A journal of rediscovery
Welcome to the Spring Issue of Poor Yorick Journal! We are delighted to share a selection of wonderful prose, poetry, and visual art with you. Please enjoy, and support our wonderful contributors by taking a moment to read their bios at the end of the journal and engage with their
Hello from Poor Yorick! And welcome to our November Double Feature. This month we are highlighting two wonderful pieces: a short story by R.S. MacDonald and a poem by Mercury-Marvin Sunderland. Each of these pieces is reflective of fall, of life and death, of change and transformation. We hope you’ll
The Ruins Along the mountain pass I made my way, Beneath the razor edges of the hills, Below the peaks that scraped the heightened air, Which at their summits still held hoary snow. My phone’s map app had long since ceased to work, And I had brought no compass for
I believe in permanence,your brass head whirlingdroplets into the seared August air,without complaint or growing pains, sans giggles or adolescent drama,but I also believe in the slippery childskipping now through the rainbow miston a green New Hampshire lawn, impermanence boogying beneath you,sprinkler, in her red bathing suit,this one, thin-strapped and
Continue reading“Ode to a Lawn Sprinkler in Contoocook, New Hampshire” by Suellen Wedmore
Afterwards, once the neighbors
were gone, the curtains shifted
back to the places they had
occupied before, the water
in the potted plants surged
into the saucers beneath… … Continue reading“Curiouser and Curiouser,” by Deborah H. Doolittle
His grandmother’s old Replogle rests by the window.
Spinning it around, he finds the pink lip of Chile cracked
and a crease, east of the Hawaiian Islands, cresting
at 500 nautical miles, according to the legend. … Continue reading“May 7, 2017,” by Christopher Kobylinsky
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
A poem about the war and remembrance. … Continue readingThe Late Unpleasantness
. . . sometimes words are a powerful means of carrying us into the language of the body.1 —Liz Huntly, Elephant Journal The art of poetry has changed over time and has been adapted for different languages and cultures, but it has endured for thousands of years. Yoga, too, is