Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Poetry

By: Civa Bhusal I adore everything- That came first in my life The first book I read The first game I played The first lap – I slept on The first alphabet – I learnt At school The first day…

Poetry

  By: Civa Bhusal One day, All the people we saw in our life leave us in solitude… Just like the drops of water Leaving the topmost part of the hills Every year We change calendar And hang a new one…

Non-Fiction

By: Raymond Greiner Comparing ancient living design to modern society is a study in contrast. Archeological discoveries reveal ancient cultures imposed greater communal value on spirituality. This evidence is compelling and may provide a window of opportunity for contemporary recurrence…

Poetry

By: Dovile Mark When I was young There lived a wolf Down the hall of our apartment building My parents called him a neighbor He might have even had a name I don’t remember He would appear outside our door…

Poetry

By: Dovile Mark His job was to collect secrets Finding out who had access to the information Learning to make friends I knew where the secrets hid Stacked up like delicious cookies on top of each other In a jar…

Fiction

By: Richard D. Hartwell Thanks. Here’s to you. Did he ever regret taking off? No, I don’t think so. He never really talked about it much, or at least not about the beginning, if, in fact, there was a beginning. Most…

Poetry

By: Richard D. Hartwell Sitting here at the VA listening, more than ten wars’ worth of lives and lies told by veterans, wondering sometimes how much of what I hear is really the composing by memory-makers from years ago, or…

Poetry

By: Sam Rapth In the wide space, those rocks that are seen by naked simple eyes are called stars… Much like the celebrities… The question is why, so simple, are the eyes?…  

Poetry

By: Jim Piatt Do you hear it, the hushed misshapen rhythms inside the songster’s poetic head? The chords he pens now only a cryptic cacophonous array of black and whites plummeting downward from saddened eyes: His muse, dead now, lying…

Poetry

By: Jim Piatt Reports of new battles flow inward, Like shards of splintered glass they Awaken heartbreaking feelings, My heart cries out in dismay Amidst the furor of finite time, Tears stream down my cheeks, Bitter information about new wars…