Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Chuck Orloski Down on your knees American voters! Trump and the K.K.K. must be beaten and from Salt Lake City, Mitt Romney has launched Low Energy and Little Mario, two Hydro-Anemic Bombs designed to destroy Japs, Cossacks, Mooslims, and Dixie…

Fiction

By: Sri Ram At the midnight of the owls, by the tall coconut tree whose strong and thick trunk crawled across from the house in the neighborhood and connected to the balcony of the hospital, Ramesh jumped onto the balcony….

Books ReviewsFiction

By: Gaither Stewart The flow of Andrey’s life recalled that of the uncontrollable race on a roller-coaster. From the time he boarded, his unstable little car had carried him at terrifying speeds around curves and over bumps, up, up, then…

EssayTravel

By: James Clark Less than a pinpoint on a map of the United States, Medicine Bow Wyoming sits at the cross roads of highways 487 and US 30/WY287. Surrounded by millions of acres of wild land, with vistas that stretch all…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i sat in the dandelions dreaming, and i began to see them: the crows; i read somewhere once that crows follow those who attract the fae, and i wonder if you weren’t sighing and flying and…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i felt you there when i sang dancing in the creek avoiding the beaks of hungry crows you danced in the sunlight streams and beckoned to me with your gold, and i felt your wings dance…

Poetry

By: Joker Ragtag Globe the globe is not so round as one might think rather flat in places rising and falling where we can easily taste it differences not so great after all. Tunnel I do not know the way the…

Books ReviewsFiction

By: Sasheera Gounden He places the cold body of whiskey on the coffee table as headlines of the Times, glare back at him; monochrome faces, shiny sealskin letters and the stench of drunkenness at only ten in the morning. Relief sweeps…

Poetry

By: Chaitali Gawade I mould myself to the needs of the moment as the warmth spreads through me, shaping myself against the contours I am poured in. I melt. The thread immersed in me is rough so I soften it. A…

Poetry

By: Chaitali Gawade  Lady Red’s eyes were lemon green, the colour of the dinosaur shape soap I use every day. She went with me to play school, to the park, to the dining table and even to bed. A perpetual silly…