Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Thomas Meagher The Ballad of Sharon and Mark Sharon Murphy hoards pencils and writes invented wordsThen hides them under desks attached to gum and oozing secretionsLike sap from the beech tree outside the school grounds And Mark Flanagan with…

Poetry

By: Roger G. Singer FIRST BREATH it was a placelong past the roadof shredded ribbonsand baskets of tears it was an openingwith a first breathunder a night skywith a suddensliver of moonexposing recklesswingswhere no onejudged saintsor sinners since todaystarts againtomorrow…

Fiction

By: Elaine Lennon He drove until he ran out of road. It had taken almost twenty-four hours. He only stopped for gas. Twice.  Now he was here. The tip of the peninsula was fringed with dried out palms and jacarandas….

Poetry

By: Jim Bates Immense starry skySense of celestial onenessCosmic harmony.

Fiction

By: Dennis Vannatta When Rotary International held its annual meeting in Edinburgh, several members of the Rockaway Park chapter attended, all but Jeffrey Ward and Devin O’Day staying in one of the three big hotels virtually taken over for the…

Fiction

By: Linda McMullen             In the final three years of our marriage, John argued exhaustively with the anonymous denizens of AITA Reddit.  “Goodnight, Tommy!” he’d call upstairs to our son, his keyboard clacking without pause.  So, last night – Thursday…

Poetry

By: James Aitchison You, with all your turmoil, will find peace.No longer will you wander through earthly stages,Suffering, bearing grief,Unaware of the presence of the wheel.Find the balance between strength and weakness,Retain self-honesty, clarity, and love.Walk the path and see…

Poetry

By: Sheila Henry I see the destructionFlashing flames on the TV screenIt’s 2003 a time marked in historyA fiery storm rains on a city—BagdadBuildings aflamed that make a fiery graveNo discretion implementingA war based on liesHuman lives sacrificed andYoung men…

Poetry

By: Shane Dickie Who will love the wasp? Who will love the wasp?Who will love the wasp, I ask?Is it her aggressive nature,The nasty bite she gives?We feel justified, even vindicated inKilling her ; we as humans have license to…

Poetry

By: Stephen Kingsnorth Back to the Future Return to churned, stick in the mud,does it suggests drag, shamed retreat,drawn by a magnet to what’s passed? But is there loss as we’ve been rushed,the compass needle out of true,styled into shape…