One Poem Only

I open a book.One brittle flower falls,Shudders into dust.No flicker of flameCould be as beautifuland as burningand as briefAs the memoriesthat perfumed powderevokes.- Joanne Witzkowski More from Joanne Witzkowski ↓@a.wannie on Threads & Instagram 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

Because that is all it is. Maggie Devers I want to know your process So I can make it with youThe way you sketch until your nails are packed with graphite And your warm hands smell of wood shavings and masking tapeI could hold them to my nose and die happyI want to know how you changeSo I can be there with you As you chop off your hairLet your eyebrows grow wilder and abandon heels for Birks. Even your feet are now freeTell me what makes your heart growAnd mine will grow tooHow you smell the top of a baby’s head watching the sun dip over the ocean.There’s a margarita with salt in your handAnd the lime stings at your cuticle, but it’s a good hurt. Show me the hidden parts of you So I can see all of you The way you shield yourself from criticism Even your own. How you fight for everyone But yourself. How you believe these parts are more hidden than they are.Know I am here for the process.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

Honey Debbie Radford Honey pools in the dip of my waist.It flows like warm sunlight down my thighs.Every curve a golden river, every step a supple pour.Like a honeycomb, my body is textured and endless, mailable like bees wax, with threads of dripping sweetness curling around my hips.My skin gleams like amber in the late afternoon- something one cannot help but savor.I wear the curves of my body like sugar silk- soft, lustrous, and shimmering in a sunshine touch.I am the sap of my creation, overflowing in luxury I melt into the depths of my form, as smooth as nectar's fall-slow and sure. Each layer of me ripened in richness, and oozing in flavor.More from Debbie Radford ↓@debbiearadford on Instagram & TikTokHer book, The Enchanted Cottage, is out now. You can listen to me read Candle of Hope by Debbie 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

Lines Written At Thorp Green Anne Brontë 1820 – 1849 That summer sun, whose genial glow Now cheers my drooping spirit so Must cold and distant be, And only light our northern clime With feeble ray, before the time I long so much to see. And this soft whispering breeze that now So gently cools my fevered brow, This too, alas, must turn To a wild blast whose icy dart Pierces and chills me to the heart, Before I cease to mourn. And these bright flowers I love so well, Verbena, rose and sweet bluebell, Must droop and die away. Those thick green leaves with all their shade And rustling music, they must fade And every one decay. But if the sunny summer time And woods and meadows in their prime Are sweet to them that roam Far sweeter is the winter bare With long dark nights and landscapes drear To them that are at Home!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

cream soda Stephanie Valente Glamor is a spell. I want to feel glamorous.Imagine this: being born from Aphrodite’s oceanpearls. Foamy, iridescent, shimmery, and moodyall over. I bet it’s gorgeous. It's the kind of feeling when you take the first sip of creamsoda. That kind of confidence is the real beauty.Honey. I was hand carved by the gods. Youcan’t bring me down.More from Stephanie Valente ↓Portals on [email protected] on InstagramHer book, Internet Girlfriend, is 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

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.May 26 - St. Pancras Station, August 1915 by Vera BrittainMay 27 - The Coliseum by Edgar Allan PoeMay 28 - The garden path and all that jazz by Anisha SenGupta Yanger @anishasgyMay 29 - Did you know? by Maggie DeversMay 30 - Long, Too Long America by Walt WhitmanMay 31 - The Wish, By a Young Lady by Laetitia PilkingtonJun 1 - Commence Maggie Devers It’s a magical place Where you can do anythingAnd leaving is never easy.So go slowly now,The trees whisper through the windows.Gather those drawings etched with your name As I taught you so long agoTo offer—a remembering of all to come.You know this is your path, Paved with the prints of othersIn chalk, paint, sand and sweatBut the quest is yours alone,And you will find your way.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

The Wish, By a Young Lady Laetitia Pilkington 1709 – 1750 I ask not wit, nor beauty do I crave,Nor wealth, nor pompous titles wish to have;But since, 'tis doomed through all degrees of life,Whether a daughter, sister, or a wife;That females should the stronger males obey,And yield implicit to their lordly sway;Since this, I say, is ev'ry woman's fate,Give me a mind to suit my slavish state.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

Long, Too Long America Walt Whitman 1819 – 1892 Long, too long America,Traveling roads all even and peaceful you learn'd from joys and prosperity only,But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish, advancing, grappling with direst fate and recoiling not,And now to conceive and show to the world what your children en-masse really are,(For who except myself has yet conceiv'd what your children en-masse really are?)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

Did you know? Maggie Devers The divine feminine loves to find trouble and communeTo cannonball into the pool just to make wavesAnd feel the splash backMore 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

The garden path and all that jazz Anisha SenGupta Yanger Often enough,the ziplock splitsthe bones crash,and I can feel the days presence all too well,the particles of my cerebellum,caught unawaresjust like the watchtowerits not able to keep trackof the salubriousneeds and has put togethera search of sorts, futile in time,a calibrated onset of old and new, a used photo, a preset to an onset, a zapa heart lurch,a momentary confusion,another parable, exiting the marrowso entrenched in the dailies but flying high, the linesbeen drawn,3 times over at least andon the invisible one, the tropics heaving over my shoulder, where not a drop of water was to be foundBut Ares sits, amused,I move quietintently,winding my way around atonementthe belly of the beastfed, distracted for a moment,and the equal measure of pain and passionsteady, at least for a, moment.More from Anisha SenGupta Yanger ↓ @anishasgy on InstagramListen to me read Read the instructions carefully, so many said. by Anisha 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

The Coliseum Edgar Allan Poe 1809 – 1849 Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length—at length—after so many days Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an altered and an humble man, Amid thy shadows, and so drink within My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory! Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! I feel ye now—I feel ye in your strength— O spells more sure than e’er Judaean king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! Geth sen a me O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee kalee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars! Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, Lit by the wanlight—wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones! But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades— These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts— These vague entablatures—this crumbling frieze— These shattered cornices—this wreck—this ruin— These stones—alas! these gray stones—are they all— All of the famed, and the colossal left By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me? “Not all”—the Echoes answer me—“not all! “Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever “From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, “As melody from Memnon to the Sun. “We rule the hearts of mightiest men—we rule “With a despotic sway all giant minds. “We are not impotent—we pallid stones. “Not all our power is gone—not all our fame— “Not all the magic of our high renown— “Not all the wonder that encircles us— “Not all the mysteries that in us lie— “Not all the memories that hang upon “And cling around about us as a garment, “Clothing us in a robe of more than glory.”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

St. Pancras Station, August 1915 Vera Brittain 1893 – 1970 One long, sweet kiss pressed close upon my lips, One moment's rest on your swift-beating heart,And all was over, for the hour had come For us to part.A sudden forward motion of the train, The world grown dark although the sun still shone,One last blurred look through aching tear-dimmed eyes— And you were gone.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.May 19 - Fides, Spes by Willa CatherMay 20 - Love by Elizabeth Barrett BrowningMay 21 - Storm Chaser by Melanie HessMay 22 - During this year's lunar eclipse by Maggie DeversMay 23 - The Visionary by Emily BrontëMay 24 - Spring Storm by William Carlos WilliamsMay 25 - She was in her primeAnd she knew it.It wasn’t just the swagger,It was her ain’t give a damn About any of it.She could wake up And beWhatever she wanted To be.She could transform herself in the momentBurn and rise from the ashesUnsheathe her sword to vanquish foes Cuddle the cat as the rain rambles downAnything she wantsTo beIs hersShe knowsThe prison of identity is only in the mindAnd she’s limbered hers up over the years Studying chameleons and flying squirrels To learn the ways of flashing in the light.- 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

Spring Storm William Carlos Williams 1883 – 1963 The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls as if it would never end. Still the snow keeps its hold on the ground. But water, water from a thousand runnels! It collects swiftly, dappled with black cuts a way for itself through green ice in the gutters. Drop after drop it falls from the withered grass-stems of the overhanging embankment.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

The Visionary Emily Brontë 1818 – 1848 Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep,Watching every cloud, dreading every breezeThat whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:I trim it well, to be the wanderer’s guiding-star.Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:But neither sire nor dame nor prying serf shall know,What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.What I love shall come like visitant of air,Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;What loves me, no word of mine shall e’er betray,Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear—Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.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

During this year's lunar eclipse Maggie Devers I misplaced my shot glassAnd over-poured my negronisOr what's it called with port instead of vermouth?It doesn't really matter.We floated on togetherI booked tickets for DisneylandAnd wrote stories that confused meThe next morningIt doesn't really matter.Except I woke up thirstyMe, perpetually thirstySoaking up the waterAnd drowning myself in ginWherever you go, there you areSo they say.So here I amPulled by the moonLike the ocean's tidesFeeling out of controlIn these rhythms of my life.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

Storm Chaser Melanie Hess last week the riverbed cracked,its veins like autumn leaves,plows and combines idle in fieldsdinosaurs on the verge of extinctionmy joints simmer with arms and legs splayed star-shaped in an old plantation rockerI imagine the wettest place on earth and watch a scout ant migrate up the kitchen tap in search of water for the queenthe sky shifts moodreleasing a peaty potpourrithe squall appears windward.I grab the monkey on my backwe gobble the rainjabbering whirling eddiesmy skirt swirling like Carmen MirandaMore from Melanie ↓@alohamonkey on InstagramHer book Bread and Bone is out nowYou can listen to me read Picture This by Melanie over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

Love Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1806 – 1861 We cannot live, except thus mutuallyWe alternate, aware or unaware,The reflex act of life: and when we bearOur virtue onward most impulsively,Most full of invocation, and to beMost instantly compellant, certes, thereWe live most life, whoever breathes most airAnd counts his dying years by sun and sea.But when a soul, by choice and conscience, dothThrow out her full force on another soul,The conscience and the concentration both makemere life, Love. For Life in perfect wholeAnd aim consummated, is Love in sooth,As nature's magnet-heat rounds pole with pole.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

Fides, Spes Willa Cather 1873 – 1947 Joy is come to the little Everywhere;Pink to the peach and pink to the apple, White to the pear.Stars are come to the dogwood, Astral, pale;Mists are pink on the red-bud, Veil after veil.Flutes for the feathery locusts, Soft as spray;Tongues of the lovers for chestnuts, poplars, Babbling May.Yellow plumes for the willows’ Wind-blown hair;Oak trees and sycamores only Comfortless bare.Sore from steel and the watching, Somber and old,—Wooing robes for the beeches, larches, Splashed with gold;Breath o’ love to the lilac, Warm with noon.—Great hearts cold when the little Beat mad so soon.What is their faith to bear it Till it come,Waiting with rain-cloud and swallow, Frozen, dumb?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.May 12 - We never know how high we are (1176) by Emily DickinsonMay 13 - The Dream by Edna St. Vincent MillayMay 14 - Letter #14 of 36 from The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn by GiGiMay 15 - Brood by Maggie DeversMay 16 - Verse for a Certain Dog by Dorothy ParkerMay 17 - Dewdrops by Myra Viola WildsMay 18 - Proportions Maggie Devers I went to Catalonia the week pastAnd can't get Gala out of my mindIt's as if Dali is inhabiting me,And all I think about is my museShe was luminous with her swansAnd then I saw them stuffed in the library.That was a bit much,But it all wasThat's why we like it.Atomic Leda, what have we made?Suspended, untouching foreverFloating on the planes to seaMore 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

Dewdrops Myra Viola Wilds Watch the dewdrops in the morning, Shake their little diamond heads,Sparkling, flashing, ever moving, From their silent little beds.See the grass! Each blade is brightened, Roots are strengthened by their stay;Like the dewdrops, let us scatter Gems of love along the way.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

Verse for a Certain Dog Dorothy Parker 1893 – 1967 Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes, Dear little friend of mine, I never knew.All-innocent are you, and yet all-wise. (For heaven’s sake, stop worrying that shoe!)You look about, and all you see is fair; This mighty globe was made for you alone.Of all the thunderous ages, you’re the heir. (Get off the pillow with that dirty bone!)A skeptic world you face with steady gaze; High in young pride you hold your noble head;Gayly you meet the rush of roaring days. (Must you eat puppy biscuit on the bed?)Lancelike your courage, gleaming swift and strong, Yours the white rapture of a wingèd soul,Yours is a spirit like a May-day song. (God help you, if you break the goldfish bowl!)“Whatever is, is good,” your gracious creed. You wear your joy of living like a crown.Love lights your simplest act, your every deed. (Drop it, I tell you—put that kitten down!)You are God’s kindliest gift of all,—a friend. Your shining loyalty unflecked by doubt,You ask but leave to follow to the end. (Couldn’t you wait until I took you out?)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

Brood Maggie Devers The three hens at my daughter’s schoolAre oblivious to egg pricesConcerned with lunch scrapsAnd the stray termiteAnd their stair perch when the sun dips lowI wonder how they spend evenings and weekends If they miss the sound of childsongOr the Sunday scaries set inI imagine they commune with their comradesOffer jokes and such for tradeMy daughter assures me chickens dislike the mud And I'm inclined to believe herMore 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

Letter #14 of 36 from The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn GiGi Dearest Marilyn,Why didn't you speak up? Why didn't you say something?All of the moments where you kept silence as your secret lover, why didn't you just scream?!I'm just now learning that my rage is sacred so, pardon me for wanting to power through these pages with a blow torch.You were so good, so pure, so angelic, and they had to demonize you.They took something so natural, so sacred, so expansive, and shrunk you down to a plain white halter dress.Little did they know of your witching ability to alchemize all the vanilla in the world into a hot fudge chocolate fucking sundae with rainbow sprinkles and the juiciest red sexpot cherry on top.They saw your beaming icy blue eyes and platinum blonde hair and said to themselves, “yup she's the devil in human form!”HOW COULD THEY?!How could they do that to you and, here's that sacred rage coming in, how could YOU ALLOW IT?!Because every day I feel the strongest wave of your energy coursing through me, revitalizing and invigorating me for this treacherous and wild journey we call life.Ya know, I've always been more of an ice cream gal like yourself, never much for pie, even though life keeps serving me many servings of the humble variety.I know you, I know my imperfections, and I know you spoke up when you needed to, and that all played out as it was magically meant to then, now, and forever more.More from GiGi ↓@thegigirising on InstagramHer poetry books, The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn and The Scorpio Rising, are out nowListen to me read Mary Magdalene by GiGi 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

The Dream Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892 – 1950 Love, if I weep it will not matter, And if you laugh I shall not care;Foolish am I to think about it, But it is good to feel you there.Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking, — White and awful the moonlight reachedOver the floor, and somewhere, somewhere, There was a shutter loose, —it screeched!Swung in the wind, — and no wind blowing! — I was afraid, and turned to you,Put out my hand to you for comfort, — And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,Under my hand the moonlight lay! Love, if you laugh I shall not care,But if I weep it will not matter, — Ah, it is good to feel you there!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

We never know how high we are Emily Dickinson 1830 – 1886 We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise;And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies—The Heroism we recite Would be a daily thing,Did not ourselves the Cubits warp For fear to be a King—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. May 5 - How often we greet each other with worries by Maggie Devers May 6 - Renewal of Strength by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper May 7 - For My Daughter by Maggie Devers May 8 - Held by Maggie Devers May 9 - Circe by H.D. May 10 - What the Thrush Said by John Keats May 11 - MotherMaggie DeversMother is a verb.She does, does, does.Even when she’s not moving, she holds,Holds babies, feelings, everything that will fit in her two arms.She can carry the entire world if you ask her,Especially if you say pleaseShe can’t help herself,She is strength personified.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

What the Thrush Said John Keats 1795 –1821 O Thou whose face hath felt the Winter’s wind,Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,And the black elm tops ’mong the freezing stars,To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.O thou, whose only book has been the lightOf supreme darkness which thou feddest onNight after night when Phœbus was away,To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn.O fret not after knowledge—I have none,And yet my song comes native with the warmth.O fret not after knowledge—I have none,And yet the Evening listens. He who saddensAt thought of idleness cannot be idle,And he’s awake who thinks himself asleep.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

Circe H.D. 1886 – 1961 It was easy enoughto bend them to my wish,it was easy enoughto alter them with a touch,but youadrift on the great sea,how shall I call you back?Cedar and white ash,rock-cedar and sand plantsand tamariskred cedar and white cedarand black cedar from the inmost forest,fragrance upon fragranceand all of my sea-magic is for nought.It was easy enough—a thought called themfrom the sharp edges of the earth;they prayed for a touch,they cried for the sight of my face,they entreated metill in pityI turned each to his own self.Panther and panther,then a black leopardfollows close—black panther and redand a great hound,a god-like beast,cut the sand in a clear ringand shut me from the earth,and cover the sea-soundwith their throats,and the sea-roar with their own barksand bellowing and snarls,and the sea-starsand the swirl of the sand,and the rock-tamariskand the wind resonance—but not your voice.It is easy enough to call menfrom the edges of the earth.It is easy enough to summon them to my feetwith a thought—it is beautiful to see the tall pantherand the sleek deer-houndscircle in the dark.It is easy enoughto make cedar and white ash fumesinto palacesand to cover the sea-caveswith ivory and onyx.But I would give uprock-fringes of coraland the inmost chamberof my island palaceand my own giftsand the whole regionof my power and magicfor your glance.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

Held Maggie Devers The sweetest meat is closest to the boneThe most tender, the most trueThe tissue there is hardest to reach,To manipulate from the outside.If you squeezed my armHow much bone would you feel?Would the flesh push backAnd guard my depths?The fruit around the mango pit is sinewyUnless it’s overripe,Then it melts into your mouth.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

For My Daughter by Maggie Devers Chop off my head and put it on your shield.I will protect you until the day I dieAnd all the days after that.You think I would let anything harm the perfection that sprang from my body?That force that is me and infinitely you at the same time?There is nothing in the world that could destroy us,Not when a mere glance can turn men to stone.More from Maggie Devers ↓Read my debut poetry book, For My DaughterFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure

Renewal of Strength Frances Ellen Watkins Harper 1825 – 1911 The prison-house in which I liveIs falling to decay,But God renews my spirit’s strengthWithin these walls of clay.For me a dimness slowly creepsAround earth’s fairest light,But heaven grows clearer to my view,And fairer to my sight.It may be earth’s sweet harmoniesAre duller to my ear,But music from my Father’s houseBegins to float more near.Then let the pillars of my homeCrumble and fall away;Lo, God’s dear love within my soulRenews it day by day.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

How often we greet each other with worries by Maggie Devers I went to the wilderness to escapeAnd there are worries there too.Caterpillars falling from their treeBefore their chrysalis is completeMy weekend project was to save them,But not everybody makes it—There's a worry tied to us like an anchor,How quickly we would sink once we stropped struggling—We lost one to the riverA few were squishedAnd one got too close to the coffee pot.That will stick with meBut I saw butterflies too,And in a few weeksWhen I'm not there to see it,There will be more.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

A Lady by Amy Lowell 1874 – 1925 You are beautiful and faded,Like an old opera tunePlayed upon a harpsichord;Or like the sun-flooded silksOf an eighteenth-century boudoir. In your eyesSmoulder the fallen roses of outlived minutes,And the perfume of your soulIs vague and suffusing,With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.Your half-tones delight me,And I grow mad with gazingAt your blent colors.My vigor is a new-minted penny,Which I cast at your feet.Gather it up from the dustThat its sparkle may amuse you.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

Radical by Marianne Moore 1887 – 1972 Taperingto a point, conserving everything, this carrot is predestined to be thick. The world is but a circumstance, a mis- erable corn-patch for its feet. With ambition, imagination, outgrowth,nutriment,with everything crammed belligerent- ly inside itself, its fibres breed mon- opoly — a tail-like, wedge-shaped engine with the secret of expansion, fused with intensive heat to the color of the set-ting sun andstiff. For the man in the straw hat, stand- ing still and turning to look back at it — as much as to say my happiest moment has been funereal in comparison with this, the con- ditions of life pre-determinedslavery to be easy and freedom hard. For it? Dismiss agrarian lore; it tells him this: that which it is impossible to force, it is impossible to hinder.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

Who Has Seen the Wind Christina Rossetti 1830 – 1894 Who has seen the wind?Neither I nor you.But when the leaves hang trembling,The wind is passing through.Who has seen the wind?Neither you nor I.But when the trees bow down their heads,The wind is passing by.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

Asking the age old question, where do we start?The Sparkby Maggie DeversI try to think where her story starts.When I went to my parents' for the weekendAnd the Labrador could smell herAnd for the first time in her dog life, didn’t jump on meOr when I met her fatherAnd we kissed on our first dateAt the cowboy bar that's burned down twice now,Or when we named herAnd whispered her into my wombOn an island far from hereOr when she jumped awake in Star Wars,Whatever one was outThe Christmas before she was bornOr when she was bornOr when I first felt her kickOr when I decided I wanted a daughterAnd wondered what she would be likeWhen was that?It’s hard to know where to beginWhen we’re constantly in the process of beginning.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

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