“Twilight’s Drift” By Ken Allan Dronsfield
Reason for waking, lofty faded dreams soft steps in grass eyes raised skyward Brisk breeze blows wind swirls on water geese march in air reality …
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
Reason for waking, lofty faded dreams soft steps in grass eyes raised skyward Brisk breeze blows wind swirls on water geese march in air reality …
I joined the most well-adjusted band in America. My fault for believing. After twenty days and twenty nights I lost my lease on life with …
I used to think girl meant pink meant birthday cake roses wilting for safety & always use your inside voice but sometimes it means shout …
Rachelle Pinnow is also a professional geologist and a part-time writer. A graduate of the University of Calgary’s creative writing program, her short stories and …
You can cage me in fireworks But I won’t wither from entropy I was once resilient to the loss Or maybe I just absorb it …
Addison Namnoum and The Metaworker Editorial Staff would like to dedicate this poem to the victims of the Orlando shooting, and to their friends, families, …
I ask carbon, what does it feel like to be backbone? To have multiple arms? To be mother to all of me. Mother to all …
I don’t want that smart bomb sort of love, that painless thing all beset with clang of rust knife, mouse click, screen swipe, before you …
There is something he forgot Something he had do to today He stands in the driveway Next to the black BMW Taps his foot …
Diamond shimmers within sand, an ardor in the moon’s brightness; a whisper. Stealing of devoted memories cast one’s heart off into eternity; the promissory. Talking …
Late night insomnia in la ciudad that never sleeps is a gift. I slip between the dusk, waltzing weaving between hum of streetlamp. Twirling in …
Is it a cricket, a refugee, chirping behind solid bars? Rub the legs, hope to see, there is nothing in the darkness. Close the eyes, …
Seep Thought like a torrent of water Seep- drip, drip, drip. Each mould to old ideas that drip into a now opened mind. …
I have seven alarm clocks programed on my smartphone Which I place under my pillow at night Seven alarm clocks that are set 5 minutes …
Every night I’ve lain awake with baited breath. Shadows flash across the ceiling as cars pass by the window. There is a woman out there, …
Lightning strikes like the silhouette of the city and for a moment, the air blisters with Saint Elmo’s fire over the Arby’s sign. The …
How am I fitting in this right now? It’s been years, centuries since I was small enough to terrorize villages and miniature pedestrians in this …
Torrin Greathouse is a Literary Journalism student and governing member of the Uncultivated Rabbits spoken word collective at UC Irvine. They were the 2015 winner …
Without Roots Without Roots this Ikea bed supports me just about as well as a twig supports a tree house Glue sticks Paper thin is …
To the rail Taken under duress, mid congress, my petticoats torn, I find myself bound to the track. Ostensibly, for ransom. But who pray tell, …
Wil Deas lives and writes in the city of Los Angeles with his cat Murder Mittens. A recent graduate of Chapman University, Wil is doing …
They Sleek bold bodybound by expectationsby gendered declarationsforced to function in conversationssplit in twain by ‘his’ + ‘her’, no ‘they’ How to navigate this intimate …
He comes for honey, sweetness of the meaty earth he plants his flag in. Sunlight pollinates the horizon with gold. He moves like a rolling …