night falls like a brick. urgent tongue of wind stuck to the back of my neck, hair wrapped around my throat. fist of keys in my coat pocket. wraiths of […]
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The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged
night falls like a brick. urgent tongue of wind stuck to the back of my neck, hair wrapped around my throat. fist of keys in my coat pocket. wraiths of […]
Read moreI was afraid of my abusive and controlling ex-husband, but I didn’t know this until 10 years after I divorced him. I wrote hidden poems, feelings hidden. Hidden in notebooks […]
Read moreFrom my hurt back the snow-lit predawn sky is pewter, or lava, according to my best guess color chart on Pinterest. “Pewter” works, but I like lava because it feels […]
Read moreWhen in a supermarket in a town not your own do not start screaming “Where are the olives? Where are the fucking olives?” as you race down the aisles Do […]
Read moreAsh Evan Lippert is a clay artist and emerging queer poet residing in the South Carolina upstate. Their poetry and fiction center on the exploration of liminal states of consciousness, […]
Read moreAutumn snapped my spine like the sudden flash of a spark, waking up the dark. She brought rain and left me blooming, treading my fresh soles on top of crumbled yellow bladed leaves that change […]
Read moreThe more times I go back for more and find it there like a bowl of dogfood left out on the back deck by an unknown and therefore unthanked hand, […]
Read moreHello folks! It’s Matthew. It’s been a while since I’ve made an announcement, I know. You may have noticed that we put Searching for The Cottingley Fairies on our banner. […]
Read moreNow is the time to find color where you can—in poinsettias, pine trees, fire and wine,or strings of Christmas lights hung like prayersto glow warm against the winter’s gathering dark.Now […]
Read moreIn vest, short shorts, quick reflex points, our up and over, chain-link fence, we traded jokes, paraded skills, especially under watch of girls, as learnt to make a better pass, […]
Read morewithout askingearthquakes rumbled to announce thearrival of mountains rivers roared to forewarn rocksof their ravage winds howled to demand fishermenback to shore wildfires raged to birth new lifein the forest […]
Read moreEthicist and online education entrepreneur, Russell Willis, has been featured in THE POET Magazine Profile Series and his poetry has been published in over twenty-five online and print journals and […]
Read moreThrusting one creased pant leg in front of the other, canter-leaving ankles, knees, thighs, my leather shoes clacking slate as I amble toward and away, in one motion. Steel, sheets […]
Read moreI do the same ritual every morning while the clouds wrap their blankets around the sunlight: Practice Italian and Spanish. Trace my fingers along paths of cheekbones inheritedfrom my mother and all the […]
Read moreA fang of lightning crashesa branch into the wind-clawed loch. Thunder drives eels to the bottom. Water flashes downa mountain rising through the skin of the lake.The monster loves the […]
Read moreWhen that moment arrives(by car, by bus, by daybreak) We live in it like a house(condo, apartment, tent down by the river) Imagining we may see it all again(later, someday, […]
Read moreEvery shell is dipped in night. Place an ear against the ceramic to eavesdrop on fox squabbles, crows watching rubbish bags left split open like unfinished operations, brambles unfurling their […]
Read moreThere was a lot of crazy thrashing at first and I was cursing myself for not keeping at it with those swimming lessons, and I had unkind words for the […]
Read moreWho is the bride of August? Wheredoes she send her lost birds and whatare they born to see? You? They sing. Who,precisely, are they naming? Just whenwill they return to […]
Read moreEpisode Description: In this episode, Matthew, Marina, and Elena talk with Mary Paulson about her poem, Ruins. We talk about writing poetry to express deep emotions, writing and rewriting with […]
Read moreA painter lives in my town. A talented painterno doubt. A famous painter too. His creationshave been known to save souls and to bestowone upon those who never had any. […]
Read moreWhy do I keep the best till lastwhen eating cake;quite unlike wine.My mindful taste budsfind their pace, start marksfrom first eye-captured plate,declared by sharp seep under tongue,gland leak swamping salivary, […]
Read moreWhile I waited at roadside I thought,why not try some loveliness. So I did.I saw visions in far reaches, feltthe soft touch of silence, melodiescame from solitude, it was like […]
Read moreI look into my eyes in order to witness nebula reciprocating light from the midst of darkness residing behind them radiating with life out of the pulsating silence of consciousness […]
Read moreMargaret Krusinga lives on sixty acres she and her husband manage loosely for wildlife. Diagnosed with MS in 1976, she graduated college under a cloud, in 1977. Poetry has become […]
Read moreThe polar bears are circling us, the John CageChristmas mix, the hors d’oeuvres and those bodies that servethem. adjacent, a sealkeeps practising the same underwater back-flipoff the glass we’re standing […]
Read moreHotaru ika are a glow-in-the-dark species, hiding in the translitic a mesmerizing light courtesy of a network of thousands of photophores, drifting long hairs of a wild woman situated over […]
Read moreAt the cake bazaar,annual in the village hall –Mrs Baker’s acid voice –I stall to scan those sweetmeat plates. The granulated cog biscuits,as if surfaced breeze-swept snow,fawn-mellow, flat,centre-nippled, cherry-topped;the scarlet […]
Read moreCameron Morse is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of six collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. […]
Read moreA strange condition for a rowamongst the headstone rows that flankthe hill side cemetery,that hangs and flows,marble chips and chips off marble, chip paper,scree of lager cans and driven flowers;sunlight […]
Read moreWill we ever make it through the foreshore? Our erosive time is lost in this hour. Did we make the most of the coast? For sure. The beaches marooned our […]
Read moreIt’s funny how franticallya few leaves appear tobe waving at me when I liftmy eyes to the maplethat tried to kill me yesterdaydropping a hefty javelinjust a couple feet frommy […]
Read moreHis is a lariat love, beginning with a wobbleAs it starts to unwind. Then stretching fastInto a wide-spreading circle, swinging wild,Arcing high, landing without warning,Just a thump and a cinch. […]
Read moreWhat if I couldpaint like youpiercing light throughdarkening skies if I could weave storiesby blending chaptersabout love and discontent what if I stood nakedsang love songsthat pry hearts openlike the […]
Read moreBecca add morebutter Becca. That’s no way tomake a roux. Don’t just measure on a whim.Your flour and fat. Or fluid and fault.Meat drippings, maybe. That ratio. That ratio!That’s what […]
Read moreon hills by park pathwaysand beds of fresh petal,we collapse on our elbowsand tightly scrubbed grass.twist off ourbackpacks, wet with the weightof the sun and the weightof our warm cansof […]
Read moreThrough the eye of a dream,the round pit of a binocular opening,I recognize myselfstanding in front of a stranger,his gun barrel pressedagainst the bone between my breasts. We’re in a […]
Read moreThe armoire tips from out the truckbed withThe same uncertain, blind leap of a fishFlopping from a boat sole, hoping only to landSomewhere wet, to break a surface and fill […]
Read moreI piss. it feels okand then after I walkthrough the house going backto the kitchen.and you are not herein any of the house,or at least you are notin my parts […]
Read moreThat motherlode of Sun right thereliterally blasting me in the face with its gloryit’s so far away (1 au, to be exact), but all this brilliance over vast […]
Read moreI. Snapshot Click. WHIRR. Shadowed still frame capturing fae.Ethereal grace magnified by child’s wonder.Muted only by adults’ misunderstanding “genuine.”Why would fae be less real if crafted by paper?Paper and glue […]
Read moreMary Paulson currently lives and works in Naples, FL. Her poems have appeared in Slow Trains, Mainstreet Rag, Painted Bride Quarterly, Nerve Cowboy, Arkana, Thimble Lit Magazine, and Tipton Poetry […]
Read moreAmber, scarlet, gilded daffodil. All sits quiet, calm,and the sun sets as I turn to you. It takes a second but then I see a granuleof sand that chips away, […]
Read moreeverything smells like soap except that one hallway smeared withvolatile coconut particles, reminds me of that porn theatre in somedank Indianapolis district wild with heavy air and greasy tanninghuts, but […]
Read moreI.As snow settles upon the landand brings with it crisp, frozen air,I’ll hear the cardinal’s jarring callas it echoes in my anxious mind. The cold and weary world revealsthat ancient […]
Read moreEpisode Description: Editors Matthew, Elena, and Melissa talk to Veronica Lupinacci about her wonderful poem, Kurt. We talk about nonfiction, how we remember people, and the general topic of learning to […]
Read moreEpisode Description: Editors Matthew, Elena, Marina, and Darin talk to Kate Shannon about her wonderful poetry! We touch on the history of the form, some of the brutal inspirations that […]
Read moreEpisode Description: Editors Matthew, Elena, Darin, and Melissa talk to Paul Rabinowitz about his piece Little Gem Magnolia and its surreal mix of genres. We touch on New Orleans, art, […]
Read more“I’m not used to being in Nature” Is what comes to mind as I stand here at Still Point Staring up into space – Feeling somewhat out of place. I’m […]
Read moreI always mowed the wild green hair of lawn, eyes of corn stalking me from across the street. Steering Dad’s tractor in the shapeof a nose ring in my middle of nowhere, how […]
Read moreBy the waves I felt the storm shall Death bring his scythe? Eagerly I looked for cover; loud thunderstorms drumming from the tempest that is blowing. ‘It’s that beat,’ I […]
Read moreOisín Breen is a 35 year-old poet, part time academic in narratological complexity, and a financial journalist covering the US registered investment advisory sector. Dublin born, Breen spent the last […]
Read more“through the view/of a hollow lens/like an eye surprised/by lost sight”
Read moreyou’re biting your nails again o sweet white of time I feel in the December rush of cold the whoosh of closed & open doors the portals if I knew […]
Read moreShaman paints the wolf and full moon blister red above a sinuous line of orange scales, serpent tail pointing to the past, head spitting a speckled frog half digested, white […]
Read moreDopo mezzanotte! Dopo, dopo! The door pops open, out of the dust the ocean unfolds under the ropewalker’s high gloss black shoes. He floats among the buoyant atoms- the iron […]
Read moreAnother stormy night in their neighborhood a warning came for twisters, hail and fire no one said anything about ghosts in the dark. Eerie hours when the clocks have failed […]
Read moreIn a chamber with three hundred ninety eyes there is no place not to be seen. No blind spots. The corners, the ceiling, on the back of two cattle statues […]
Read more“My mother says the camera steals souls,” #MetaworkerMonday
Read moreShe wasn’t a phoenix, but she knew ash. She painted herself with coals, with cinders. War paint disguising the woman of the woods. She felt knighted, unable to cry out […]
Read moreThis dimly-lit café, there’s a voice then two, then three speaking like a detuned triangle with so much impatience. Winter, dense and black, crams itself into this room. Outside, muted […]
Read moresomewhere up here you might bite the whole horizon. love pours in like an emptied sack of apples. tastes fresh like apples, and smells like apples too. I am on […]
Read moreI would step out of my bodyto dream I was concurrentwith the wind and light,or the painted stonestossed over the embankmentinto the hearts of rivers.I would grow more frailthan the […]
Read moreTwo to speak loud and clear for all and too many to hear; secrets of an alcove and two more join for some chatter; it is a talk show of […]
Read moreConnie Woodring is a 75-year-old retired psychotherapist/educator/social activist who is getting back to her true love of writing after 45 years in her real job. She has a B.A.in English […]
Read moreThere used to be an edge where the world ended, where ships would tumult down cataracts into nothingness. There are places still, buffers and hallows where the edges become light, […]
Read moreThe cracks of frost in the whitened planksspell the end of one season and the slow plunge into the next.By the black pond, the danceof insects grows sparse.The reflections of […]
Read moreA pair of purple-throated pigeons entwine atop a post as our train passes by. Their beaks lock beneath unblinking black eyes. Breeze passes over the feathers on their necks as […]
Read moreMy poor dear, were tight plastic ties placed on your tender wrists? Were you marched down a long dim hall to the room “Philosophy 101”? Told to lie on a […]
Read moreKill the funeral please.Mow down the mourners.Assassinate the coffin. Hey. pallbearers,hands up. don’t move.And preacher man…none of your phony speeches…heaven’s what I say it is. Don’t you know how muchI […]
Read more[Shot] [in a single take] [with no lighting] [and no sound] [some believed] [The Black Movie] [would fail] [at the box office] [when it opened] [a confused] [audience] [sat in […]
Read moreA four-engine train engines idling diesel beside the iron fence mist herds of penned-in cattle earthen clouds settling low a rider crooning Huddie Ledbetter Goodnight Irene. His thoughts were refuge […]
Read moreThe Devil’s wicked lips taste my burning flesh A delicacy A flame with delight (with shame) He teases, waiting, enticing, watching as I squirm and writhe, (wanting to escape) wanting […]
Read moreThe villages grew wingsOut of their water hyacinth-fringed backsAnd took flightTowards the heart of a hot, busy, concrete-skinned metropolis That had the hands of steel, heart of iron, teeth of gravel. […]
Read moreYou are a man of your wordsbut your words are all lies. Your queen is an import but the rest go in cages, you paw them freelythrough iron bars. You […]
Read moreTake out a month of green from your April heart. Spread a quicksilver green on the whitewashed walls. Paint a gut-wrenching green on the palls of spring. Smear a vermillion […]
Read moreThe shards of blanket comfort are all that remain—what framing work this is, what demeaning work this has become—begging like the hen baking bread. A subaltern on the verge of […]
Read moreIn the dream, I’m falling. I tell you I’m falling. One arm hooked onto the ice shelf, the other wrapped about my boy, I fall into the dark Arctic river. […]
Read more“try hate later on” #MetaworkerMonday
Read more“as I hunch in gnarly leather, drool, toothless,” #metaworkermonday
Read moreThe summer after my first year of college the KKK had a presence on Main Street in my hometown for a few hours. Don’t know what they wanted—just walking up […]
Read moreDid you, my beloved, notice the barbed wiresthat run along the length of the city,to separate you from me?Such walls of divisiveness are man-made:penetrating your blue arteries, they weavenarratives of […]
Read moreThe longing of the round peg to become squareto belong to the holeand that of the piece of the jigsaw puzzleto be fitted into make it wholeare different from that ofthe […]
Read moreI sit and I stare, trying to peerinto the back of my beautiful sons’ eyesbecause I am looking for somethingthat I soon begin to realize,I may not be quite ready […]
Read moreI freeze, startled by the sudden flight of a mud swallow against the backdrop of a tilt-up building, swarm of chirping notes I cannot decipher, a blur of two beating […]
Read moreThe house across from mehas caught aflameand taken it against water The firemen are comingtheir trucks yelling attheir speed. They are dressedin their shieldsand are ready to huntthe guiltleft by […]
Read moreWhen it was the fashionI too measured out my life in coffee spoons It was not only to youthat some things made no sensebut to me tooFor you it was […]
Read moremay your eyelids be diaphanous parasols sheltering from the invasive light of the sunshielding as parables the blinding truthwhen love excites the eyesto things the heart may not accomplish may your […]
Read moreI exist where you’ve kicked me Your boot rings the bell Cracks the shell Invites Hell’s inverted Sisters to rent a storefront At the bruise’s edge They bring me […]
Read moreI sat and held the world’s coldest hand.One whose skin had been taken by ice. The palm of a dried soul […]
Read moreSomeday we might meet,when time has melted in us,our lives look like dried river beds Would you then recognise my face? My face might appear unknown,remote like the rugged terrains […]
Read moreThere’s a man the silent world claims as Noah, standing at the cliff’s edge, looking down on us as we crawl across each other, his measurements already taken, the wood […]
Read moreI fold the corners Of a very desperate sky. The stars I had to throw away, On highways that know Where they are going. With the attention of a last […]
Read moreWhen bombs rattle the insides of houses, cafes, churches, Twisting and turning their intestines, Hurling their insides out, Bleeding them dry, What do the birds do? Other than shooting out […]
Read moreNights are essays in loneliness words scrawled in the darknone to be retrieved, I stretch on the bed; disheveled like my hair,twinning with the night.My flesh sinks far below, a […]
Read moreI don’t care if I’m dead as long as I’m still alive, in Heaven I mean though not Hell, I might be dead but I’ll still be lively, just somewhere […]
Read moreDust motes dance on sunlight streaming through a dingy window. Rusty mailbox, empty, always empty. Cadaverous cobwebs mocking back at him from a peeling wall. He sits alone in his […]
Read morefor a while there I was worried I had cancer. I even joined a gym though I don’t know why I thought it would help. didn’t quit smoking or drinking, […]
Read moreI have always wondered About the mood, Inside houses that dress themselves In yellow tungsten bulbs, Once evening descends Like children running down the stairs. Flowers of Van Gogh yellow, […]
Read moreMelanie Gaughran is a university student in the city of subdued excitement, Bellingham, Washington. Particularly concerned with her internal workings and misworkings, she finds that putting them to paper can […]
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