
By: Radomir Luza Anti-Medusa(For Sylvia Plath) Your words like butterfliesHair like magenta skiesCelebrating mended lies Knowing what I do notNight ending in night beginningLike a schizophrenic ringing Victims winning as they are […]
Author is an umbrella name given to the contributors of the Literary Yard
By: Radomir Luza Anti-Medusa(For Sylvia Plath) Your words like butterfliesHair like magenta skiesCelebrating mended lies Knowing what I do notNight ending in night beginningLike a schizophrenic ringing Victims winning as they are […]
By: Raymond Greiner Science reveals humanity has occupied Earth in excess of two million years confronting incremental challenges in a quest for survival and longevity. My name is Caleb. I am sixteen […]
By: Ashlea Massie It was a simple ladies’ meeting- a small gathering of women in the evening at the church for a Bible study. Anna was vacillating about going as the anxiety […]
By: Anthony David Vernon The South Again FloridaTake me as I amI want youIn my arms againAnd then to let you goFor GeorgiaOr VirginiaOr anywhere else againLet me pull you in like […]
By: Annapurani Vaidyanathan POEM #1: There’s nothing perfect about beauty, about you, me and this world that’s doused with entropy. Yet perfect is always what we long for, don’t we? We lose […]
By: William Kitcher John was just a baby when his parents realized that there was something strange about him. John’s mother tried to breastfeed him, but quickly gave it up when she […]
By John RC PotterWhen her husband passed away after a brief battle with cancer my grandmother tried to lift him up from the casket. Five years passed. She was found wandering around […]
By: Anthony Ward You thought this house was haunted. Those years we lived here. Until you were too afraid to stay any longer, and you fled, leaving me alone to look back […]
By: The Muse Words of an African Child ma,I’ve wanted tohold your hands whilethe sun is closing its eyes&when that flowerin our backyardis saying ‘hello’ for the first time. (I wanted for […]
By: A.J. Ortega It was my fault, and I knew this only when I was kicking through charred furniture, books, and two-by-fours.I hoped that I’d find the red lunchbox, only half-melted, and, […]