Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Fiction

By: Austin J. Dalton This won’t be the last time. As is probably common, their romance begins as a friendship. The relationship is born in November and it will die in the coming September. Heretofore, J is acquainted with K –…

Fiction

By: Brooksie C. Fontaine I woke up to find a bear in my bedroom. It took me a second to realize what I was looking at. The thing was an undulating mountain of coffee-colored fur, producing loud, eerily human snuffling…

Poetry

By: Ellie Kelazil Betrayal I don’t remember who I am when my closest friends tell me they would leave me (because blood is thicker than water) and I find all my accusing fingers falling short of their target and pointed…

Poetry

By: RC deWinter third law in our brash independence we walk through the world draped in the cloak of free will believing in our ability to order our lives if only we make the right choices do the right things…

Fiction

By: William B. Turner “Junior!” he bellowed. “Where did that boy get to now?” Willard wondered to himself. He was an irascible, but not unusually cruel for the times, man who was proud of what he had achieved, growing the…

Poetry

By: Stephanie V Sears Vashlovani Of all places I am here at my place at the heart of every possibility. Space glides under the clear skin of sky, invincible transparency to well above the mesosphere, vertigo of simplicity. One glance…

Fiction

By: Oliver Fox That night at the diner, Maya danced behind the counter. The Staples Singers’ “If You’re Ready (Come Go With Me)” wafted from the jukebox, and the hash browns fizzled and popped on the griddle. From time to time…

Fiction

By: Alan Berger Terrence McNeil could not catch a break in his whole life, so he thought, except for the break his balls, break his back, and ass, and heart kind of breaks. The last was first and will always…

Poetry

By: Phillip Border Tracks Late in my adolescence I once busted a beer bottle over some skin head’s scalp before his pals grappled me to the ground and steel-toed my face raw into the pool of his hot blood. That’s…

Poetry

By: Marc Carver DEAD I wake up to the disappointment that I am still alive anything could have happened to me during my drunken sleep aliens could have abducted me bandits could have slit my throat in the wee hours…