

By Karen Lee Stradford Dancing Machine We arrived at 11:00waitingto enter the club.The line is formingalong the brick wall.Everyone dressed in sparkles. Baron is wearing a plain white shirtwith blue jeans,carrying a duffel bag,lookingout of place. The doors open.We push…

‘Winter’s frigid song’ and other haiku

By: Jim Bates Winter’s frigid songCold wind howling through bare treesWindswept melody. Clear cold winter nightDome of stars bright and immenseStarlight streaming bliss. Out comet huntingSaw instead a soft sunsetMagic in the sky. Winter afternoonSunlight hanging suspendedAlmost whispering.

‘Tilth’ and other poems

By: Stephen Kingsnorth Tilth Where I am rooted, said the parched,is not well suited to my thirst.My bed is grit and not the tilththat lets me search and stretch in earth,drawing on moist and nurture’s wealth.I sunbathe in the light…