Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Fiction

By: Annapurani Vaidyanathan The Oxford English dictionary defines a woman as an adult female human being, and stops right there,But the templates wired into our heads go ahead and decide what adjectives she can wear –She’s good if she’s a…

Fiction

by William Kitcher I wake up. Oh I feel awful. Don’t know where I am. But I sorta remember her, and she’s not here. I hope she’s gone out for juice or bread or something, and I can just leave….

Fiction

By: Charles Gibson Gazing upon the arearesiding inside the washingmachine, a vast empty spaceis immediately noticed settingthe stage for a collision betweenthree stakeholders. The soapwill shake hands with waterin agreeance to provide a cleansafe cylinder-shaped room forthe laundry to congregate…

Fiction

By: Harvey Huddleston “Breathe.”  That’s what the voice said in his ear but Elliot wasn’t sure that he’d actually heard it.  It was a low voice, soft and caring, one to be heeded.  He glanced to his right and in…

Fiction

By Mason Yates             …never want to leave.  Penelope Valeria- also known by her nickname of Penny to lucky individuals who were fortunate enough to call her a friend- whipped her head around in an effort, or last-minute attempt, to…

Fiction

By Dorothy Seehausen “She looks so, uh, different,” his sixty-nine year old Auntie said, peering into the bronze casket framed on one side by a fragrant bouquet of roses and on the other a poster depicting colorful highlights of Maude…

Fiction

By: Michael Gigandet             “There are two drivers to watch for,” my mother told me when she was teaching me to drive. “…little men in hats and women wearing glasses and scarves. They’ll run you over every time.” I was…

Poetry

By: Carl Papa Palmer We raised rosesrelished by usand by the loads of lovely ladybugs,tended thymetrimmed by usand by our overabundance of bunnies,weaved wisteria for usand for the haven of one hundred bird nests. We transplanted tulipstreasured by usand by…

Poetry

By: Michael C. Seeger Field Notes from a Far Place in the Mind Between vision’s palette and the processof its understanding and potential —an irrefutable question rattlesthe cold mind’s eye contravening everysteepled ritual from childhood forward —What replaces the irreplaceable?…

Poetry

By: Jim Bates Frosty snowy moonThin clouds serenely driftingNight so softly veiled.