Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Robert A. Davies In our warmest winter ever a winter with many dry days my friend misses the rain that winter rain constant so constant that we scream for an occasional sunny day and then for the usual week of…

Poetry

By: Robert A. Davies  I lay among the trees. It was a soft fall but I just stayed there listening to the river, gazing at pieces of sky. I had once found a deer nearby its head and neck gone. Each…

Essay

By: Tiana Lavrov Schizophrenia — the dichotomous construct of unitary, discrete psychoses originated in 19th century German apologist psychiatry — arising in the fledgling German Emil Kraepelin; student of neuropathology and experimental psychology while relocated near western Saxony’s University of Leizpig…

Poetry

By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick Sanity or insanity Is everyone identical? Permeated with secrets of denial Filled with pain Are people truly happy? Bursting with joy Are there others like me? Simply perplexed by life Is it only me that crawls…

Poetry

By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick Lantern flickers The minute light diminished by raging winds Blackness fills the room Hope thrived, rapidly vanished Breathing arduous The demon attacks Flirts with the mind Reality petrifying Evasion unviable Frantic, defenseless Desperately clawing at the…

Poetry

By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick The key discovered Unlocking the cell Risking everything 800 miles traveled Oppressed life absconded Fiercely independent; necessity and choice Content with singleness Fashioning a home Passions aroused Repression of the truth no longer Poetry of the…

Poetry

By:  Richard Luftig A river needs descent of an eighth of an inch per mile to produce a flow, and if that is the case, our river probably fails—Henry David Thoreau This river has nowhere special to go and all…

Poetry

By: Richard Luftig prarie winds whistle their full-throat flutes. reeds catch like sobs in the night. baseline drift makes even barbwire beautiful. whole songs in C minor, the saddest key. if only I knew enough to sing the words.

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i grew up through the leaves and the branches of dead things where you left me buried in snow, and i know you’d like to think you had some sort of influence or power over me…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate “grow up” they told me rejecting my reality trying to get me to embrace their own, but i would never take their hand no matter how much they begged or pleaded or demanded; i’ve always had…