Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Ian Fletcher No ordinary English professor he sprinkled his conversation and copious literary criticism with trendy scientific terms as if to imply he could grasp the mysteries of the cosmos as easily as those of poetry. He talked of the…

Poetry

By: Ben Wright Shadow Person I’m still not sure of my favorite season, nor if I’m a morning person or an evening person, but I do love dawn and dusk – those times when the sun is hiding behind the…

Fiction

By: Alan Berger I made a promise to myself that the only voice I was going to listen to would be my own. Except, my wife’s. I like that voice of hers. Right now, she is most likely having lunch…

EssayLiterary criticism

By: Indu Pandey Confirm or Conform, both the terms revolve around the social norms that govern individual’s behaviour/ belief system. If we look at our social practices, these are rigid and deeply rooted somewhere in our customs and traditions. In a…

EssayLiterary criticism

By: Srinivas S The business of comedy might be to make people laugh and perhaps, even, to laugh. It is a rather serious business, however, because creating comedy, and effective variants of that, is not everyone’s cup of tea. If…

Poetry

By: Jimmy Sharma Love Love is not wanted or needed It is the exuberance like the way tiny rain Droplets create a stir in your soul The vibration is not planned It resonates then and there Then it stays forever You…

EssayWellness

By: Dr. Scott F. Terry and David Shapiro Comedian Russell Brand explains: “The reason I became a drug addict is that all throughout my life I felt this sense of irritation, agitation, this emptiness…  I found every progressive drug: cannabis, LSD, crack,…

Poetry

By: Dan A. Cardoza Ending Roads We cross the Sierras at dawn; first Reno, then further East, just as the sun cuts open the belly of the sky––it bleeds rouge, right down to the highway, now gathering its shinny black ribbon…

Fiction

By: Francine Witte I pass Stone Girl on my way home from Harry’s. She is static and gray in all this lushi-ness. If Stone Girl could see, she would have to admit that she is the statue, even though it’s true…

Fiction

By: Francine Witte I tell mother I am tired of it. Our family shrinks and shrinks, but still I set for five. It’s only me and Mother now. Daddy gone. Brother and sister, too. And me? I’m not for long. The…