One Poem Only

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram.SnailLizzie Elliot-KleinIn your spiral shellyou hold the answer –slowness is radical.From the ash pileof my burn out,I see you everywhere.Clinging to walls,meandering through moss,criss-crossing my path.Reaching unbelievable heightsat speeds that will win no medals –just savouring thesilvery slownessof yourtrail.In your spiral shellyou hold the answer –softness is strength.Inching forward on vulnerable ripples,retreating when the world is harsh,rebuilding your shell with self-made gold,In your spiral shellyou hold the answer –I too can change.My soft body thriving in gentlenessKintsugi shell gleamingin the light of springas I carve mycurlingsilverlife trailslowlysteadilysoftlyat my ownsnail’space.More from Lizzie Elliot-Klein ↓@ofbrackenandbrine on InstagramWatch the Second PoemYou can watch and listen to Belly. by Lizzie Elliot-Klein as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Tony and/or ToneeNguyen Minh TriThe "y" is a hook, a barb in the ground,A heavy-set anchor, a masculine sound.It carries the dust of the fathers and sons,My father and his son.The weight of the "Tony" who follows/ who runs,A name like a suit that is tailored too tight,Designed for the sun, yet afraid of the light.To them, it’s a letter/ to me, it’s a wall,A clanking vibration that makes me feel small.But look at the "e"s: how they mirror, how they gleamA twin of silver, the space in between.Tonee is a lift, a soft-rising key,The "ee" is the breath of the person.It isn’t a label, it isn’t a chore,It’s the clicking of locks and the opening door.How do I tell them the "y" is a ghost?A version of me that I’ve long demoted.How do I tell them the "e" is the spark,The fun and the fire who glow in the dark?It’s not just a spelling, a quirk, or a claim,It’s the pulse in my throat.It’s my name.It’s my name.More from Nguyen Minh Tri ↓@tonywith2e on Instagram@tonywith2e on SubstackSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Feed yourself poetry every 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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. PlutocracyAlicia SwainIn kitchens drops will drip, each brown in hue,a mother will keep her son from the truth,the senate will swear there’s nothing to do,though they tout their care for the nation’s youth.A man will cast his vote at ten to noon,his ballot broken down in only two,he lives inside a fading honeymoonwith good intentions, having not a clue:disease inside him ticks just like a bomb,one year from now the hospital will close,he’ll find a plot to rest beside his mom,if only congress told him how it goes. Though women’s bodies know not rights of men, thank God the rich can clutch their wealth again.More from Alicia Swain ↓@aliciamswain on Instagram@aliciamswain on SubstackHer book, Steel Slides and Yellow Walls, is available nowSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem More gathers all of this week’s poems from One Poem Only—an unhurried chance to listen again, or catch what you missed.This week’s poemsOperating Instructions for the Day After Your Best Friend Tells You He Supports Genocide by Jané DowdSwan Dive by Maia von MaltzahnCycles by S. SalazarAn Emblem of Wounds by Henry Opeyemimortal perch by Amanda ThuyA Dream by Edgar Allan PoePlus one new one to carry us into the week aheadCling to MeMaggie DeversI lay on the California coastListening to the wavesLooking out to the Santa Monica mountainsAnd nestle into the earth like a loverhunting out the soft spot near your collar boneOr a toddler, shyly hiding behind your knee,peering out only to retreat into the smooth safety of a jointThe parts where we come together are the most tenderI realize as I drag my fingers through the damp sand, bits of ocean foam clinging to its surfaceLife unfolds in the crevicesAt first we grow curled up and long for the pressure of the womb once we are bornThen we learn to grow by stretchingTo unfurl our limbsSo when we find ourselves in a tight spot we burrow deeper to feel safeWe grow roots that entwine with the roots of those we loveWe learn to trust the tender parts as we come togetherMore from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMore from this week’s poetsFind links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.A DreamEdgar Allan PoeIn visions of the dark nightI have dreamed of joy departedBut a waking dream of life and lightHath left me broken-hearted.Ah! what is not a dream by dayTo him whose eyes are castOn things around him with a rayTurned back upon the past?That holy dream that holy dream,While all the world were chiding,Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,A lonely spirit guiding.What though that light, thro' storm and night,So trembled from afarWhat could there be more purely brightIn Truth's day star?Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.mortal perchAmanda Thuyupon a mortal perch i scribe away my lonely parts,pulled from deepest chasm of this broken heart.a treasure trove of loss and tattered dreams,befitting muse which in the dark sits agleam.heartache wrapped in anguished words seeking sanity,mutated from once tightly held soliloquy.harrowing thoughts bleed from fissures of speaking heart,seeping through veins and through fingers now depart.all unspoken peers now into light through hope-filled ink,seeking redemption while still consuming tear-stained drink.loneliness of my despair shall now upon all befall,mystic and cryptic script that quietly fades into ears of all.one bit of comfort as wounds float upon flutter of winds,unburdening some grief-laden poundage long kept within.More from Amanda Thuy ↓@mezzo.strada on InstagramHer book, Between Love and Grief: Pet Loss and Healing through Poetry, is available nowSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast.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 daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.An Emblem of WoundsHenry OpeyemiWe are in the middle of a conversation, thereflection of our lives upon glossy waters.We’re twice the age we used to be, shadinghome into grief, into a childhood memory.there is an ophicleide infused in the distance ofsouls, singing into the littleness of a heaven: aprayer old enough for the heaviness I have carried.a boy from my childhood recognizes me by a face I no longer wear, by a stillness that was once a scream.My world is an open wound— a phoenix burning into an undying whistle of the wind. we’re betwixt awaging war, an emblem of songs profused into the flowering of roseash, aren’t we all a singing orchestrain heaven?& we won’t stop singing until the world ends in a poem, until immortality is an endless loop ofremembrance. We stood beside the black river, washing down black memories, memorizing the eulogy ofbrown gods, a drowning nestling through the theory of names. I looked into the memory, marinated forthe ashes that were burnt to be seen, nebulous as the clouds. syntax of broken bodies wrestling forwholeness,the world won’t end without us first knowing, and the wound won’t heal without the opening ofanother body.More from Henry Opeyemi ↓@henryopeyemi_ on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.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

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram.CyclesS. SalazarThe space in which my family occupies is a revolving door—each rotation moves me further from their timelines.Yet turning to push the door in reversewon’t take me back to a time with them:to picnics beneath the Central Park oaksor a game of tag among Puerto Rican palms.I existed decades after Abuelo exited the door.I stepped between the panes of glassjust as Abuela stepped out.Abuelo took everything with him except his family.Abuela held tight to her Latin roots,clutching memories of a childhood in Puerto Rico.Lugged them through her new life in Americauntil they calloused and cracked her hands.Stubborn, she carried that heritage out the door.Took customs and superstitions and stories.I’m left alone, spinning with the echo of her lifetimein empty air, the dust of her travels clustered on the floor.Pressing my palms against glass where her prints had been.Willing my prints to match hers. Praying I leave something morebehind despite having less. One day, I’ll step out.Everybody does. But I can’t leave until I fill this placewith something more than dust.More from S. Salazar ↓@writessalazar on Instagram@writessalazar on SubstackHer book, Raíces, Relics, and Other Ghosts, published by Kelsay Books is available nowWatch the Second PoemYou can watch and listen to another poem by S. Salazar as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Swan Dive by Maia von MaltzahnMaia von MaltzahnIt’s the kind of hotafternoon in Augustwhere the sun cracksyour mouth openso you can takea big gulp oflifeChin tuckedwind-up lanky-limbsbare brownedshoulders humin the heatrunning warmwooden dockbeneath your feet, stepone, two, andLeap…gravitygreetsyoulike a pinky-promisein the lakewater answerswith a laughing splashyou elegant creaturehere, you belong.More from Maia von Maltzahn ↓@maiaelizabethwrites on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Feed yourself poetry every 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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Operating Instructions for the Day After Your Best Friend Tells You He Supports GenocideJané DowdUpon waking: breathe deep.Savour the shimmer of momentary freedom,lack of memory and regret.Surround yourself with three dogs:sentinels; triumvirate.Check the curtain crack for signs of dawn.When the child stirs, relish her aliveness.As the small ghosts arise in protest,cup their faces in your bloody hands,whisper the useless lament:I am sorry. -And again:I am sorrow.When the cat crawls under your crook’d claw:picture the desert landscapedevoid of trees, of innocence, of hope, of caress.As you pour the milk, squeeze the honey:hold your heart on an open palmleave it be; watch how it stuttersshivers and stallslook at its redness which is simplefragile humanthe same;fill it with your grit, ask that sinewy engineto oyster, to pearlto return to the cave of your chestalive, yes, but beatingdifferently, more soundly andmore trueMore from Jané Dowd ↓@jane_doe.8.0 on Instagram@janedoe9 on SubstackSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem More gathers all of this week’s poems from One Poem Only—an unhurried chance to listen again, or catch what you missed.This week’s poemsno place like home by Abhilasha GhoshThe mind unmasked by Aliyah Morayoborderline by Luna FergusonInedible by Seraadulthood by Carlee WilsonTo My Daughter Elizabeth by Mary Ann H. T. BigelowPlus one new one to carry us into the week aheadThe CallMaggie DeversThey woke in slumberAnd settled in the streetsThey counted transgressionsLike it was food to eatThe blaze furled down the mountainA glass bottle cried over the dinThe flare dissipated in the skyA subtle shock of warning slowly drifting byWhat have they learned here?What fate will be revealed?To the jagged, humbling massesSuddenly filled with zeal?More from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMore from this week’s poetsFind links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.To My Daughter ElizabethMary Ann H. T. BigelowTwo flowers upon one parent stemTogether bloomed for many days.At length a storm arose, and oneWas blighted, and cut down at noon.The other hath transplanted been,And flowers fair as herself hath borne;She too has felt the withering storm,Her strength's decayed, wasted her form.May he who hears the mourner's prayer,Renew her strength for years to come;Long may He our Lilly spare,Long delay to call her home.But when the summons shall arriveTo bear this lovely flower away,Again may she transplanted beTo blossom in eternity.There may these sisters meet again,Both freed from sorrow, sin, and pain;There with united voices raise,In sweet accord their hymns of praise;Eternally his name t' adore,Who died, yet lives forevermore.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.adulthoodCarlee Wilsongone are the days where my ceilingtwinkled with plastic magicand the only house i worried about was barbie’s.it didn’t matter if ken came home or not,didn’t matter if stacie’s car had a flator if joe’s deployment was extended.boy, i’d kill for a mud pie right now,full of everything we’ve been taught to avoid,devoid of everything we’ve been taught matters.i wish i could sit on the playground swingand twist the clinking chains around and aroundand scream as i spin violently back to center.back to before the world did it for me,back to when it felt good.More from Carlee Wilson ↓@poetcarlee on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast.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 daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.InedibleSeraI wish I could covermy body in spikes,become unappetizing,indigestible.I poke holes into my image,pour lighter fluid over it,flicking the flame onand burning awaythe outline you memorized,char the version of meyou still think of.I wish I could transform,shapeshiftinto something you hate.I chop my hair inuneven sections,cut lattice into my face,unravel the centre of myself.I bite my fingers raw,throw my body against concreteuntil it's beaten bloody.carve my tonguefrom my throatso I can't comply.stab forks into my sight;force myself backin control.I wish I could breakevery single one of my bonesso I can slip from these cuffs,this cage,contort myself to fitbetween the bars.I know I have the keybut I can't find the lock-I'm blind.I need to break myselfout of here.time is flyingbut my wings are broken.I take a bat to my back,pepper spray my face,swallow a grenadeand drink acid.I wish I could mould myselfinto a mushy mess,become nauseating,off putting,tasteless.I run into traffic,tangle myself in the tires,chugging gasoline.I jump into a pit of spiders,cover myself in bites and stings,eat handfuls of beesuntil my cheeks swell.I'll dip myself into alake of boiling water,seeping deep as myskin bubbles up.I'll roll in what repels you,leave with a matching stench,use jagged stonesto scratch up anyblank space remaining.I wish I could melt downinto the cracks in the earth,hide in the soilfrom the eyes in the sky.drag wood againstmy arms and legs,hair turning to splinters.I shave my eyebrows offand pick at my lips.I'll tie my teeth to string,slam the door,take pieces of glassand stick them into my body,standing with the cactus.cut out all the cartilageand tie together my tendons,spread my blood on breadand eat that instead.jump head firstinto a volcano,exfoliate my skin with the heat.make myself a target-fire arrow after arrow,pinning myself down.take an axe to my toes,a mace to the chest,a knife to the back.I wish I could becomeinedible,insipid,abhorrent.I'd do anythingto make youprojectile vomitat the thought of me.More from Sera ↓@serawrites03 on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.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

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram.borderlineLuna Fergusonborderlinebetween what may i ask?floating whilst the clock ticks bytears on the night of your lifepain in pleasurepleasure in paindoors closedthe slams still echo in your brainin-prisoned by your own namedust scatters over where you layan endless impossible escape you planned at 5imprints of those who held you tightjust to leave you in the nightskys are blue but your mind is greyit makes no sense why you feel this waybut at least you know borderline is where you staythere is safety in that painMore from Luna Ferguson ↓@lunaroseferguson on Instagram@lunaroseferguson on SubstackHer book, Borderline, is available nowWatch the Second PoemYou can watch and listen to another poem by Author as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.The mind unmaskedAliyah MorayoMy mind carries centuries.The rust of chains sits where dreams should bloom.It remembers the songs my ancestors could not finish,the languages drowned beneath the ocean,The prayers that reached heaven but never came back whole.I carry the scent of burning villages,the hush of mothers hiding their children from soldiers,The taste of iron in blood is not yet dry.History is not behind me,it lives beneath my skin,in the way I flinch at loud footsteps,In the way, I still ask permission to exist.Poverty came next, not the kind you can see,But the one that eats through dignity.It teaches you how to smile while shrinking,How to apologize for breathing air you didn’t pay for.I have held hunger in my stomach like a secret,watched promises rot in the mouths of politicians,and called it governance.Racism doesn’t need chains anymore.It wears suits now, sits in boardrooms,and signs papers that erase faces like mine.It whispers in hiring rooms, in classrooms,In the silence after a joke that was never funny.My skin still walks into rooms before I do,And sometimes it leaves bruises.And there was the night I lost my body.Hands that were not mine mapped me without mercy.They called it desire,But I learned that silence can sound like survival.They told me to forgive,as if forgiveness could sew me back whole.But my body remembers,every breath, every tremor, every theft.Sometimes I dream of a woman,barefoot, heavy with history,a pregnant silhouette against a red horizon.She carries nations in her womb,grief and hope braided in her hair.The earth listens when she walks;Every step is a drumbeat,Every contraction is a prophecy.She births children into a world that greets themwith both fear and promise,each cry echoing a memory that refuses to die.And the men in suits still speak of progress,while the roads collapse and children starve.Corruption wears perfume now,It smiles on TV, it calls itself democracy.The poor grow thinner,their bones become statistics,Their stories are buried under asphalt and applause.The mind remembers it allthe rape, the racism, the hunger,forgetting.It remembers how it learned to pretend to be fine,how it stitched its wounds with hope too small to cover the pain.It remembers prayers that turned to smoke,dreams that suffocated before they could fly.But unmasked,The mind does not lie.It bleeds truth.It exposes the scars beneath the laughter,the trembling beneath the strength.It holds everything the world tried to bury, and still dares to breathe.And somewhere, that pregnant woman still walks.Barefoot and unbroken.Her belly glows with the ghosts of centuries,her breath carries the songs we’ve forgotten to sing.When she finally gives birth, the world will tremble,because the child will come out screaming, not in pain,but in remembrance.And that, perhaps,is what it means to be unmasked,To remember, to ache, and to live still.More from Aliyah Morayo ↓@aliyah_morayo on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Feed yourself poetry every 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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. no place like homeAbhilasha Ghoshcoming back feels different—as if the walls have softenedwhile you were gone,as if the light has rehearsedthe exact way it will fall on your facewhen you step inside.you notice small things first:the old curtain breathing in the breeze,the smell of evening settling on the floor,the faint echo of who you used to bestill lingering in the cornerslike a loyal ghost.distance does this—carves out space in your chestso the familiar can returnwith a strange, tender sharpness.a house you once rushed throughbecomes a sanctuarythe moment you walk away from it.and standing at the threshold now,red shoes dusty from everywhere else,you feel that quiet click inside—recognition, surrender, belonging.dorothy’s words arrive softly in red shoes,“there’s no place like home.”More from Abhilasha Ghosh ↓@booksandbillis on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem More gathers all of this week’s poems from One Poem Only—an unhurried chance to listen again, or catch what you missed.This week’s poemsPresence of Choice by Alecia LewisHarmony by Seán TateMemory weighs more than bone and Hash browns by Charlotte DawnTangerines and Alcoholism by Labanya DeyI Am Mother by Melissa NortonComrades by Ella Wheeler WilcoxPlus one new one to carry us into the week aheadBordersMaggie DeversOn the north side of the borderThe saguaro arms are droopingAnd the Oregon Pipes have disappearedEven their bones are missing.But to the south, they grow tall and proudWith enough of both to pepper the landscape,And I wonder how it's possibleFor a line in the sand to grow.More from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMore from this week’s poetsFind links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Comrades Ella Wheeler Wilcox I and my Soul are alone to-day, All in the shining weather; We were sick of the world, and put it away, So we could rejoice together. Our host, the Sun, in the blue, blue sky Is mixing a rare, sweet wine, In the burnished gold of this cup on high, For me, and this Soul of mine. We find it a safe and royal drink, And a cure for every pain; It helps us to love, and helps us to think, And strengthens body and brain. And sitting here, with my Soul alone, Where the yellow sun-rays fall, Of all the friends I have ever known I find it the BEST of all. We rarely meet when the world is near, For the World hath a pleasing art And brings me so much that is bright and dear That my Soul it keepeth apart. But when I grow weary of mirth and glee, Of glitter, glow, and splendour, Like a tried old friend it comes to me, With a smile that is sad and tender. And we walk together as two friends may, And laugh and drink God's wine. Oh, a royal comrade any day I find this Soul of mine. Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.I Am Mother Melissa Norton I am Mother, stepping barefoot on the snake.Absorbing her power as her body wraps tight around my leg.I, with quick, sharp force sever the head full of venomAs my mother has done with the point of a shovelAs I have done with a horrified hatchetMy babies will fear no fangs.I am Mother. Protector. Warrior. Safe Haven.I am Mother. I know powerful, truest love.I have trudged through petrifying, thick and heavy fear.Stepped over serpents of worry, tears slithering,Growing my new skin to protect this love.I am Mother. I know sacrifice.I have abandoned limbs and organs to survive viper pits.I have been swallowed wholeI have been buried and unearthed, endless reincarnation.I am Mother. I have created life within meTorn and bled to release these beings and their breaths.I have healed and regenerated from battles only I can feel.My scars are worn proudly, the memories everlasting.I am MotherMore from Melissa Norton ↓@hairnhips on Instagram@hairnhips on SubstackSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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 daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.Tangerines and AlcoholismLabanya DeyMy mother peels tangerines Carefully scaling the orange fleshUntil her nails dig into the sour crevices Of the orange ballThe juices drip between her nails and fingertips As she puts them on a plateOn a bright afternoonAs she waits for them to be savouredAppreciated with the delicate eyes she yearns for.She sits by the table, nails scratching through the skinThe sweet juices bubble through her veins She sits and waits Where the threshold loses its colour and the window panes seem blue She watches the door with careful eyesAt 12:00 when she cleans up her day The corpses of red headed flies with sweetness sticking in their tonguesLay beside the musk amber of leftover liquidSmiling at her - "you couldn't even keep him" So she keeps, her orange peels and her whiskey scent And sunny days with dark afternoonsAnd vibrant smiles with leftover tangerinesDrowned with glistening, golden bubbles of life and laughter Because my mother peels tangerinesWhether seasons meet their end Or the waves meet the earth.More from Labanya Dey ↓@labanyaaa._ on Instagram@yapseshs on SubstackSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram.Memory weighs more than boneCharlotte DawnYou can’t see the ghostsuntil you’re almost one—until your breath learns how to hesitate,until mirrors stop recognising youwithout thinking.They gather in the quiet margins:hospital hallways at 3 a.m.,old songs that bruise instead of heal,names you don’t say aloud anymore.The living pass straight through them,laughing, late for something,arms full of tomorrow.They don’t feel the cold.But you—you slow down enough to noticehow memory weighs more than bone,how absence has a voice,how survival leaves footprints backward.That’s when the ghosts turn their faces.Not to haunt you—but to ask if you rememberwho you werebefore you learned how to disappear.More from Charlotte Dawn ↓@wordsbycharlottedawn on Instagram@charlottedawn1 on SubstackWatch the Second PoemYou can watch and listen to Hash browns by Charlotte Dawn as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.HarmonySeán TateHarmony, intermingled with melody, falls lightly from the heavensto coat the parched earth.Rough flakes made smooth by a rich flowing sequence.And the rhythm; listen as the rhythm courses down throughcracks to slumbering seeds.Listen to that steady beat: tap, tap, tap.Seeds aroused from peaceful repose, strumming and humming to their ownwild chorus; a deep dissonance.Compacted soil parts in compressed rattles, giving room for the buildingcrescendo.More from Seán Tate ↓@seantatepoet on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Presence of ChoiceAlecia LewisI hold no one.They can come or go.Freely.Unbound.They may disconnectOnlineor in person.People may condemn me.I remain unshaken.Judgment falls.I do not carry it.If exiting brings peace,I let them go.With love.With grace.I hold only thoseWho choose to stay.The rest are shadows.I release them gently.More from Alecia Lewis ↓@neutralmuse73 on Instagram and SubstackSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem More gathers all of this week’s poems from One Poem Only—an unhurried chance to listen again, or catch what you missed.This week’s poemsSame Fire by Diana JoharResist by Francesca AcquavivaThe -ness of things by SanjeevaniWomen in Me by AyushiLast Year by Samah AyeshaTo Imagination by Emily BrontëPlus one new one to carry us into the week aheadPrattle On Maggie DeversA bird in a backpack walked byTweeting plaintively from insideAnd the crows kept up their racketWith little varianceBut I think they were surprised,And wondering how this chirp was stuck insideAnd I think the prisoner wondered tooWhat it would be like to be outsideReally outHigh in the palm treesSinging her song as she swayed in the sunJust for the sound of it.More from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMore from this week’s poetsFind links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.To Imagination Emily Brontë When weary with the long day's care,And earthly change from pain to pain,And lost, and ready to despair,Thy kind voice calls me back again:Oh, my true friend! I am not lone,While then canst speak with such a tone!So hopeless is the world without;The world within I doubly prize;Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,And cold suspicion never rise;Where thou, and I, and Liberty,Have undisputed sovereignty.What matters it, that all aroundDanger, and guilt, and darkness lie,If but within our bosom's boundWe hold a bright, untroubled sky,Warm with ten thousand mingled raysOf suns that know no winter days?Reason, indeed, may oft complainFor Nature's sad reality,And tell the suffering heart how vainIts cherished dreams must always be;And Truth may rudely trample downThe flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:But thou art ever there, to bringThe hovering vision back, and breatheNew glories o'er the blighted spring,And call a lovelier Life from Death.And whisper, with a voice divine,Of real worlds, as bright as thine.I trust not to thy phantom bliss,Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour,With never-failing thankfulness,I welcome thee, Benignant Power;Sure solacer of human cares,And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.Last YearSamah Ayeshai spent the better half of last yearstaring at the ceiling,watching it bend more crookedthe longer i looked.but it wasn't just the ceilingit was the walls, the floor,maybe my footing,maybe my mindfrom being indoors too long.each time i completed ablution,each time i laid down my mat to pray,it seemed off too.i checked the compass,adjusted,checked againbut the mat wouldn't straighten.or was it my footing?i wasted the better half of last yeartrying to stop walking in circles.or was it a triangle?the doorways.the roof.all of them slanted.and i'm still not sureif i ever fixed the mator just learned to pray at an angle.More from Samah Ayesha ↓@samah.ayesha on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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 daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.Women in MeAyushiI think I gather dreams like picking up stonesnear an abandoned highway wherethe road leads nowhere,where the wind pants like a tiger breathingand the woman in me returns to lookfor the girl she had lost years agoperhaps the salt in me will return to the seaand the light in me will break opena door, a wound, a memory, that no one can shuta spring thunder, bolts me awake from a dreamI am dragging my earthy-body towardsthe rivers of you, branching out like tendonsslowly the sun dissolves like sugar in waterall I hear are murmurs of momentskindness, kindness, kindnessits December and I am wrappedby the warmth of an afterthoughta kind of a forgiveness to all yourpast revolting selves.More from Ayushi ↓@artofmoon__ on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram.The -ness of thingsSanjeevaniSadness incurable. Hopelessness, hold on—brink of collapse—unstable ecosystems, volatile geopolitics,anthropological coldness.Kindness—let the spider live.Closeness—us two, are we corrupt too?A likeness—before the doom, a thought of younearly smothers me in blue.Fondness—find me after the apocalypse,remember, black holes decay—oneness.Madness—this world and I,an intrinsic brokenness.Wilderness—A state of being.I lose, and I losein this cruel forest.Lightness, take me in.My -ness floats through. Premature nights and abandoned homes.My -ness sinks. Untouched ocean beds and fossils of creaturesveiled by archaeological secrecy. My -ness feels.More from Sanjeevani ↓@sanjpoems on InstagramWatch the Second PoemYou can watch and listen to Deer killers and Careless Lovers by Sanjeevani as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.ResistFrancesca AcquavivaA burning wickof resistancein two seasof indifferencebitter coffeewith the sweetnessof the vehemencewith which the windwhispersI resistto desirein more than one headto becomecloversto sew togetherthe pagesthe speakersthe soft notestables pushed togetherclosewhile on the napkinsone knitsa validfutureto embroiderto knitthe handfulsof grainsto be sanda free beachwe have litwe want to lightamong the ruinsthe fingerprintsthe encephalogramthe commas stillstained with inkthe typingthe unionthe gaitthe way of speakingthe way of dressingsometimes deemedwrongthe only thing wrong isthe yoke of the dustof the old—not the ancient—of those who squeezethe throatbut we are alivein the commas, even ifbelatedin the necessary periodsin the efforts madewith pairs ofbicepsin the snowsin the mountains ofdoing, not justsayingwe are alivein the life that descends upon usfrom abovethat rises to usfrom belowMore from Francesca Acquaviva ↓@a.cquaviv.a on InstagramHer book, La Tela, is an Italian collection of poems, published by PAB EditoreSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Same Fire Diana Johar When things were beautiful,you stood in my corner—calling me strong, brave,everything you admired.But beauty dims.And now you say I’ve got out of hand,call me crazy,as if this same firewasn’t the reasonyou loved me once.So go—find another love,meek and gentle.Tell yourselfyou’ve done the right thing.While I go on burning—fierce,unapologetic,like the wayI onceloved you.More from Diana Johar ↓@wordsbydianajohar on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem More gathers all of this week’s poems from One Poem Only—an unhurried chance to listen again, or catch what you missed.This week’s poemsHuman Nature by Lynn L.Museum of Mourning by Maria CorcoranThe House with My Name Carved Into Its Teeth by Tess EzzyStill, something by Aditya GuptaThis Town by Macy WilliamsCentral Park At Dusk by Sara TeasdalePlus one new one to carry us into the week aheadThe Day AfterMaggie DeversThe birds careen at the same place in the skyI wonder if we should tell them the mess we madeSo they can move on to something useful,So they can take a break as omen bearers—the tragedies keep piling up.I pass a nest high in the treeIt’s been there all this time,Concealed by leaves.The sparseness of winter uncoversWhat we believe is hiddenWe retrace our footprints in the snow,Trying to unravel the path forward,But all is confusion as we crossAnd recross our steps.How to glide through the crisp morning airWith no wing beats to meter our journey?More from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMore from this week’s poetsFind links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. Central Park At DuskSara TeasdaleBuildings above the leafless treesLoom high as castles in a dream,While one by one the lamps come outTo thread the twilight with a gleam.There is no sign of leaf or bud,A hush is over everything.Silent as women wait for love,The world is waiting for the spring.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. This Town Macy Williams This town knows many ways of moving. Some rush. Some pause. Some stop and start again. All of them count. I walk these streets with a body that does not follow the expected map. Some days it cooperates. Some days it asks for patienceI’m still learning how to give.Disability lives quietly here.In waiting.In adapting.In choosing rest without permission.In knowing limits without shame.There are doors that open easilyand others that don’t notice you at all.There are systems built for speed,and people built for survival instead.I have learned that strengthis rarely loud.It looks like showing up anyway.It looks like leaving early.It looks like staying home and choosingto keep going tomorrow.This place holds all of itthe visible, the hidden, the misunderstood.Bodies that ache.Minds that work differently.Lives that don’t fit tidy explanations.I am not here to overcome anything.I am here to exist.To take space.To move at the pace my body allows,without needing to justify it.And this townwith its noise and quiet corners,its imperfections and familiar streetskeeps making room for people like me.Not because we are exceptional.But because we are part of it.More from Macy Williams ↓@macywilliams05 on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.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 daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. Still, something Aditya Gupta I stopped praying long ago. The gods grew tired of my voice, or maybe I just grew tired of asking for things that never came. My wallet’s thin, my dreams thinner a handful of words no one cared to read. Even my parents’ eyeslook at me like unfinished work,a draft they wish they could rewrite.And love,she always leavesbefore the song begins.I’ve learned the sound of silencethat follows a “maybe next time.”But sometimes,in the middle of all that noise,a small thought humsthat maybe I’m still herefor a reason I don’t yet know.Maybe the words I failed to write are still forming inside me.Maybe faithis not about believing in God,but believingthat the broken can still be beautiful.And maybe one day,someone will see menot as a failure,but as a boy who kept tryingto love the worldeven when it forgot his name.More from Aditya Gupta ↓@serenadeinsilhouettes on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram. The House with My Name Carved Into Its TeethTess EzzyExecutive dysfunctionis a kind of hauntingbut not the pretty kind,not the candlelit ghost girlfloating through the hallway.No.This thing is a beastwith my name carvedinto its teeth.Every morning I waketo a body that forgets me.A body that misplaces its own pulse.A body that drops intentionlike a strip of clothingbefore the lover even arrives.My hands—god, my hands—they go spectral on me.I reach for the taskand the task slips throughlike a secret I’m not trusted with.I reach for the dayand the day folds shutlike a trapdoorand I fall through myselfagainagainagain.People sayJust start.As if I am not wrestling a monsterin the foyer of my own life.As if the staircaseis not rearranging itselfthe moment I look away.As if time hasn’t been taunting melike a cruel exwho knows exactlywhere my soft skin lives.My to-do listis a fucked-up funhouse mirror.Every item shows methe version of meI should have been by now.I stare at her—mouth full of apology,spine full of fire—and I want herjust onceto step out of the mirrorand stop pretendingshe’s possible.I lose hours like loversI was too wild to keep.I lose whole afternoonsthe way some peoplelose religion.Sudden.Violent.A kind of holy grief.And yes—there is shame.The thick, wet kind.The kind that grows mouldif you don’t drag it out into the sunand scream at ituntil it dissolves.But don’t mistake me.I am not asking for rescue.I am not writing a tender poemabout learning to love myselfin a haunted house.I am telling youI am renovating this bitch.With my bare handsand my broken rhythmsand my stubborn, feral hope.I am ripping down the roomsthat taught me to disappear.I am tearing up the floorboardswhere the shame slept.I am oiling the hingeswith my own sweatuntil the doors swing openlike they’ve been waitingtheir whole livesto let me through.TonightI stand inside the ruinand I say:I am done being huntedby my own mind.I am done apologisingto the ghosts I did not invite.I am done calling this survivalwhen what I wantis a life.And somewherebeneath the rubble,beneath the monster’s breath,beneath the chaos of a bodythat won’t hold still—I hear a heartbeat.Mine.Still animal.Still stubborn.Still learning to roar.More from Tess Ezzy ↓@themoodyproject_ on InstagramPoetess Press on SubstackWatch the Second PoemYou can watch and listen to Mud on Her Knees, Sky in Her Teeth by Tess as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Museum of Mourning Maria Corcoran This poem was first published in the Raven Review.Ocean of silent, aching desiresDrowned before even taking formGuiltless, carried to the pyreSnuffed and swallowed, not yet bornO lulling waves of strangled dreams,Why do you refuse to die?Trying even now to be heard, be seenFrom below the depths wherein you lieWith your unclosing eyes full of blame,Every gurgled breath you heave,Ties me a knot borne of your painYou wish to take me as you leaveYou, every dream never dared dreamtA drop in this vast cemeteryYour revenge is your lamentA cruel memoir of what I’ve buriedSharp-edged guilt, bleeding griefYour torment is mine to keepUnintended sweet deceitMy regrets are your motifsIs this your oath,Either drive me madOr kill us both?Perhaps it is a fitting end,Succumbing to these rooted woundsThat I will, you will never mendTurning inside out, self-exhumedQuiet rage, quiet tormentUndeclared indictmentPunishment for what I’ve done–A dictated requisite crime--To be forever on the run,For a choice that wasn’t mineMore from Maria Corcoran ↓@_mariacorcoran on Instagram@mariacorcoran on SubstackMaria is looking for authors and poets that write and appreciate Gothic literature. If you happen to be a poet who writes rhyming/structured poetry, she would like to connect for potential writing collabs and community building.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Human NatureLynn L.My fingertips feel the texture of a rose petal,Silken, yes, but silken with the hush of something already dying.Soft as sin, velvet against the finger,A whisper that resists and surrenders all at once.Cool at first, like a lover’s indifference,Then quick to the warmth beneath the weight of touch.More from Lynn L. ↓Her website: www.lbachman.com@authorlynnl on InstagramHer book, Saint Woman, is available nowSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem More gathers all of this week’s poems from One Poem Only—an unhurried chance to listen again, or catch what you missed.This week’s poemsEvery Cell Misses You by Dolon PramanikButterflied, oh by Yonsiri RojasYou’ll Hear Music by Chandra Tyler MountainPatience by Ayesha KhalidLost Bond by Pinky Faith OkaforLove Song by Dorothy ParkerPlus one new one to carry us into the week ahead Writing Love Poems to the NASA Artist’s ConceptMaggie DeversHow small we are,How infinitesimally small,And yet I am hereWriting this down so you may read it10 years from now, or a hundred,Or never.Is never the same as zero?What if every breath is a big bangThe end of one universeAnd the beginning of another?Galaxies live in your voiceEchoing through the walls, off the wallsIn the space between your ribsI hear youI see youOnceTwiceForeverAnd it’s never enough.More from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureMore from this week’s poetsFind links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. Love Song Dorothy Parker My own dear love, he is strong and boldAnd he cares not what comes after.His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,And his eyes are lit with laughter.He is jubilant as a flag unfurled—Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.My own dear love, he is all my world,—And I wish I’d never met him.My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,And a wild young wood-thing bore him!The ways are fair to his roaming feet,And the skies are sunlit for him.As sharply sweet to my heart he seemsAs the fragrance of acacia.My own dear love, he is all my dreams,—And I wish he were in Asia.My love runs by like a day in June,And he makes no friends of sorrows.He’ll tread his galloping rigadoonIn the pathway of the morrows.He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,Nor could storm or wind uproot him.My own dear love, he is all my heart,—And I wish somebody’d shoot him.More from Dorothy Parker ↓This poem is from Dorothy Parker's collection, Enough Rope, published in 1926.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Lost Bond Pinky Faith Okafor There are stories the world claims to tell, Yet, we do not hear. Stories of girls denied the gift of learning, Who live through nightmares and are not allowed to dream. Of salma–12 who watches her uncle close a business deal behind closed doors Scrubbing the blood of strangers two weeks later was how she learned It was her future which was traded. Of preta–22, Dragged into a corner by 5 boys, Who walked away with her smile and her voice. Now she stands by her window every night, Talking to the moon This is the only way she feels heard. Of every girl in my country who walks down the hill Before the sun even rises, Carrying a heavy container,And a heavier heart.dreams of desks and blackboards,Her childhood is passingOne chore, one silence, one sacrifice at a timeNo one asksNo one caresAnd when bad things happen, they ask,"What were you wearing,?""Where were you going?""Who did you go to see?"Instead of saying,"This shouldn't have happened to you."They clap for us on special daysGirl's day, women's dayBut forget to lend us a hand on all the other daysWhen we need it the most.And now,all I have to say is this:We will continue to stand tall,to dream without feareven when our dreams seem small.We will speak out,even if our voices still shake.Because silence is never an optionWe are not weak,And we will tell our stories with our own lips.More from Pinky Faith Okafor ↓@_pinkythepoet on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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 daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.PatienceAyesha MohalYes, you need patience,The patience of a steadfast tree,In autumn, it lets its leaves go free.Believing, not hoping alone,In spring, he will have grown.No one sits beneath the tree,Yet soon, they will come to see.Look, the birds are drawing near.Yes! yes! yes! Spring is here.Everyone is happy and free,Yes, you need patience,The patience of a steadfast treeMore from Ayesha Mohal ↓@ayeshah.writes on Instagram@ayeshamohal on SubstackHer book, Bitter Sip, is available now.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram. You’ll Hear MusicChandra Tyler MountainThis poem is included in the 2024-25 Stafford Challenge Anthology.If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the quiet humming,pulses and surges of electricity,moving through uswith light and energy.If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the windwhistling softly, making its way through,carrying seeds of hopefor a tomorrow that will surely come.If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the stately elms and oaksplanning for a winterof full exposure:cold days, stark nights.If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the private chirpsof the feathered ones who remainto brave the winter and feast on songs of insectsburied deep in the cold, hard earth.If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the laughter of childrenfrolicking in the last remaining days of sunbefore the arctic breeze pushes us behind closed doorsto seek other sources of warmth.If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the beating of your own heartin tune with blessing and grief,singing back to you:all is well; all is well.More from Chandra Tyler Mountain ↓@musings.from.my.grown.self on InstagramHer books, Sacred Water: Scripture Haiku for Those Who Thirst, and Musings from My Younger Self, are available now.Watch the Second PoemYou can watch and listen to Abandoned by Chandra as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.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

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Butterflied, ohYonsiri RojasIfish-eyed, butterflied collectionof furrowed bones composed of dustand glitter scattered throughout the meadowthe gray-hued calcium boughs quiverat the poisonous, foetid breath of their beast…a skin sack stuffed with long rancid meat;sheathed in tettered flesh, a macheteIIa blood-colored glass of somethinghails onto the peppermint braids of greeneryaltogether the beasts croon about glory, thorns, warsfortresses built off your pearly lament sprout from the landmoonlight bathes the so-called clique of controlas merciful - but cunning - death abates the tempest.More from Yonsiri Rojas ↓@lvrimar and @florerlia on Instagram@lvrimar on SubstackSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Every Cell Misses YouDolon PramanikEvery single cell in my body calls your name.It’s like they all know who they belong to.When you’re near, they hum quietly,like a song only I can feel.When you’re far,they scream —they ache.My heart tries to stay strong,but it beats too fast when I think of you.Sometimes it skips,like it forgot how to live without your rhythm.My lungs struggle too —they fill with your memory,and when I breathe out,it hurts to let you go.My stomach twists when I miss you,it forgets what comfort feels like.My hands reach out for nothing,and my skin burnsfrom the space where your touch should be.My eyes get tired from searching for youin every shadow,every crowd,every dream.I am made of you now —you live in my blood,my bones,my breath.You are in the tiny, invisible pieces of methat keep me alive.And when you’re gone,those pieces cry out —they ache like broken glass inside me.I’d do anything for you.Anything to see you happy,anything to make you stay.Because loving youis not just in my heart —it’s in every part of me.And missing youfeels like my bodyforgetting how to live.More from Dolon Pramanik ↓@chitrangi_dolon on InstagramSupport + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.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.Feb 2 Light by Shannon West @shannonswriting on Instagram.Feb 3 The Cloak of Quiet Light by Dorothy Howls @thehumanspell on Instagram.Feb 4 Dreams by Cecilia Knight @ceciliaknightpoems on Instagram. Her book, The Burning Pages, is available now. Listen to me read Treasures by Cecilia on Instagram @rembrandts.cure.Feb 5 On My Own by Srishti Jain @thesocialsaunter on Instagram.Feb 6 glass half by Michaela Godding @michaelagodding on Instagram. Her book, The Year Our Grandmothers Died, is available now.Feb 7 Magnetism by Emma LazarusFeb 8All the Words for BlueMaggie DeversI press pencils between my toesTo loosen the webbing holding me togetherYou must breathe into the pressure, diaphragmaticallyThe way that word rolls out, just like that, diaphragmaticallyMine is weak from holding my breath all my lifeI forgot how to open my back and make room for airI forgot how to expandBut I’m learningOn the exhale, I imagine smog spewing out my noseI feel fresh like LA after the rainWith the sky that perfect blue,Azzurro, they call it in ItalianOf course a country of painters has a bountyOf words for blueBlu, celeste, turchinoTrue blue, baby blue, sea blueAzzurroTo hold an understanding of color,To know the truth of blueHelps me breatheMore from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow 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

Magnetism Emma Lazarus By the impulse of my will,By the red flame in my blood,By me nerves' electric thrill,By the passion of my mood,My concentrated desire,My undying, desperate love,I ignore Fate, I defy her,Iron-hearted Death I move.When the town lies numb with sleep,Here, round-eyed I sit; my breathQuickly stirred, my flesh a-creep,And I force the gates of death.I nor move nor speak—you'd deemFrom my quiet face and hands,I were tranced—but in her dream,SHE responds, she understands.I have power on what is not,Or on what has ceased to be,From that deep, earth-hollowed spot,I can lift her up to me.And, or ere I am awareThrough the closed and curtained door,Comes my lady white and fair,And embraces me once more.Though the clay clings to her gown,Yet all heaven is in her eyes;Cool, kind fingers press mine eyes,To my soul her soul replies.But when breaks the common dawn,And the city wakes—behold!My shy phantom is withdrawn,And I shiver lone and cold.And I know when she has left,She is stronger far than I,And more subtly spun her weft,Than my human wizardry.Though I force her to my will,By the red flame in my blood,By my nerves' electric thrill,By the passion of my mood,Yet all day a ghost am I.Nerves unstrung, spent will, dull brain.I achieve, attain, but die,And she claims me hers again.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

glass halfMichaela GoddingI’m sorryfor this mess all over the all overthe carpetdragging at my heelslike a half dead doglook at memy empty is so bigmy stomach fullof starsunapologizingon the way downat least I can sayI bellied the sky.More from Michaela Godding ↓@michaelagodding on InstagramHer book, The Year Our Grandmothers Died, 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

On My OwnSrishti JainIn the air of the city,I feel like a hermitsauntering across landscapewith lavendersand a breezethat welcomes mewhere I always belonged.It is serene watersthat touch my stormwishing me luckto never settlebutembrace warm cuddlesthat I chase within.I see the sky turningpink,blue,&purple,all the hues that prosper my energyto bear the brunt of timesalone and afar.It is to walk awayandcloser to the earth,smelling its freshnessthat scents of springthat reminds me ofh o m ewhere my mum writes me letters of lovebut not sending them my wayrather making me strong in my skinto be on my own.More from Srishti Jain ↓@thesocialsaunter 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

DreamsCecilia Knighti’m three months postpartumand i’m dreaming againnot the kind you get when you’re asleepwhat is sleep anyway?the kind you get when you’re awakewhen your eyes are openand you feel alivethe kind of dreams that remind youof your firei say hello to themand they feel like a long lost friendthat you meet up with in an empty parking lotat 5am to watch the sunriseand talk about what life will be likewhen you finally leave this townthey feel like octoberthey feel like the bonfirei can hear the wood crackingi can smell the hay bale im sitting onthe beanie im wearingmakes my forehead itchybut my best friend is sitting next to meand just offered me his jacketso i forget about it for a whilethey feel like im standing in the front rowat my favorite singer’s concertjumping up and downscreaming the words toeverysinglesongthey feel like no one can touch methey feel like my son will never go wantingthey feel like something worth huntingand nothing can stop men o t h i n gMore from Cecilia Knight ↓@ceciliaknightpoems on InstagramHer book, The Burning Pages, is available now.Listen to me read Treasures by Cecilia 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