Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Aanika Eragam I didn’t notice she was missing till the world began withering,weeping willows sweeping banyan seeds down rabbit holes,coyotes howling for mercy as dandelion feathers chokedtheir newborns’ throats. I sat on a swing in an empty playgroundlistening for…

Fiction

By: Zach Murphy There it was. It was that faint tune. The tune of a song playing on a jukebox from the back room in a dingy bar within the ghost town of a dream. The mysterious sound meandered through…

Poetry

By: Rehanul Hoque A Piece of Wonder If men were to be compared with an ass and vice versa,Without much speculation on the respective role of eachanyone could assert ass is the best ass, man is perfect manand to acknowledge…

Poetry

By: Christiane Demack Butterfly!You came back!All my lifeI’d felt your bright blue wingsBeating against the inside ofMy rib cage, fanning the fire,Inside;Gifting me visions of flowers and honey,Dreaming mimosas and hyacinths,Into existence; lingering by fountainsOf joy in the silver light…

Fiction

By Ted R. Larsen He walks into the room, all white walls and cotton sheets, monitors and tubes. His friend is sleeping – at least he hopes that’s true. Ah. The chest moves up and down lightly. Sleeping it is….

Poetry

By: Milton P. Ehrlich PACKED AND READY TO GO OUT OF THIS WORLD Lovebirds sit on their suitcaseswaiting for their wings to sprout.They listen to a melancholy melodyin a minor key planting seeds of love.They carry a supply of dark…

Fiction

By: Alina Gufran The airplane felt stuffy, too hot, the seats too cramped, the aisles reeked of pickle and mustard oil, the air hostesses’ make-up wasn’t blended right. Everything was overdone, stereotyped, wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on why….

Poetry

By: Stephen Kingsnorth I carried a Pisa piletowards the door desk, greyish tinge.The bright street frontage, poster glowfelt-tip scrawl announced, not Alexandria,but fire damaged stock for sale. High School me, taken self to town,found this people-free paradise;miser pocket-money in pig-skin…

Fiction

By: Kate Novak The horizon is so wide that when I trace it with my eyes, it is a full circle. The ochres and browns of the undergrowth mix with the hazy, powdery, washed out blue of the sky. It…

Fiction

By Mark Kodama I.      When I hike, I travel alone.  Although I have been warned by many well-meaning friends about the dangers of hiking by myself, I am careful and limit myself to overnight trips. Sometimes, I feel at…