Literary Yard

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Fiction

By: Michael C. Keith What you wear to the grave is always safe from criticism. –– Sander Howling Alison asked her 81 year-old spouse what clothes he wanted to wear at his wake. “Huh? That’s a weird thing to say….

Poetry

By: Zunayet Ahammed (1) Reality is always harsh and hard. Men knowing its impact on life and earth Get no solace in life. We have nothing to do except to see and brood over a lot of things on earth…

Poetry

By: Sri Ram Your estrogen is escorted by many testosterone… To win your heart, I need to first fight a battle with those testosterone… By the time, I win the battle, you may be engaged… Unfortunately, If there is one that…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i had a dream where you walked into the darkness forsake every goodness and the light you tried so hard to cling to, and when i tried to grasp your arm and lead you back into…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i am a flower you were the frost and you tried killing me; but i resisted your touch— likewise should you come to me again i will not fall vulnerable before you i have learned my…

Poetry

By: Linda M. Crate i wanted to be your white winged dove, your only love; but instead i was your white winged raven left craving your touch— i know to you none of this meant very much, and i was…

FictionNews

‘Hazard of Shadows’ which is the book two of Chronicles of the Goblin King series by Mike Phillips has recently been released. While the author and the publishers boast to thrill you with the story, we bring to you excerpt from…

News

Frederick Forsyth has made a stunning disclosure in his autobiography ‘The Outsider: My Life’. He has admitted that he was MI6 agent in the past. The author of ‘The Day of the Jackal’, however, agrees that it was not easy to admit….

Fiction

By: Gaither Stewart In my favorite place near the front window with the light from the street over my right shoulder I am reading an essay by Natalia Ginzburg when out of the corner of my eye I register a…

Fiction

By: Antara Roy Bahadur, that was what we called him. Simply, Bahadur. No one knew his real name, or where he came from, or where, eventually, he went. He was always there; in the garden, tending to the plants, humming…