Literary Yard

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Memories

Poem: The Memories We Keep

By: Kathleen Connolly Crystal glasses clink together as mom sets the patio table for tea. Her bones rub together and she is more skeleton than skin. It is August now, the third summer since Dad’s passing. She is seventy-eight and still…

Poem: Past Memories

By: Zunayet Ahammed We recollect our past memories passionately We can neither forget them nor ignore them anymore It always stirs us with joy and sorrow. Memories of the past always consume us Dreams fade away Hopes of weaving life…

Story: The Throne

By: Natalia Suri “Kanta bai, don’t let your broom touch my chair,” ranted Lata, her voice trembling. The old woman sat on the chair as she spoke, her feeble toes barely touching the floor. “You don’t know, this is no ordinary…

Poem: i survived

By: Linda M Crate for so long i allowed myself to be haunted hunted, hounded by memories of the past that i refused to let go; they cut me like the shrapnel of your sharp words thrust into me like…

Poem: 12

By: Holly Day I spent most of my pre-teen years in small towns in Nebraska, with parents who were hard-core hippies, and I was truly a product of my upbringing. I publicly despised television, which, of course, we did not…

Poem: Pain

By: Ranjeet Sarpal Pain survives on its capacity to evoke memories Carefully selectively Memories are underpinned Then repetition of selective memories deepens the agonized self Triggering sea storm in blood veins . Words are recalled instinctual touch is forgotten. The broken…

Poem: Memories

  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…

Poem: Gardens and Memories

By: Patrick P. Stafford I know it’s time to go to sleep. I know it’s time to shut out light. And now because all hope is gone, I know it’s time to say goodnight. Winter has filled this empty room, Though…

Poem: Lullaby

By: Alex Bernstein     I’m on his shoulders. We’re at the beach. Playing in sawdust. Smiling in the ambiance of sweet nectarine sounds. Lapping on orange jungle gyms, in Batesville offices, and on spinning chairs. Sidelines at little league…