Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Alex Deramo  Something about Rain The first growl of thunder chases us upstairs Water already leaking through the forgotten crack, we push open my bedroom window, Letting the fierce cry of rain into the quiet of my room A…

Poetry

By: Dirk Dunbar Our Endless Sojourn Watching my shadow switch direction as I follow this babbling brook helps me feel the spontaneity of life’s patterns. Like wheat fields waving to and fro, duck flight formations echo rhythms of wildlife’s dance…

Fiction

By: Rachel Reyes October 21st, 2017 According to the newspaper clippings on your office wall, you are the brilliant Oscar Markovich, fourth-generation business owner, scrappy and shrewd, fast-talking and foul-mouthed, seventy-six years old but still going strong like a sturdy…

Fiction

By: Alan Berger There she was. Just sitting there. At the local bowling alley with her friends. As she was waiting for her turn, she thought how lovely it would be if later that evening, the sounds of the bowling…

Fiction

By: Kusum Choppra Oftentimes waking up is accompanied by a sickening realisation: That some sleep time was devoted to a new painless suicide method. This morning the window net went up to peer down, checking for a clear fall down…

Poetry

By: Mark Ivan L. Sarin It’s midnight, still thinking about you, Can’t sleep, our memories killing me piece by piece, The continous shading of blue breaks my peace, Nothing to say, nothing to complain, A profane but humane, Slightly plain…

Poetry

By: Stephanie Kezia F. Henson I wrote to a song and it’s all about you. It’s all about those brown eyes. Those brown eyes that made me fell in love. Eyes that made my world filled with colors. But those…

Poetry

By: Pat Doran Growing Old I can tell by your handsthat you are olderthan what you say,but it’s the lines underyour eyes that givethe game away.Here you are trying torecapture your younger days,by putting your handthrough his hair,hoping that he…

Fiction

By: Joel E. Turner Three jobs should be enough, I mean none of them is what you’d really call a job, not like when I was clocking in at the refractory plant, lifting heavy shit to make bricks, running a…

Poetry

By: Kristine Joy Unrestrained The world is bizarre and obscure, yet so beautiful; Like a hot chocolate with melted cheese in it, Isn’t it ridiculous? But strangely tastes delicious, We let ourselves get trapped in a cage, Doing what others…