One Poem Only

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Oct 27 -  i don't remember being small by Momena Khan @still.in.my.d4afts_ on Instagram.Oct 28 - What Are We by Laker Patience @laker.p_poet on Instagram. Her poetry anthology, Echoes of Colour, will be out soon.Oct 29 - Green Soup by Tabitha Dial @TabithaDial on Instagram. Her book, Cheese Astrology: A Weekly Guide, is out now. Listen to me read Apparition Appetizers by Tabitha on Instagram @rembrandts.cure.Oct 30 - The Spider by Philippe BlenkironOct 31 - Coffin monologue: The non-rhyming rant poem by Manasvita Sukthankar @manasvita._ on Instagram.Nov 1 - "I would peel pomegranates for you—" by Hareem Ismail @wordssmith_ on Instagram.Nov 2Forty-Three Is PoetryMaggie Devers After @motheatencurtainTwenty-four is driving without a steering wheelMoving at a clipBumping into all that enchants you until you fall out a windowLiterally.And you find it necessary to relearn how to climb stairs.You are empty,But thirty is flirting with the one you love,Obsessing deeper into everything you seek.Thirty-five is big and round and swollenAnd you are full of life,Not metaphorically,Though that would be simpler.Your dreams are tangibleAnd you learn how to feel them.That’s forty-three:When poetry comes into focusAnd you write all you want.It’s yours.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

I would peel pomegranates for you—Not just slice them open, but gently with my fingers stained red— I would learn its anatomy, the way they bruise and break if held too harshly, the way they hold memories in every seed.I would sit at the table, a bowl between us as I unraveled the fruit slowly— almost reverently.I’d gather the delicate pieces and offer them to you like little treasures, letting the juice spill— dark and intoxicating.And in the simple act, I’d tell you everything— talk to you about the world and nothing at all, that I chose you, I see you. “I would peel pomegranates for you” I’d say giggling as I pop a seed in my mouth. - Hareem IsmailMore from Hareem Ismail ↓@wordssmith_ on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Coffin monologue: The non-rhyming rant poem Manasvita Sukthankar I love myself,but which one?Can I love the person that most hate?Does she deserve the ache in her chest?It feels like being trapped in a coffin alive, like death is leaning by the doorframe.If so,I'd like it to carry me home,and leave me on my bedroom floor to stay.Maybe I feel safer in this coffin,No one can get to me.Maybe it's a shield that saves me, but from whom?The weight of this world?I wonder how it’s bearing the weight, It feels like it’s made of glass.I wish to be as strong as the coffin,but maybe it's because it's got a heart of steel too.I don't know if I should try to escape, Is the coffin written in my fate? Should I bang it from the inside, can anyone hear? Or should I let it engulf my soul. It already trapped my body, I'm a corpse soon to be. Death is more alive than the life in me, my eyes would say the same.I feel like if words cut me deep, I'm not sure I'll even bleed. Would that mean I'm dead on the inside,Or that my heart is asleep?When my flesh starts to rot and the worms come my way, will they consider me supper? Or am I unwanted in the afterlife too, That I should've gone sooner.Is this the hell that humans run away from?Well I found it in this life.I could have a party with the ghosts that haunt me.I found something I could call my own.The party has begun.It’s loud in my head.There are balloonsdarker than the dreams I weave,confetti with shimmer and silence,candles burning like they’re coming for me,and a cake with fractured frosting. Maybe the worms and the ghosts could be friends.They both feed on me, after all.The party has come to an end.And mine has come too.I felt it come a lot soonerbut time warp is real.I think these words I gather myself to spit outare heavier than my coffin in the ground.Maybe the Earth could put me to sleep,and cradle me with a lullaby.Okay,that’s it. Good evening, good night or whenever you're reading this. More from Manasvita Sukthankar ↓@manasvita._ on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

The Spider Philippe Blenkiron "Is God a Spider?" I asked,"constantly weavingelectron threads into spiraling elemental webs?His iron will, spun with a silk of liquid steel,torn by the slightest of whims? His tenacious tapestry resewn,a glistening embroidery of frosted jewelled fibrils?""God scares me," you said,"In the corner of the room,observant, unmoving,a silent host of eyes.His uncanny mechanics,a mystery of hydraulic inkwrapped in adhesive shadow."But He's a friend," she replied"Call Him carpenter,cellar-dweller,a long-limbed daddy, because He eats flies like sins, laboursin your shed while you hammer and nail,accompanies your best wine.Raise a toast, man, raise your cup high to the ceiling to Himthen you can slide something thinbetween the glass and the walland take Him outsideso he doesn't bother anyone."Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Green Soup Tabitha Dial (Halloween Night 2020)From a quiet keeping-space,I promise my motherghostto create meals and music.Even if from dry bones and tangled memories, my vow as I unstem kale and spinach,add it to the copperlined pot with green onion, cilantro, yukon golds and snap peas.Remember when I made your favorite souplast year? I caramelize the onions and recallthat patient pot.I've spent almost 2 hours at the stove, there'sonly a little more: the garlic and gingersizzle in the pan, then slide into the pot. Another 10 minutes. I add the broth, taste. I follow the recipe,as one day I'll follow you. Blend in batches, return to pot, simmer, flavor with lemon juice, white vinegar, salt, pepper, cumin, chili powder, and the sound of your name. More from Tabitha Dial ↓@TabithaDial on InstagramHer book, Cheese Astrology: A Weekly Guide, is out nowListen to me read Apparition Appetizers by Tabitha on Instagram @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

What Are We Laker Patience What are we? is there even a we, or is it possibly just a you and a me, a concoction of delusion, desire, mismatched expectations with no actual communication.What are we? what is this? Because my soul can't keep skinny dipping in the misread signals of others, it can't! My heart can't keep bungee jumping off of platforms made from shaky commitment, committing to shaky commitment, it's exhausting, it's exhausting to keep trying to cultivate seeds in farm lands offered to you as fertile, that bear testimony of harvest, of bounty,to watch them yield for everyone else except you! I can't keep stripping for eyes that refuse to see me, why bare my soul when the only parts of me you desire to see naked are flesh, my breasts, hips, butt and lips that don't speak, as though if they could you'd even bother to listen, I can't! Can't keep holding open houses for the prime real estate that is my body, existence, being, to have prospects take tours, show interest, ask questions, eat cookie, make offers,only for them to turn around and declare I am not what they're looking for.it's dangerous how proficient I've gotten at deploying parachutes during trust falls, at spotting plot holes in confessions and pot holes in promises, surprised only if they remain unbroken I can't!can't keep putting my love up for adoption, can't keep fostering it in seemingly loving homes, only for it to keep being returned to me, each time a little more traumatized, each time a little more broken, So..before we waste my time,before we paint memories in vibrant sounds and over saturated colors, that I'll only recall In greys as fantasy, before we make me believe that I jumped of the edge alone, unprompted, with delusion as my safety instructor and your words in my ears and hand in mine, make belief before we gaslight me into believing that your actions didn't drive me to conclusions of claim, of more, knowing full well that 93% of all communication is nonverbal..before we subject me to all that,and I'm forced to look with eyes puffy and incapable of seeing myself attached to worth, Forced to look with those eyes for all the parts of me that make me defective and unworthy of love with weight, with claim, Again! what are we? what is this? Because it feels kinda shaky. More from Laker Patience ↓@laker.p_poet on InstagramHer poetry anthology, Echoes of Colour, will be out soonMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

i don't remember being small Momena Khan i was sitting beside her, my not-sister. we were eating oranges and she was laughing with her whole mouth open like joy had never betrayed her. i held my fruit too carefully, too clean, trying not to let the juice run down my wrists.she said, you never eat like you're hungry. i said, i don’t think i am.i don’t remember being small. there are photos of me, hair sticking out in all directions, one sock off, holding a stick like it was a sword. i must have been wild, once. i must have screamed and reached for things. but the memory of that version of me has been folded up so many times, the edges have worn off. i only know her through photographs.i used to think gentleness was my personality. it took me ten years to realize it was fear.when i was twelve i stopped raising my voice. stopped correcting people when they said my name wrong. i learned the art of shrinking, i mistook stillness for safety. but safety is not always safe. sometimes it is just hiding in better lighting.she said, you can take the last orange. i said, you can have it. i always say that. i always let them have it. but i wanted it too. i did.i think i’m just waiting for someone to notice.i think i’m just waiting for someone to say, take it.i think i’m just waiting to be small again.More from Momena Khan ↓@still.in.my.d4afts_ on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Oct 20 - Places Passing By by Paige Keller @pk_fictions on Instagram. Her book, Now Everything Changes, is available now from her website: pkfictions.com.Oct 21 - Keeping It This Way by Swan Melloh @three.letters.poetry on Instagram. Her poem, This is my insides, is published in the Spring/Summer 2025 issue of Kailon Magazine.Oct 22 - "If love were a predator," by McKenzie Hager @lavendermorbs on Instagram. Her book, Ink, Grace, and F-Bombs, is out now. Listen to me read another poem by McKenzie on Instagram @rembrandts.cure.Oct 23 - Seventh Wonder by Jesujoba Isaac @jobathepoete on Instagram where he merges poetry and fashion.Oct 24 - Bills for Bills of Bills for Bills by Charlotte Stuart @charli_is_not_simba on Instagram.Oct 25 - Garden of Eden by Yonsiri Rojas @lvrimar on Instagram.Oct 26What 42 years of life have taught meIt’s dangerous to be afraid all the time.Afraid to loveAfraid to loseAfraid of yourself Afraid of your deepest, darkest thoughtsAfraid to know, really know those around youAfraid the rugs gonna be pulled outJust as soon as something good happens Afraid to think those thoughts Afraid of too much joy Or too littleAfraid things will never be this good againAfraid of change—That unrelenting path forward The march to an inevitable endAfraid of deathAfraid of lifeAfraid of what other people think of you, say about you behind your backAll these fears are dangerous because they are untrueThere is nothing we can control with worryOr knowledge Or prayersWe can control our fearWe can choose to no longer be afraid By choosing to wake up every day in the wild, wild world,Claiming our life as our ownEven as fear simmers around us.-Maggie DeversMore from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Garden of Eden Yonsiri Rojas lulling sunbeam through the boughssoothing ballad of a plum-haired dollhazy notes of pure joyher naked feet wet in fresh springicy water against bare sweet skina dim lonely shadow dancing to the sungauzy white dress softer thandandelions blown to an open skyotherworldly feeling of redemptiona honeyed fragrant apricot in milky palms;juicy flesh that gently stains her wristsconsume its almond-like pit, enjoy and dieMore from Yonsiri Rojas ↓@lvrimar on Instagram and SubstackMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Bills for Bills of Bills for Bills Charlotte Stuart They hand me bills for bills of bills for bills,Stacked like bricks in window sills.                                                                    Pay what you owe, then pay what comes.A tangled song the system hums:A doctor’s bill, a phone bill too,A bill to tell me rent is due.A bill for water, light, and gas;A bill to fix my metro pass.I pay a bill to check my bills,Then pay again for late fee thrills.They charge me more for paying late;A bill for daring to hesitate.It’s bills for bills of bills for bills,A dance of digits, endless hills.Money earned is money gone,Before I’ve even stretched or yawned.A meal? A book? A dream to chase?Not now! Another bill takes place.It’s bills for debt and debt for bills,A quiet war without the kills.And still I smile, still I sign,Still I queue up in the line.Because the world spins, groans, and drills,On bills for bills of bills for bills.More from Charlotte Stuart ↓@charli_is_not_simba on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Seventh Wonder Joba the Poète Seven wonders of the worldyet I trip like the leaning tower of Pisawhen you sing out my namewith a nine minus two, or rather still,six plus one,the seventh scale of the seventh chordyou love the most.What a time to feel this way,even such is time—and perchance God did not rest onthe seventh day,perhaps He spent seven more hoursperfecting your seventieth curve.But I do not know this story of creationso well as to whether they were seven daysor they were seven years,because a woman as you couldn't have been madein seven rushing minutes, out from seven mortal ribs.But my darling, I do know what I'll do for you:I'll cross seven seas,witness the fall of seven suns,I'll sing you seven songsin seven different languages,seven-seven, double sevensin sevenfolds, seven seventeens,count my lives, I've got seven of theseand in each of them I'll choose you,seven times.I'll love you like we're in the seventies,nineteen seventy-one,seventy-one times seven million ways,seven discos, seven Star Wars, seven happy days,you're my seventh of perfections,my seven muses on seven rainy days,you are, my love, the seventh wonderof this wonderful world.More from Joba the Poète ↓@jobathepoete on Instagram where he merges poetry and fashionMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

If love were a predator,I’d let it hunt me down.While it prowled,I’d shuffle the leavesjust enough to be heard.I’d welcome the weightof its body against mine.And when it struck,I’d go down smiling—Let it take me.Let it tear me open.Let me blissfully bleed my life awayas its mouth claimed the tender fleshof my thigha mark not of death,but devotion.Because life without loveis just survivalanyway.-M.L.More from McKenzie Hager ↓@lavendermorbs on InstagramHer book, Ink, Grace, and F-Bombs, is out now.Listen to me read another poem by McKenzie on Instagram @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Keeping It This Way Swan Melloh I am not your propertyI rather tell myself than youwho wears oblivion for shoes,walks without a knowing heart.I suppose it´s easierto leave you there without a clue,words unspoken in their truth,better gone, and far apart.Don´t you ever stop to wonderwho´s the mistress of this distance?Call me goddess of this state,yet, would you ever know?We should be the ending,not like my ancient persistence,not of love, not out of hate,not fading to ever grow.This much I can answer you:Intimacy won´t reappear.Has it ever been of presencewhile you broke my core?Eyes will slip some knowledge,fingertips soft, now free of fear,claiming just my roaring essencewhile denial rules no more.More from Swan Melloh ↓@three.letters.poetry on Instagram and SubstackHer poem, This is my insides, is published in the Spring/Summer 2025 issue of Kailon MagazineMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Places Passing By Paige Keller Sitting on a patio sipping tea under the sun, writing notes intomy phone through the breeze. Imagining different days and newways to live - a place where I am me, whomever she is. Some place where you walk by and we are reintroduced for thevery first time. Your eyes and mine. Our minds far away andfamiliar - different now but two souls the same.A breath of nostalgia and suddenly there’s a smell that I canalmost pinpoint but can never place. I imagine an embrace and a deep inhale of your essence but say hey - I stay seated. I’m not quite sure if you’re thinking the same or counting theseconds till you can turn and walk off - to the better placesyou’ve found while I was drifting                                       so                                                far                                                        away.More from Paige Keller ↓@pk_fictions on InstagramHer book, Now Everything Changes, is available now from her website: pkfictions.comMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Oct 13 - House of Childhood by Nataša Benedičič @natasek_poetry_corner on Instagram. Childhood Reveries is her Substack. Her book, Whispers of the Inner Child, is out now.Oct 14 - "Where will we get" by Sophia Nerenberg @sophia_the_writer10 on InstagramOct 15 - "I want to escape this world." by Lipy Goyal @thediaryofscript on Instagram. You can listen to me read another poem by Lipy on Instagram @rembrandts.cureOct 16 - Love Letter to the Lesion in My Brain by Erin Zarro @erinzpoetry on Instagram. Her two chapbooks, Life as a Moving Target, and Without Wings, are available now.Oct 17 - Tell Me by Evita Arakelian @dipped_in_words on Instagram. She teaches poetry to all ages with tailor-made syllabi, individual and group instruction; independently as well as on platforms like SuperProf. You can find the latest information on her Linktree.Oct 18 - "I dream of a happy ending." by Alena Peacock @n0t.a.poet on Instagram.Oct 19 - Cast Off Maggie DeversThe elephant seal sheds all the skin from her body once a year.Catastrophic molt they call it.This is necessary because when she stops breathing for two hoursCollapsing her lungsDiving deep, sometimes a mileTo feast on bioluminescent creatures in the ocean's depths,She pulls blood from her skin to her organs.She must keep her heart warm if she's to have any chance to survive.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

I dream of a happy ending.Perfect and unyielding.A quiet love, so loud, its deafening.Where I would not ever have to question their affection.I'd be so sure of this love, anxiety would dissipate.One filled with faultless words of promise, burning with hope.A brilliant, irreplaceable light, matching mine.An almost planned, adventurous future,that I could see in their eyes.Eventually,this ending will find me. - Alena Peacock More from Alena Peacock ↓@n0t.a.poet on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Tell Me Evita Arakelian Tell me of a flavour I have forgotten,of a song I may have heard a stranger hum to her child in some store, some day.Tell me a story I know but end it differently or stopright in the middle and say: ‘morefor later.’ Tell me about the bakerythat will open near our home, on the eighthstreet. Remind me of what it was you said when I left my seat to have a cry in the theatre powder-room—(I didn’t want Little Nell to die). Tell meof all the silly things I do sometimes.Tell me a truth that tastes like chocolate,a lie I can save for April Fool's day.Tell me anything before sunrise.More from Evita Arakelian ↓@dipped_in_words on InstagramShe teaches poetry to all ages with tailor-made syllabi, individual and group instruction; independently as well as on platforms like SuperProf. You can find the latest information on her LinktreeMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Love Letter to the Lesion in My Brain Erin Zarro TW: explicit language, illness, mentions of deathHere’s a secret. This thing in my brain – this mass of cells and tissue — it’s not my friend – is it going to grow? Is it going to kill me? Because I’ll tell you now: The Grim Reaper will have to drag me, screaming the whole way, from my life. Because it is mine and I’m not fucking ready. Not. Fucking. Ready. I haven’t turned fifty yet, damn it. That’s too young to…yeah. Too fucking young. I never believed a small clump of cells in my white matter would take me out. I always said I’d go out in a blaze of fire. And at the age of ninety, right? But this little clump of cells might suck the life out of me, keep me from collecting those beautiful moments of joy, the things that make life worth the infinite breaths every single day. The highs. The lows. The human experience. All of it, human shaped and filled with blood and held together with bone. But that blood… That’s a reminder that I’m here, I’m still breathing, something’s moving through my veins and arteries and I am not. I’m not. Grim Reaper’s gotta wait. I can see him, scythe upraised, ready to yank my soul out. I’m not ready. I’m too young. I’m healthy. I refuse to go. I will scream for an eternity before I allow him to put one skeletal finger on me. Oh, did my rage reach you, sir, at the wrong time? I think you got the wrong chick. Check your records and fucking call back. Or, better yet, don’t. Cause I ain’t answerin.’ This phone line is no longer in service. I’ll tell you another secret: I have a lesion in my brain. It might be cancer. But fucking hell, I’m not letting it take me. I’m too young to go. Too young to go. Too young to go. More from Erin Zarro ↓@erinzpoetry on InstagramHer two chapbooks, Life as a Moving Target, and Without Wings, are available now.Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

I want to escape this world.And sit with somebody in a quiet place.Looking at the stars, imagine a new world.Drinking silence in a cup of coffeeThe chaos-free, serene spaceA cessation in this running worldWalking on green grass barefootRunning wildly in green, loose spaceExploring myself in the woodsReading books in a tree houseLit up the world with tiny stars of night.O What a majestic view of dancing lights!Watching the dreamy aurora borealisThe magical moon nights, different canvasses of sunsets in the sky, and the cheerful sunriseFlow of air through hairRustling of bushes, crushing of dried leavesThe perfume of petrichor, silence before stormChirping of forbidden sparrows, cucks of Koel The exploration of vast universes within each otherAlthough I'm chaotic, I want to escape the worldly chaosI want to escape this world. - Lipy GoyalMore from Lipy Goyal ↓@thediaryofscript on InstagramYou can listen to me read another poem by Lipy on Instagram @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Where will we getWith the attack? Will the caged bird Finally bend the metal? Or should it learn to pick the lock? Where will we get With the oppression?Will the Princess Be forced to use her hair? Or be allowed to put on pants And climb her way down?Where will we get With the ego?Will the lion pounce at every chanceAnd fail? Or choose wisely, Waiting for the pride?Where will we getWith the hate? Will the fire burn And become all consuming?Or simmer only enough to warm our hands? To cook a meal we can share? Where will we get If we go on like this? Where will we get If we don’t stop and think? Where will we get If we don’t take a look around? Where will we get? Where will we get? - Sophia NerenbergMore from Sophia Nerenberg ↓@sophia_the_writer10 on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

House of Childhood Nataša Benedičič I would rest in a secret gardenWatering my unsaid thoughtsFor they had no other placeSince they were “too much”Waiting for life to unfoldLike a flower before meWith unplanned moments Yearning to arrive where I belong Little knowing that some people Search for their purpose all their livesConstantly feeling they bloom in the wrong placesLoving things that never love them backGrowing pains were a certainty.That I was becoming an adultYet a part of me wanted to hang onTo the zest for life, a two-year-old holds Childhood is like building a house.You will live in it for the rest of your lifeUnaware of how it will feel inside its wallsFor construction felt so out of your control I didn't want to be judged by my outsideBut I rarely pulled up the blinds, always careful How much you could see from my windowsYet yearning for guests to come insideI have learnt that not everything builtWas put in the best place for meSo I've crashed my windowsAnd broken down my wallsI have learnt that nobody can teach youHow your rooms and furniture should look likeYour inner kingdom is yours to mendThe only lesson being that it is possible I have learnt the only constant guest here is meAnd this should be a safe and secure placeTo hold in peace all I've been and all that I'm becoming Only after, others will feel welcomed too More from Nataša Benedičič ↓@natasek_poetry_corner on InstagramChildhood Reveries is her SubstackHer book, Whispers of the Inner Child, is out nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Oct 6 - Remember by Olivia Woods @owibia_writes on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube. She is currently writing the first draft of her novel, What Remains Of Us.Oct 7 - "Nobody is coming to save you" by Georgia Groza @catastrophic_yearning on InstagramOct 8 - "Gone are the days" by Rusha Chatterjee @blooming_ru on Instagram. You can listen to me read Rusha’ poem Hope Is over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure.Oct 9 - Another Day in May by Anthony Robinson @shedsofthenorthwest on Instagram. His books, Failures of the Poets, and Broke Republic, are out now.Oct 10 - "If a tree falls" by Amelia Dunn @amelia.evie_poetry on Instagram and TikTokOct 11 - Twenty-First. Night. Monday by Anna AkhmatovaOct 12 - Seek TruthMaggie DeversI can see the waning moon from my windowAnd shake off more of what I do not wantFor life is not suffering And we can all taste sweetness.Time now to stop trivializing the fundamental Seek truth insteadKnow yours and hold it safeIt will be all that’s leftIf the dust ever truly settles.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Twenty-First. Night. Monday Anna Akhmatova Twenty-first. Night. Monday.Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.Some good-for-nothing–who knows why–made up the tale that love exists on earth.People believe it, maybe from lazinessor boredom, and live accordingly:they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,and when they sing, they sing about love.But the secret reveals itself to some,and on them silence settles down...I found this out by accidentand now it seems I'm sick all the time.Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

"If a tree falls" Amelia Dunn If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to notice does it make a sound?Does its impact even hit the ground? Will the wind still whistle Or will silence echo in the burrows of what once was what once was must be forgotfor leaves will fall again next autumn and shoots will spawn in the spring does sadness fill you as you stare at an empty home or do you dance with excitement at the new creations that bloom within you knock down this wall and we’ll have a dream home But someone else’s once was must now be forgot what once was must be forgotfor leaves will fall again next autumn and shoots will spawn in the spring do you ever want to pick all the flowers to take home their beauty but then remember on the walk back you’ve killed what once was and stripped them from their home just to fill the empty burrows of your own does your own happiness outweigh the presence of othersare you superior do you gather flowers for the home you built on someone else’s refuge and frolic amongst empty crevices unscathed does your god complex out rule you from the damages you create as you turn your back and wave your silence speaks of a thousand names Your presence is impactful but there’s is still blamed Someone running in the woods WILL trip and fall over the cavity of a being that once stood tall someone’s life WILL be destroyed as you strip back the walls that barely resemble the home they once knew someone WILL notice their garden is now bare of the beauty that once bloomed it’s okay what once was must be forgotfor leaves will fall again next autumn and shoots will spawn in the spring but shoots can’t spawn if the saplings never scattered amongst the ground of their mother leaves can’t fall if the trunk that holds strong was taken by another the wind’s whistle won’t be heard if an army of alarms consumes and smothers a nation is silencedbecause if a tree falls down in the forest and no one was around to listen did it really make a sound silence speaks a thousand wordsbut the thunder that rolls in its hollows shudders even louderthe screams of a mother losing her child echoes for an eternity the sound of death knell echo as warning from once sturdy infrastructure the rumble of machinery shatters the glass of what once was Silence is impactful Until it is enforced perception is a construct and construction is a cage society collapses and a country disassembles againMore from Amelia Dunn ↓@amelia.evie_poetry on Instagram and TikTokMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Another Day in MayAnthony Robinson Now more coffee and Brian Wilson And skittering creatures. I've eatenTacos for three days straight and DadIs still on oxygen. To feel intense griefNot right now is also to feel guiltyConcerning elements and microbesWhat makes a man sick is alsoWhat kills him, what kills a manIs also what sustains him. Here, loveIs a concept. Mercy is an actOf unshabby imagination. MotherPuts out food for the goldfinches,A famous athlete debases himselfTo the applause of at least dozens.I've been meaning to talk to you aboutThe shade-tree and all the shade-treePeople who are as exactly as lazy as IAnd exactly as beaten down. SurveyorsAre ranging out back, putting postsIn things. All winter we waitedFor the sun and now he's here but willHe make it through another year? More from Anthony Robinson ↓@shedsofthenorthwest on InstagramHis books, Failures of the Poets, and Broke Republic, are out now.Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

"Gone are the days" Rusha Chatterjee Gone are the dayswhen my house felt like home,now the rooms filled with thousandmemories feels like a cage,suffocating and cold,laughs from my childhood echoes throughout the space maybe to light a little spark of hopeless hope.The mint colour wallsare now pale and grim, the lack of warmth issurely from within,the rose wood furniture was a beauty to behold, now with layers of dustis an absolute eyesore.The kitchen which always smelled like heaven, now occasionally whiffs of burntprepackaged Ramen,the porch with the view ofblooming flowers and neatly cut grass,is now laced with outgrown weedsso distasteful even the trespassers ignore a glance.There was a timeI always prayed to be alone, to be free,now why theempty house seems like a nightmare one would never wish to see?More from Rusha Chatterjee ↓@blooming_ru on InstagramYou can listen to me read Rusha’ poem Hope Is over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

"Nobody is coming to save you" Georgia Groza Nobody is coming to save you Stitch it back up, learn to live with it. The world doesn’t begin and end at the kitchen tablemore than likely everything is preceded by a bed.It ends with or without a death gripWith or without the altar and the hummingWith or without divine intervention or a prayer or a poemDon’t correct me if I’ve told this story before.It is not misanthropic ramblingIt is not an excuse to pathologize you it is the unblinking chasm in my chest, it is the ugly thrashing before the repose, it is the stain before the bleach. You conducted every conversation with the sway and tide of your wet sadness, the rush to overturn the words you couldn’t say so I couldn’t either, even if I was just trying to tell you the memories I was built from.You only permitted yourself to know me when the story couldn’t hurt you.My bedside table growing things, Your clothes on the floor, this was a body, filling the room, kneeling. I tried to cauterise it, I did, but I couldn’t find my way back to you in all that muck, it was just one of those things we couldn’t talk about.When I was 16 and lawless and bitter I learned how to tie a tourniquet. I packed my clothes and did it all by myself, all spit and gnashing teeth. The house was burning so I signed a new lease.The insurmountable grief hits me in adulthood.If I had time to let it calcify, if I crawled my way back home,How come nobody else can?How am I the only person alive to reach the summit?To tumble down with the faultless epiphanyI am not the blueprint, I’m just the only one who got back up.Knowing the way out didn’t make the journey mine to justify.I just didn’t turn back around. I took Eurydice with me.I kept an even pace.I cannot be the only one who came to this conclusion.There is no such thing as thriving.You suck the poison out or let it kill you. You are here, now. You didn’t choose it, you just have to live with it. Tie a ribbon around the rotten tooth and slam the door. More from Georgia Groza ↓@catastrophic_yearning on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Remember Olivia Woods Your apples were as savory as sunlight I can’t remember the last time they seemed so sweetThe last time they were as red as rosesThe last time they smelt so greatI fear there is nothing left here anymoreI can't remember how long I've been hereOr when the maggots cameI can’t remember when the taste had changedFrom sweet to sourWhen the rose color began to rot When these sores appearedI fear there is nothing left of me hereOnly the husk of my bodyThe salt from my tearsAnd the maggots I've eaten Trying to remember the taste More from Olivia Woods ↓@owibia_writes on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTubeShe is currently writing the first draft of her novel, What Remains Of Us.Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Sep 29 - Lebensabschnittspartner by Sarthak Mukherji @sarthaksays on Instagram and TikTok.Sep 30 - Taemong by Kimberly McAfee @writerpoetkim on Instagram. The Savior/Shadow Principle: A Self-Help Technique and Philosophy Using Archetypes is out now along with, The Savior and the Shadow Queen: A Fantastical Tale Told Through Sequential Poems, the poetry collection and companion work to The Savior/Shadow Principle. This poem is published in her chapbook, AmerAsian: My Journey to Becoming Whole as a Mixed Korean-American.Oct 1 - Grapes by Frankie Reed @frankensteins.curios on Instagram. She is co-curator of Flesh and Parchment, a Liverpool based zine and live poetry event celebrating queer and neurodivergent creativity.Oct 2 - Silver Filigree by Travers Charron @traverscharron on Substack. His tanka and haiku collection, Glass Shadows, is available now. Oct 3 - i am not a poet by Kole Kealey @kolekealeypoetry on Instagram. Her book Sunflowers Sting: Where Poetry Meets Boudoir will be out soon.Oct 4 - Bloodfruit by Abby Zhang @abbyz.320 on Instagram. She is the Cofounder and Editor in Chief of The Sixth House a youth-led lit magazine, based in Montréal.Oct 5 - Kick ItMaggie DeversI’m giving up smokingEven though I’ve yet to startNicotine makes me queasy But I wanted an impossible goal all the sameSo I’ve flushed my non-existent cigarettes And slapped an imaginary patch on my armTo face each day bravely without somethingI’ve yet to grow accustomedIn the quest for a lie to be smug about,A make-believe deprivationTo tide me overUntil that next craving hits.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Bloodfruit Abby Zhang Say it, like you used to peel blood oranges with your teeth, Ma.The flesh splits soft and shivering under the pressure,its rind stuck under your fingernails. Juice spilling—licking your lips with the same golden, bitter heat.Let the pith cling to your hands, burrow there like spoiled lace in the creases of your knuckles, a ghost of a daughter you couldn’t bear to name.Say it like an apology that came a heartbeat too late, sinking into mildew buried beneath nailbeds, sour and white.Too deep to name. Too guilty to believe.You can’t call it loveif the flower doesn’t survive the soil and dies trying—You leave your shadow in the freezer beside the frostbitten peas,between the birthday cake we never finishedand that bag of lentils you said you'd cook someday.Your laugh long forgotten in the laundry with the whites,now pink and fraying open at the edges.I preserved your almost in girlhood, placed it beside the sunflower headI dried and nailed to the wall as a lesson in achein symmetry in what bends too far trying to face the sun. The ache is old enough to leave home but it lingers—In the smell of citrus and ammonia,in the violence in wanting something at the exact moment it curdles. The way rot hides sweet and ruin arrives tender.The citrus flesh, bruised, half-fermented, half-forgiven,slips in your palm, limp and leakingthrough the fault lines as if even the fruit knew I wasmouth you left empty in late-night arguments,over half-cold half-servings of tear-salted rice. Say, Ma, you didn’t mean to ruin me.Just once. Say it even if it’s a lie—I’ll take the lie. I’ll eat it whole.I’ve survived on less.I’ll take the ghost back into my chestand fold up her silences, moon-heavy.Wrap her in the napkin you forgot to placeat my side of the table.More from Abby Zhang ↓@abbyz.320 on InstagramShe is the Cofounder and Editor in Chief of The Sixth House a youth-led lit magazine, based in Montréal.Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Silver Filigree Travers Charron Before the day unbuttons its sky,while morning’s breath still clings to the grass, I find it—a single web,threaded between two branches, a silver filigreetrembling in dew.Each strand,so thin I dare not blink, holdsthe soft breath of the waking earth.No grand cathedral could matchthis tender architecture—woven by instinct,lit by grace,enduring the weight of a single drop without breaking.I stop,breath caught, knowing I am the first to come this way.The trail is laced shut,a gate spun in secret hours.I hesitate,a clumsy giant before a sacred thing.For a moment,I stand—small, unworthy—aching to preserve what I must undo.“I’m sorry,”I whisper,before the spell is torn.Behind me,the broken strands sway,gathering dew like tears,and the mute earth folds over the wound.The web is gone,but the reverence remains—clinging to my skinlike mist,like memory More from Travers Charron ↓@traverscharron on SubstackHis tanka and haiku collection, Glass Shadows, is available now. Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

i am not a poet Kole Kealey i touched rock bottom before i ever touched apen, so do not call me a poetcall me your mother tongue,burning the back of your throat making yourblood boil, a taste you can’t quite name butrhymes with copper and death, with misery anddespair, the taste of childhood meant forsomeone else, one you didn’t experience butthrough the rose-colored lenses of your brokenheart tethered to a string being dragged throughbusted up concrete, through fragments of brokenglass and shattered dreamscall me salvationon a Sunday morning when your words nolonger have meaning and your bones ache withdesire for the mundane, when your blood runsblue with the lack of oxygen left pumpingthrough your body, when your tears run dry andyour legs stop moving forward, face down in thedirt you dug up for your gravecall me down on your kneesbegging for mercy from your god while shelaughs in your face saying “i told you so,” saying,“fix your own damn mess because i gave you thechallenge but i did not tell you to fight,” saying,“fuck you and your salvation, you deservenothing but rock bottom, babe, fight and clawyour way back,” saying, “blood, sweat, and tearsmean nothing if you aren’t on bloody mud-soaked knees begging for my mercy”call me the truththat runs down your thighs when your razorscars bust open with hatred and the desire tomeet Daughter Death, the knife blade stuck inyour ribs, the broken handles of lust and love ofAphrodite’s weapon, rising from the ashes ofLilith, from the darkness of Persephone, and theblood stains on your white satin sheetscall me shameon the bathroom floor of a bar leaning over atoilet because you thought that sixth drink wasenough to lessen the pain of not having enoughwords to describe the heartache you feel in yourbones, no matter how hard you try to put aname to itcall me resurrectionon a Monday morning when you find the wordsto give that voice in your head a goddamnedname different from the demons in your soul,different from shame, disgust, anger, or fear,different from the names you hear in the mirror,different from the horror you see in thereflection on your mother’s facecall me your mother tongue, salvation, truth, orshame, call me mercy or even resurrection if youmust, but do not call me a poet. i am simply thepain you brought to life with your still-beatingheart More from Kole Kealey ↓@kolekealeypoetry on InstagramHer book Sunflowers Sting: Where Poetry Meets Boudoir will be out soon.Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Grapes Frankie Reed we hung together —tight, green,not yet sweet.small things,skin against skin,no space for air.you leanedinto every breeze.I held still.neither of us saidwhat we knewabout weight.we ripened unevenly.you softened.I didn’t.the stalk grew thinbetween us.not broken —just tired.when I fell,there was no sound.just grass.just air.just me,not where you were.you stayed.you always would have.still facing the lightlike it was enough.if I’d stayed too,maybe we’d have gonequietly —turned dark,sank sweetinto ourselves.but I tasted the sourbefore it came.and leftbefore you noticed. More from Frankie Reed ↓@frankensteins.curios on InstagramShe is co-curator of Flesh and Parchment, a Liverpool based zine and live poetry event celebrating queer and neurodivergent creativity.You can listen to me read another poem, titled Skin, by Frankie over on Instagram @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Taemong Kimberly McAfee After Li-Young Lee*My mother had a dream of me,when she and I were one.She dreamed of a snakecoiled on her belly.It was her taemong, her conception dream, of me.How Adam and Eve were so deceived!A wily snake, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.Introducing suffering on this earth.A snake condemned to writhe about the world on its belly.I was strange when I was young;a half-Korean girl in a place with no other Asians or mixed people.How the other children were so deceived!I was no gorgon!I was a human child — just like them.I once had a dream,where I warred against an amphisbaena.One of its heads was bigger than the other,and I managed to avoid the larger head’s bites, and crushed it with a rake into the earth.The victory was short-lived,as the smaller head bit me with vengeance.I then killed the monster,but was horribly injured in the process.The great Cleopatra, ruler of Egypt,left this world with the bite of an asp.After I awoke from that strange dream,successes and failures came,the pains brought by the striking bites of life.I became a new creature,my skin shed to reveal my nature within:I am a Poet.I writhe about on my belly,hunting for experiences,hunting for words, to birth creations.Satiating the hunger within.My dream.Could this be what the taemong foretold?*Inspired in part by Li-Young Lee’s poem titled, Water. It is part of his debut poetry collection, The Rose.More from Kimberly McAfee ↓@writerpoetkim on InstagramThe Savior/Shadow Principle: A Self-Help Technique and Philosophy Using Archetypes is out nowalong with, The Savior and the Shadow Queen: A Fantastical Tale Told Through Sequential Poems, the poetry collection and companion work to The Savior/Shadow PrincipleThis poem is published in her chapbook, AmerAsian: My Journey to Becoming Whole as a Mixed Korean-AmericanMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Lebensabschnittspartner Sarthak Mukherji Lebensabschnittspartner.Life - section - partner.A gorgeous German distillationof something about as mystifyingas splitting an atom and the violence that follows, the wondrous shine.Have you ever sat with your hand on your sidecovering a pain you can't quite understandbut as soon as you are diagnoseda relief washes over you as this phantom is lassoed by a definition.Here is Lebensabschnittspartner for your wound.They were your whole heart, your soul matebut only till the expiration date.They were before the March and April of you.The right person for the time, the better loved and lost rather than never loved at all.Exactly who you needed to push youand pull you, kicking and screaming, into exactly who you needed to be now.Your Lebensabschnittspartner.Come lie in me, they said.I shall be the snow to soothe youbefore the spring of you rolls forward.I will be gone but I shall water the earth you will bud from, whether I want to or not.I was the object of your ire,thank me for the scars you acquired.For the way I burned you so utterly.For lessons you learned not later but early.I brought you to the brink of the wire,gave you the sating drink you desiredbut oh, did I make your poor heart stir,call me your Lebensabschnittspartner.You breathed them for days, months, years.They sat in your lungs, ran the circuit of your body from legs to ears,lapped it with their tonguebut now they’re just somebodyand you're not as young.You look at the clock of your life,the way it ticks forward.You can't deny the gears behind the face of it,every misshapen one.The way they clambered into place,day after foreign day,amongst the mechanism of your being.Just another cogbut a whole new chain completed.Is there anything as subtleyet obvious as growth?But you were there once, together.Not three gears apartbut arm to goose pimpled armin a garden staring up at borrowed starlight.Behind a house you both loved, sometimes lamented,for its warm corners and mouldy windows.For the space it gave you,the way it filled that space with bills.You eventually left home behind for work,or after you broke something soft between those wallsand ran from the wreckage,too much to clean.You left because calling a house your homedoes not qualify as rentand all the real money was spent.Take pictures in all the rooms you forgot to in the midst of contentment,in the midst of surviving.Every room a living room, well lived rooms.Your Lebensabschnittshaus.The beloved chaos that is your dogjoined you on the deck, nuzzled your neckjust after lifting a leg by your one surviving plant.They do not gaze at the light in the skyjust at you, as if you gave a tender glow.Your dog taught you patience, that after a day of reigning in and nippingyou will still abstain from moving just to avoid losing the pressure ofsomething using you as a bed.You are restfor a few more years, for the rest of theirs.Their mild weight stays in your laplong after. The one command they knew well,stay.Your Lebensabschnittshundpissing on your Lebensabschnittspflanze.In that moment, surrounded by the currentness of your life,an Abschnitt of your life,do not worry about the next.Accumulate with borrowed starlight.Fight that moment,embrace it,weep for its passing,for what it brought you and chiseled away.You have no idea how long it will last,how it made you, you. More from Sarthak Mukherji ↓@sarthaksays on Instagram and TikTokMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Sep 22 - "a walk from my Eve to my Lilith" by Eva Garg @thelifedraft on Instagram.Sep 23 - Nikomis by Shelby Larkin @calamityverses on Instagram.Sep 24 - Ash and Gardens by Jessica Sorya @jessicalynnvision on Instagram. Her book, Pinch, Breathe, Burn, is out soon.Sep 25 - Clouds Have Always Been Women by Nanki Kandhari @therhymemuse_nanki on Instagram. Her book, The Girl Who Spoke In Starlight, is available now.Sep 26 - Winds of reverie by Philippa Drake @drakephilippa on Instagram. Her book, Mystic Meanderings, is out now.Sep 27 - Cliff by Ofelia ferch Rhos @ferch_writes on Instagram.Sep 28 - Born ArtistMaggie DeversShe created her own works for an exhibition tonight Unaware of traditional artistic practicesOnly sweet, innocent bliss of the raw and ragged. She had cut up her stuffie and used the skin fabricTo fashion a heart emblazoned with maker, tape and assorted gems—If Tracey Emin were six and slightly more destructive.Another was on paperAnd the third a juxtaposition of disparate mediaAll with the unifying theme:Portrait of a Girl with a Dog.Later they curl up on my bellyAs I recline watching videos ofThe Artist at Two—Smashing all the colors of play-dough together,Her stuffed dog tucked under her armAt ease in creation, another day to play.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Cliff Ofelia ferch Rhos Salt spattered on chalk carves out the rough-hewn shape of thought:the cliff is a canvas where they escape me, and become mammoths on sandstone, scattered by stick-figured spears.Magpies perch listless as dew and wing their words over the sea.The water ripples their birdsong agon.Clouds crowd in anticipation-I am the heavens surrogate on earththey would rapture me, and leavethe cliff empty as a forgotten age.The stones know no different.I am their occupying army. I kick the stones,kick the moss,kick the cliff looseso that landslipped rocks chase down the incline.The waves retreat-capricious tide.Arrogant as weeds.Pretentious petrichor.Dappled sun on dimpled seareaches over the horizonlike the old joke. More from Ofelia ferch Rhos ↓@ferch_writes on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Winds of reverie Philippa Drake A lord soarsinto the azure expanseforsaking blood bondschasing the winds of libertyto repose in distant islandswhere no man yet resides.Friends of wondrous creatureshe dreams in covesand tunneled cavesat one with moonlightand dimensions of mystery.There he waitsfor time to spiralfaster and fasterinto a relentless vortexthat transports himto a sparkling agewhere he meetsanother lifeanother love. More from Philippa Drake ↓@drakephilippa on InstagramHer book, Mystic Meanderings, is out nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Clouds Have Always Been Women Nanki Kandhari Clouds have always been women—braided in softness,swollen with storiesthey were never allowed to pour.They gather, quietly,between gossiping winds and forgotten rooftops,holding storms in their bellyso that the harvest may thrive.They do not arrive with announcements—only anklets of thunder,skirts stitched with rain,and a scent like old lullabies soaked in soil.You call them moody.I call them magnificent.They grey with waiting,then split open—gracefully—so you may breathe.They are motherswho refill rivers,loverswho never overstay,daughterswho drift too soon.They are blamed for floods,for spoiling weddings,for blocking light.No one thanks them for the shade.Clouds have always been women—asked to give,expected to vanish,judged for the weight they carry.But when they do decide to stay—when they rain with rage instead of permission,they drown cities,rewrite skylines,and still—still—are called over-emotional. More from Nanki Kandhari ↓@therhymemuse_nanki on InstagramHer book, The Girl Who Spoke In Starlight, is available nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Ash and Gardens Jessica Sorya She asks me, “What did I want at nineteenthat I have now?”I answer, “Nothing. Everything I wanted is gone.”Every man I pedestaled, fell.toppled over, head heavy.Bless ‘em.Cowards.I’ve always been surrounded by womenscurrying,cleaning dirt from their nails,scrubbing blood from tile,handling shitwhen shit needed handling.They stitched silence into their spines,only let loosewhen the liquor was heavy.You should have seen them,the men, watchingas they carried entire familieswithout flinching.They’d bend,but would not break,even when the weightwasn’t theirs to carry.And me?I studied.Took notes.Learned to smile through clenched jaw,mastered lovewithout needing return.I’m no longer building altars for ghosts,fighting battleswhile worshipping control.Quieting my voiceto keep another’s strong.I’m no longer burning myselfto keep their ego warm.Let them fall.I come from women who rise,carrying handfuls of ash,sifted through calloused fingersand still.Even still.After everything has gone,We plant gardensand sow songsMore from Jessica Sorya ↓@jessicalynnvision on InstagramHer book, Pinch, Breathe, Burn, is out soonYou can listen to me read another poem by Jessica over on Instagram @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Nikomis Shelby Larkin Your smile sung out to sunshine& carried it across ages& every sunny day has a piece of you in itI think of you when a butterfly lands gently on a Black Eyed Susan Or a humming bird shimmers through the airI think of you when a warm breeze touches the tree tops & they dance, glittering like emeraldsI think of you when childhood ease whispers gently against my soul I think of giggling through trails in the forest& you showing me the magic that’s always thereI think of dancing naked in the sunshine because no one was there to see & the freedom you placed right in the heart of meI think of you when the powwow drums beats& my heart cries out to danceYou gave me those things before you left& I’ll always think of that More from Shelby Larkin ↓@calamityverses on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

a walk from my Eve to my Lilitha swim within my own soulOne was made from your rib,the other, from the same soil as you.One sacrificed herself for your love,the other loved herselfUntil there was nothing left to hate.One poured herself into empty vesselsuntil they overflowed.The other filled her cup first,Before she emptied yoursOne accepted the truth she was given,the other bent reality to fit her fire.To one, we owe origin.To the other, feminine rage.One was never enough.The other was always too much.One of me was taught to be Eve.The other longed to walk the earth as Lilith.I spoke like Eve,but I bled like Lilith.Until they both destroyed me to save my soul.And I?I became the prayerburning in the fire.- Eva GargMore from Eva Garg ↓@thelifedraft on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Sep 15 - First Person Account of a Seed by Vinita Agrawal @vinitaagrawal18 on Instagram. Her book Eartha is out now.Sep 16 - the listener by Laura Theis @wodehouse_and_i on Instagram. Her book, Introduction to Cloud Care, is available now. Her children’s poetry book, Poems from a Witch’s Pocket, is also available now.Sep 17 - I am the dove by GiGi @thegigirising on Instagram. Her books, The Scorpio Rising, and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn, are available now. Her third book, The California Rising: Poems from San Francisco & LA, will be published March 20, 2026Sep 18 - Sometimes by Hania Anwar @wanderings.in.words on Instagram and @BeeInMyBonnet on Substack.Sep 19 - When I fall asleep by Jessica Lyon-Wall @thetrinitypoet on Instagram. Her book, Bones, is out now.Sep 20 - A Pocketful of Joy by Mishty Singh @mishty_22writes on Instagram.Sep 21 - Theory Maggie DeversThe bees dive back in the poolEven though they can’t swim.Something to do with their polarityOf navigation or death wish. I’ve not yet decidedWhich story to believe So I’ll move between the two As suits what I seek that day—Alignment or death. Perhaps They are not so far off.We seek extremes to know the boundary,The lines we inhabitCrawling on the underside of the string Lost to physics or the reality we believe we inhabitPerhaps the veil looks different than we imagineAnd the moth to a flame isn’t so absolute in the end.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

A Pocketful of Joy by Mishty Singh Joy doesn't always dance in paradesor call your name from mountaintops.Sometimes, it drifts in quietly the same way light pools on windowsills,the same way a breeze remembers your hair.It hides in mismatched teacups,in songs that start slow and end in smiles,in the rustle of pages at midnight,and the comfort of socks pulled just right.A butterfly doesn’t know how much wonder it carries.A laugh, once shared,can echo longer than any storm.These are the things we tuck in our pockets,not loud, not bold, not grand,but soft like petals lost in journals,blooming when we understand.More from Mishty Singh ↓@mishty_22writes on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

When I fall asleep by Jessica Lyon-Wall I was 12 when they brought me back. The process Was a slow one, over a year I went unnoticed, Pale, thin, and guzzling My brother's juice in secret. One day I went to sleep And didn't wake up. I don't know how I got there, But I remember some bright lights. Then starched sheets and my teddy,The wires in my hair. They said I had been gone 3 days,Link up my machines, I could be an industry! (This is perhaps a story I should never tell) I'd find my mum in the medicine room, practicing,Stabbing citrus again,But oranges don't bruise and satsumas Don't feel pain.The needles got shorter, the technology refined. They were ever sure They would fix the biology in my lifetime,And find a decent cure.I am fearful, and alone with it. That is how it feels. And if I do sleep, I have the dreams. I settle down, I pull the duvet up,Turn the lamp off, I wonder what my night will bring,Whether my body is done,If the morning will come. Or if it will blossom Into the perfect combination Of sugar and hormones, A day I've never seen before. At the clocks twelfth strike, Now the sun glows Like corridor lights. How I live is this- And this is what it's like.More from Jessica Lyon-Wall ↓@thetrinitypoet on InstagramHer book, Bones, is out nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Sometimes by Hania AnwarSometimesI wish I was born aManin true Plath-ian fashionto roam the desolate fieldsat Dusky Dawnwithout the gripping fearof being stripped bare andTornIf I were a Man I wonderwould I fight half as much with my mother?Would she chastise me for not wordlessly helping around the house were I a Son and not adaughter?Would my father have turned away the childish outstretched handthat reached towards his noisy busy factorywere I a Son and not adaughter?If I were a Manwould I have worried about unborn childrenpart of un-lived futures and the thousand ways I would Fail them?The only reason Rhett could say he didn’t “Give a damn”was because he was a ManI was born with all the Damns in the world crammed into meUntil I began to ChokeMore from Hania Anwar ↓@wanderings.in.words on Instagram@BeeInMyBonnet on SubstackMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

I am the doveby GiGi I am the dove. My song is mournful,a single nerve splitting cry outin painbecause it’s fucking rainingand pouringwith pressure and bullshitand there’s nothing I can do to stop itand it feels like I’ll absolutely burstbefore a diamond is formed. I am the dove. I bring the waterthrough tearsand motherhoodand a basket of fresh laundrythat always happens to wind up on the bed,in a lump, similar to the one stuck in my throatfrom all of the wordsthat I want to spitin your face. I am the dove.So instead of spitting on you,I scream at myselfand I cry out to God asking,“WHY?!” Even though I already know the goddamn answers. Because I just wantthe clipping of my wingsto commenceso I can finally take flightand truly soarthe way God has beenpreparing me.More from GiGi ↓@thegigirising on InstagramHer books, The Scorpio Rising, and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn, are available nowHer third book, The California Rising: Poems from San Francisco & LA, will be published March 20, 2026Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

the listener Laura Theis her magic was so gentle you may not have known itfor a spellthe way she was able to listen so openlythat we were each coaxed into speaking our languagethe fiddle began to talk of the willow tree it had beenhow it had feasted on light and liquidhow it had swayed and creaked in the wind like a door to another realmthe piano confessed how its beauty was forged from the killing of a playful giant who had loved his life of mischief and joywhile the rain outside sang along in the dangerous language of watera complicated grammar of clouds and dropletsstillness and rusheven the silence afterwards surprised itselffor the first timein the mirror of her quiet attentionand bowed like a secret wordthat had suddenly understood its own significanceMore from Laura ↓@wodehouse_and_i on InstagramHer book, Introduction to Cloud Care, is available nowHer children’s poetry book, Poems from a Witch’s Pocket, is available nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

First Person Account of a Seed by Vinita Agrawal All night, the face of awning greenhovers above me, its branches carved partlywith the grimace of my own imagination.The sacred wounds of treesleaves me trembling in my own hands.This is the first lesson, though it comesfrom no sage, no guide, but myself:that if I must shatter, let it be outward,like a burst of light, leaves, flowers, fruits—not this inward scoping and scraping of darkness.In the afternoon, a Laburnum, goldenand thick as a second sun, spills over myshoulders while I am bent over in contemplation,oblivious to the miracle of the universearriving blindingly through the window.The yellow blooms are the second lesson,both an elegy and an anthem, my true trophy.I must remember them—for memory is the only permanenceon the tarmac of sprouting.Germinating is not a cage, I don’t squirmor shrink to break open my coat, nor my vestof testa and tegmen. To pullulate,is to swim through an ocean of moist soil,air, sunlight. Then, thrust out a radicle.The annunciation of flowers, until coloursjostle with colours, is speech, if onlyit could be understood. I dream of a thousandforests in my frantic hunger to wrestle withas many shadows as there are beams of light.To exist without a map, is the third lesson—to speak and not be heard, to have my ribsache with greed for verdancy, to lose friendsto the whirl of winds, to vanish for no reason,to stay unbroken, even in the breaking. More from Vinita ↓@vinitaagrawal18 on InstagramHer book Eartha is out nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Sep 8 - Broken by Ani Leland @neversent.poetry on Instagram. Her book, Echoes and Embers, the first in a trilogy co-authored with T.C. James, will be published this fall.Sep 9 - Pop Punk Therapy (Kristen’s Version) by Kristen Rosasco @poetryandpatchouli on Instagram. Her upcoming anthology, Poetry and Patchouli, is out soon.Sep 10 - I Watched Gaza Burn From My Bed by Fatima Zahra Gul @fatimaasarchive_ on Instagram.Sep 11 - Koi Pond by Isra Cheema @tiramisruu on Instagram. Isra Cheema on Substack.Sep 12 - Grief is like a corpse in the land of the living. by Kimeysia @the.chaotic_urbanpoet on Instagram.Sep 13 - Mabon by Danielle Marie Cahill @daniellecahillwriter on Instagram.Sep 14 - Play MoreMaggie DeversI have this little fantasy that my daughter’s hippy school is raising a bunch of radicalsAnd imagine them chanting “resist” in unisonBut then I realize that’s what they’re doing all dayIn every moment that they are authentically true to themselvesAnd we can too.Liberation looks like many thingsHanging upside down on the monkey bars with no handsStanding on the highest part of the play structure and observing the world below Painting, drawing, readingWhen we light our hearts on fire just to feel good, we are resisting.So play more, love more, be silly more, break the rules moreJust to feel goodAnd count it as an act of rebellion,Because it is.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO