Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Linda M. Crate perhaps i am but a mad poet but they say crows lurk where faeries are and crows always follow me, i wonder how many faeries have watched my step or danced in my gradens; sometimes i…

Poetry

By: Linda M. Crate i’ve seen the dragons they come out at night when everyone is sleeping drift through the clouds with their eyes large as the moon, and they watch me underneath an audience of stars but they never…

Fiction

By: Adreyo Sen When she was five, she was a brave little boy, addicted to Gi Joe, who dreamt of earning his father’s gratitude by saving him from terrorists.  She was in love with her pretty English teacher.             When…

Poetry

By: Donald Buhl-Brown I invited her over tonight, to hang out I said. The trash is overflowing in my bins, my clothes are littered across my floor. More dirty than clean, the same for the clothes on my body. I shouldn’t…

Poetry

A man walked by and through a dusty window I saw him. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit. The woman whispered to each other. “Look at him.” “I know, he’s so put together right?” “What I’d do for a…

News

The Government of Nepal and the Gadhimai Temple have been strongly criticized for failing to stop the sacrifice of tens of thousands of animals at this year’s festival, despite a legal and moral obligation to act. Animal protection groups Humane…

Non-Fiction

By Ruth Towne 1. I’m white-knuckled, twisted away from the window, eyes closed, lips tight, tighter at take-off. I’m terminally internally talking to myself—either up or down if we happen to be flying or that other f-word—saying, We’re not falling…

Poetry

By: Adreyo Sen When I woke up in the morning, You were gone. I looked for You everywhere. I went to the temple, but You were not there. I went to the mosque, but they said You were long gone. I…

Poetry

By: Reese Scott when its dark after turning on all the lights on opening up all the blinds and there is no rain snow or clouds just black and movies loose their pictures music loose their sound and books have…

Poetry

By: Tom Sheehan Friends found Jamesie by dark tracks, between home and the last-pint draught of wine from a pseudo-canteen soldered firmly to his hip, the left, where stray shot from fanatic Hun bore in. Beside the silver rail they…