Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

Title: My mother in America emails instructions to the artist for a portrait of her mother, now 85 and with Alzheimers By: Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon What I remember, what I want her to remember … what you can work with are these:…

Books ReviewsLiterary criticismNews

By: JD DeHart The days of superheroes in comic books are far from over, judging from the popular films that are being released en masse, but longer comic book works called graphic novels are not just about super-powered people in tights….

Fiction

By: Sri Ram The midnight looked ignited with slight snow outside, yet, Penelope could not sleep on her cot. She tried music for some time, Stephen King for some more, rose up from bed and walked within the four walls,…

Fiction

By: Raymond Greiner Jim Fletcher has been an archeological researcher for twenty years, sponsored by university grants and government funded research teams. His office is in his home. His laboratory is strewn with artifacts, and a variety of ancient stone…

Poetry

(11 Bravo, A.I.T, Fort Polk, LA, November 1970) By: Chuck Orloski On bivouac in Kisatchie National Forest, a wild combat veteran Drill Sergeant promised the grunts, “No rain coming tonight, so no need for you m-fuckers to pitch tents! Just get…

Poetry

By: Merl Bone Springtime is Here It was a time for things to come to life After a long, dormant winter. Everybody was filled with strife, Just like a festered splinter. The buds of flowers came out, Everything was bursting with…

Poetry

By: Chuck Orloski Tilling time, a frail farmer’s pitch fork plunged deeply into dark European soil. Terrified, and to avoid harm, 100 earthworms burrowed to safety. It was never a good time to be a worm, and only one indolent…

Poetry

By: Chuck Orloski Just outside D.C. Convention Center, at an illegal D.C. parking space, Terry the Tramp’s studded leather boot lowered his Harley Davidson kickstand. Looking upward into a crystal night sky, he heard a doorman’s voice, “Hey, Mister, why are…

Poetry

By: Denny E. Marshall The One Launching a telescope into space At the beginning of the millennium Its lens can see different waves Our own eyes cannot see Besides recording change in temperature Measured in millionth of degree The data…

Poetry

By: Denny E. Marshall The Collection You collect dreams Handle only with gloves Put them between plastic sheets To keep them new and un-faded Stack like record collection Never play even once Bury sounds and stories Under covers the unknown…