Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: G Dean Manuel I close my eyes, so I am blind, I may ever seek, but how do I find? Vision always got in my way, in inky night, my heart risen, inclined. I don’t need to see the day,…

Fiction

By: Joseph Kierland Ho Dong wasn’t his real name. It was just the name they passed from one Chinese cook to the next when they came in from Hong Kong. The new cook took the name of the old cook, exchanged…

Fiction

By: Ronald Hrubetz I knelt down and held my hands in front of me. I don’t pray. I haven’t in 20 years. This has to be the alcohol acting out. I shouldn’t even be here. A sinner in a city of…

War

Books ReviewsEssayGlobal Politics

By: Gaither Stewart If you have you ever seen a monkey hanging from a tree by its tail and showing its red ass to onlookers, then you have seen the animal kingdom’s representation of war. According to French playwright Jean…

Poetry

By: Priya Anand He walks like a leaf scattered by the wind Gait unsteady yet swiftly As if propelled by a sudden gust that darts and swoops Likened to a golem that lurks in the shadows Decrepit and insignificant Invisible to…

Fiction

By Suneet Paul The two ants who were close friends, were taking a walk on the first-floor terrace of Sanjay’s house. It had been a tiring morning for them. The carefree and relaxed atmosphere was a welcome change. The brick…

Poetry

By: Jonathan Butcher Those faces once again crawl from between the pavements and orange brick houses and straight through the neat lawns and new builds. They slowly echo off each wall, but fail to melt into one single voice. That false…

Poetry

By: Jonathan Butcher In that narrow underpass the badly fitted lights struggle and flicker. The tags and stickers which adorn them cast miniature shadows that appear against our skin like bruises, that refuse to heal until covered. We’re neither approached or…

Poetry

By: James Aitchison I rambled on down the Spanish Steps one day And found the house. The voluptuous guide Made me wonder: Was she in love with the dead? Her eyes seemed to kiss the portrait of Keats, His frail face…

Fiction

By: Sam Reilly When Mom grounded me for smoking dope, I snuck out and ended up at Cori’s, where I got drunk and asked her to pierce my ear. She numbed my lobe with an ice cube. Then she stuck me….