One Poem Only

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

Mabon Danielle Marie Cahill We choose three glowing apples in the greengrocerand take them home: one for each of us,polished scarlet.I slice them horizontally, so when I open the fleshyou both see the pattern of seed stars in the centre.A gasp,and you reach out with curious hands to touch them,picking out the pips with pointed fingers.You create celestial shapes on the tabletop,arguing over one stray seed although it is mine.We bite into the fruit, careful to leave behind the Pleiades: joyful sisters shining in the core.They hold us enraptured in Mabon sweetness. More from Danielle Marie Cahill ↓* @daniellecahillwriter on 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

Grief is like a corpse in the land of the living. Kimeysia They say grief is found in the saddest of people,In the saddest of families,In the lost and in the lonely.But I say this isn’t true.I’ve seen grief in happy homesIn the happiest of people.In you and in me.When grief knocks at our front door,We don’t invite it in with open arms.It comes without a whisper.So silently it creeps up,That it catches us off guard.Slowly creeping into our souls,Holding complete control of our emotions.We are lost,We are depressed.We want to run.But where do we hide?Do we seek shelter or do we hide from our emotions?These emotions are the death of us,But yet when grief gradually disappears,It’s like grey clouds washing away,Being replaced by clear skies.All we do is wait for clear skies,Without realizing grey skies are needed to make us humans.And if grey skies didn’t exist,It wouldn’t rain and cool our souls down. More from Kimeysia ↓* @the.chaotic_urbanpoet on 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

Koi Pond Isra Cheema This poem was first published in Ghost City PressTW: AbortionLook down and see your unborn baby floating in the middle of the toilet bowl—you see it spin slowly like a lone koi fish, it’s soft pinked flesh swirling in a murky pond of blood clot-lily pads. You were driving and pulled over to throw up from the lightning-strike explosion of sharp pain in your uterus—you vomited into a crumpled Walmart bag as the car inched towards someone’s mailbox. Feel the liquid warmth gush out of you, life ejected, no—rejected from your body, that life-giver. Peer closer at it, that no-longer-life no larger than a just-plucked raspberry squished intosome sort of spring jam.You want to bury it. Fill a small ring box with silk threads, a few tears, a palmful of dust, and a folded-up note of its name for the angels to know and watch over—but no, this maroon sea is its cushioned coffin, the cold ceramic toilet seat its halo. You flush, watch it swish around the bowl in circles, life-blood swirling in water like striped fins swimming away from you,as if Allah didn’t say your unborn child would drag you into heaven by its umbilical cord, as if this angel baby— More from Isra Cheema ↓@tiramisruu on Instagram Isra Cheema on Substack Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

I Watched Gaza Burn From My Bed Fatima Zahra Gul i made teawhile gaza lost internet.they bombed jabalialike it wasn’t filled with sleeping children.like it wasn’t already rubble the last time they came.al-ahli hospital glowed orange,not with hope,but with 471 lives turned to ashin one breath.the news called it a “misfire.”as if that soothed the motherspulling body parts from broken prayer mats.i saw amal and mohammad kneel besidetheir dead siblings.their faces older than their years,their grief aired live,then forgotten.i remember hind rajab.six years old.trapped in a car surrounded by her family’s corpses,whispering “they’re shooting… come get me.”they found her twelve days later.bullet in her head,rescue team dead beside her.i remember her voicemore than the silence of those who could’ve helped.i scroll past pictures of rafahwhere tents fold in on bodies like grief.where water is a privilegeand bread is a miracle.and from my room;with the fan on,with a full plate,with the guilt of breathing,i stare.gaza dies in real-timeand we livestream our helplessness.i don’t know if it’s protestor performative.i just knowi haven’t been able to sleep right since october. More from Fatima Zahra Gul ↓* @fatimaasarchive_ on InstagramYou can listen to me read this poem 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

Pop Punk Therapy (Kristen’s Version) Kristen Rosasco I. THIRTY, FLIRTY, AND DEEPLY UNWELLThey told me thirty would feel likefreedom—like a crisp Chardonnay in an overpriced glass,like a mortgage,like knees that don’t audibly crackwhen you squat down to pick up the crumbsof your twenty-something mistakes.But I’m here in my room—a room that is covered in crumbs even though there is a strict no food upstairs rule,A room that eerily resembles my teenage bedroom that thankfully still only lives in my memoryWell, sort of… *gestures vaguely*I’m still having a mental breakdown in my underwearMascara coated tears still streaming down my cheeksand since being a mom doesn’t leave much room for literally anything else I’m still standing in front of a dusty mirrorwearing a t-shirt that says“I PAUSED MY ANIME FOR THIS?”staring at my reflection and screaming—“If you could see that I’m the one who understands you!”with the emotional stabilityof a raccoon in a thunderstorm.(Because even I don’t understand myself anymore…)⸻II. THE SACRED RITUAL OF REGRESSIONThere’s a method to the madness.First, I light a candle that smells like“Cozy Cabin”(a lie. I live in messy, stained suburban hellascape with a leaky faucet,two major appliances that don’t work,and 3 tiny roommates who call me cringe).Then, I open Spotify like it’s the Ark of the Covenant,search: TAYLOR SWIFT OG ERA,and prepare to summonmy inner dramatic-ass teenwho thought wearing Converse to promwas an act of social rebellionon par with the Boston Tea Party.You Belong With Me begins.And suddenly, I’m fourteen again,mad at a boy who never looked at me,even though I definitelywrote him a very subtle poem called “your eyes are like the apocalypse but hotter.”I press play. I ascend.I time travel via bridge.“She wears short skirts / I wear depression”or whatever the lyric is.Same vibe.⸻III. THE DANCE FLOOR IS LAVA (AND ALSO CARPETED)Cue the chaos.My body moves with the graceof a drunk muppet.Arms flailing like I’m signalinga plane to land in my driveway.I knock over a glass of LaCroix—R.I.P. key lime,you were too carbonated for this world.And yet,in the disarray,something holy happens.A divine possession.Like I’m being exorcisedof all the garbage thoughtsthat say,“how’s married life treating you,”“when are you having more kids,”“your LinkedIn is embarrassing,”“your mom thinks poetry isn’t a real career.”And in this sacred movement,this messy, definitely nowhere near middle-aged interpretive flailing,I am not behind.I am not broken.I am not a punchlineat the Thanksgiving table.I am the main character.I am the moment.I am her.⸻IV. EXISTENTIAL BRIDGEBut then, inevitably,the song ends.The silence creeps inlike a landlord on the first of the month.I sit on the floor,wrap up in an old blanket that smells likedespair and dry shampoo,wondering whydancing to a pop songis the closest I’ve come toinner peacein four fiscal quarters.Maybe it’s becausewe were raised onrom-coms and repression,so we have to self-soothewith bridge-builds and chorusesto remember who we are.Maybe Taylor Swiftis cheaper than therapyand twice as effective.Maybe healingdoesn’t look like yoga retreatsand perfectly curated morning routineswith matcha and “Daily Stoic” readings—maybe healing isblasting blondie at full volumewhile ugly-crying in a bath towel,because the only personwho really understands youis 2009 Taylorand the backup vocalsyou sang into your hairbrushwhen you still believed in magic.⸻V. CLOSING CREDITS: A MIDLIFE MELODRAMASo yeah.I’m thirty.I still don’t eat my vegetables and I cry at commercials.I’ve googled “how to get your life together”more times than I’ve called my dentist.I still feel like I’m fifteen. But tonight,I danced.I shook off the shame.I made peace with my ghostsin four-four time.And if that makes me ridiculous—a grown womanin mismatched socksfinding salvation in a pop song—then so be it.Because somewhere out there,someone’s blasting All Too Well (10 Minute Version)with a bottle of Merlot and a full-on breakdown.And I salute them.And I join them.And I press repeat. More from Kristen Rosasco ↓@poetryandpatchouli on InstagramHer upcoming anthology, Poetry and Patchouli, is out soon Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Broken Ani Leland They say I'm heartbrokenBut heartache can't sufficiently describeHow the physical agony in my chest steals the air from my lungsPain so visceral tears seem trivial - not a worthy outlet of emotionThese windows to my soul are dry, seeing clear for the first timeMy body is numb - unfeelingTorment induced disassociation shielding my fragile mindMy tortured heart no longer set alight by my twin flameBut incinerated by the resulting infernoEach broken piece fueling the blazeThe once glowing embers now cold and black More from Ani Leland ↓@neversent.poetry on InstagramHer book, Echoes and Embers, the first in a trilogy co-authored with T.C. James, will be published this fall Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Sep 1 - The Bleeding of Dreams by Dean Charpentier @mrcharps on Instagram. His most recent publication: two poems featured in B O D Y literary journalSep 2 - The Playground by David ParkSep 3 - When I die, lay me down under a willow tree by Peyton Michelle Bryant @mama.laloba on Instagram. Peyton Bryant on Substack. Her book, Feral Mother, Sovereign Woman, is out now.Sep 4 - A memorial service before death by Adheena S Farhan @carbon_dat.ed on Instagram.Sep 5 - Accidental Birds by Deborah Howard @deborahcrafts on Instagram. Her book, Haiku 52: A Journey Through the Year, is out now.Sep 6 - Stillness of Light by J. Ishaan @__fire_fist_29 on Instagram.Sep 7I WorryAbout running out of wineAbout my daughter’s friend’s mom not liking meAnd no one liking my poems,About not writing any more good onesAbout the dishes and the laundry,No strike that—About not worrying about the dishes and the laundryAnd the endless list of worries.I’m exhausted just putting this down So I will put it down All of it.I’ll set gentle fire to it And rub the ashes over my tanned skinAnd comb my chlorine scented hairThen I’ll go find some mushrooms and let the rest of it fly awayTo live without meFor I can be reborn every day And lately I want toAnd I don’t know why that scares me.- 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

Stillness of Light J. Ishaan The wind runs wildacross empty ground—no footsteps, no voice,no soul to meet its cry.The sun slips away,its final raysbrushing the earthin tender, fading gold—a beauty too fragile to stay.The light falters.Darkness folds in:soft, slow, complete.A boy stands stillbeneath a skythat has forgotten stars.No moon to hold him—only shadowsand the silence of everything.Yet he hopes.He dares to believethe sun will rise again.But how could he know?Light does not vanish—it only waitsfor eyes ready to see.So he watches.Still.Afraid.But he does not turn away.And in the hushbetween moments,a shimmer stirs—not from the sky,but from within.The new daydoesn’t mirror the old.It shifts, reshapes,and still,life moves—as it must.More from J. Ishaan ↓@__fire_fist_29 on 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

Accidental Birds Deborah Howard Let’s meet beyond the ticking of clockswhere the river flows over smooth stoneand wildflowers lace the muddy banks.I will come over the stone wall,knees bloodied from scrambling across sharp-tongued granite.You will walk out of the forest,a canoe hefted on your shoulders,past deer silent on fallen leaves,smelling of rot and redemption.There will be a vagueness to your face,no more than a trick of light.You will not remember the snow that fell in oceanic driftsoutside the window where your bed was moored,the small hurts or the lastwhen everything went on as if it wasn’t so.We’ll spread a blanket on the grass,eat handfuls of honey,watch the clouds swim through the sky.I will ask who received youand if they spoke with the voices of lost stars.You will gather accidental birds in your arms-the western grebe, the snowy egret,the red throated loon.You will whisper to them, tell them how to find their wayby the green jeweled moss that growson the north side of the treesand the position of the sun.This timeI will listen.More from Deborah Howard ↓@deborahcrafts on InstagramHer book, Haiku 52: A Journey Through the Year, 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

A memorial service before death Adheena S Farhan a house/ before it’s a funeral home/ is a pitstop for God.a hot midafternoon always seems to linger/ past welcome.I live in that part of the world/ where memorial services are never held.Instead, we pool around the dead/ and become a tempest clawing at the dusk,While they wait, in the white docks, ready to go/ Or not/ I don’t know.A grandparent, his life unravelling into the season of exit/Is mostly the first encounter of death/ for most people with good, orderly lives.Cancer had tugged at his long-lived skin, it had cut the back stitch knot/That kept the threads of a whole/ neatly, folded century.Now coming undone/He trips on them, here and there, a memory, blown into confetti that had long fallen/ now no wind blows.I, my father, my uncle and aunt, my mom and many/ hold as much as we can /In our pockets, and habits, and hilt of our lives/ we try/ to weave back an autumn /back to its trees/ but doctors said the pills are only for pain.His eyes/ jaundiced/like odd eggs/hueless pupils watering often/ on yellow eyeballs /gathering the last of the world he will ever see.It will be before he is gone /it will be before he is stone growing out of this world/it will be before that wet earth is only how he knows of the floods in our lives/ I will let him know/that life was pleased to meet him/and so was I.More from Adheena S Farhan ↓@carbon_dat.ed on 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

When I die, lay me down under a willow treefacing my mountains dressed in blue. Bury me in the costume jewelry my grandmother gave me-a ring on every fingertwo on each pinky and thumb.Put me in the ground with my pewter wolf still nestled in the hollow of my throat and my sword around my neck. I don’t want a fancy coffin;leave me to the crows I loved so much in life.Let my body be my final gift to the land.Promise to only tell the truth.Tell the truth of how I burned.Sometimes like the sunlightthat peppers your eyelids with kisses in the dog days of summer-some days like a wildfire devouring everything in it’s path. Tell them of how my rage blazed as hot as my lovebut I never let it hold me for longand I couldn’t hold a grudgeto save my own damn life.Tell the truth of how I was a pain in the assand would argue a point until I was blue in the face but damn it, did I make life more interesting.When I die, I want you to throw the biggest party this town has ever seen. Only the most outrageous outfits will do!If I look down to an ocean of black at my wake, I swear I’ll haunt you all.Play my Inner Summer playliston a speaker at my funeral;turn up the volume as loud as it will goand dance.When I die, tell my children that they hung the moon and the stars in my sky.Tell them that they were the greatest thingI ever created.Tell them that I’ll see them again somedayin some other waybut that until then, they’ve got one hell on wheels kinda angel protecting them on the other side. When I die, cover the ground where I lay in wildflowers and scribbled lines of poetry. Put crow feathers, coyote hair, roses and honey next to my picture on the family altar. Leave the thorns on the stems. On Sunday mornings, pour a cup of black coffee on the Earth.Right there in my favorite spotwhere I spent so many afternoonswatching the birds dance and play. Plant butterfly bushes.Right there, where I held a ruby throated hummingbird in the palm of my hand and felt the pulse of God herself through a blanket of green feathers. Give my words away.Pass my journals down to my grandchildren;let my spells live on in the hands and hearts of the generations to come after me. Tear out all of my head in the oven poems written for that one lover that got awayand mail them to his door. Stamp two wolves on the envelope and tell him how I wished for so longthat we had more time. Tell him that I’ll see him in another life in a den underground. Let these pages tell a living story of each time I cradled heartbreak in my hands and still dared to love again.When I die, let our love keep you warmwhen sadness comes to call.Let grief in the front door (don’t make her search for the spare key)Let her soften your sharp edges.Let her crack you open and remind you to live your life like this is all going to end. Because one day, it does. If we’re lucky,this life will have been enough-a spark in the dark that lit a thousand flames. A story that will live on in the blood and bones of the ones we leave behind. When I die, may the life I lived be the flare that lit the matchof a torch called freedom.May it be the best story I ever birthedfrom the tip of my pen.May it be the permission slip to be bold.May it be the heart song that sets my lineage free.- Peyton Michelle Bryant More from Peyton Michelle Bryant ↓@mama.laloba on InstagramPeyton Bryant on SubstackHer book, Feral Mother, Sovereign Woman, is out nowYou can listen to me read another poem by Peyton, I don’t know who god is exactly but I know this, 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

Playground David Park In the spheres the playgrounds are alive!Excitement pours forth in laughter and tears. What’s now and what’s nextis felt as the vibrations ripple through the air. Rising up through the trees to echo down the fading memory of childhood. In our time, this ever achingly brief blink, as of a child’s tear filled eye,we kneel to honor these moments. To honor the child, the Mother andthe Father. We, in our capacity to hold open our hearts, call forth blessings not bestowed on us. The singularity of eternity expands in the presence of our presence. Fear and sadness let loose, anger and pain softened. We rise to our next kneeling. Holding fast and fleetingly to unheard hymns. To the faintness of spirit gesturing us on towards sleep. We soften. We drink from the deep waters of our resiliency that is finding its way into parts of our healing. And, we sleep and dream in the spheres of our own playground. In the echoes of laughterMore from David Park ↓This poem is inspired by David’s years at Play Mountain Place, where children are free to learn 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 Bleeding of Dreams Dean Charpentier for Andrea Gibson“Who possesses a perfect soul?” — RimbaudI am reading Rimbaud onmy porch when I hear you have died. It is a thick July morning. The ceiling fan stirs a slow potion of lazy haze and the slow sun efforts to rise above the trees. The leavesare a muted green and gold. Tired birds sing.My soul is patched and stitchedtogether, much of the mending amateurish and clumsy, but there is evidencehere too of your deft hand,your words woven into thin threads,sutures to stop the bleeding of dreams.It occurs to me that you arethe answer to the poet’s rhetorical question:to remove the border between life and deathis to traverse the invisible horizon at the ocean’s end on a moonless night.I am learning. I wield the delicate needle of your wisdom to sew up the hole you’ve left in my world, only to discover you’ve beaten me to it.More from Dean Charpentier ↓@mrcharps on InstagramHis most recent publication: two poems featured in B O D Y literary journalMentioned 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.Aug 25 - Unfinished Men by Miss Greenwood @_miss_greenwood_ on Instagram and YouTube. Miss Greenwood on Substack. Her book, PolyPoetry, is out now.Aug 26 - a soul of no age by Elle Sirs @ellesirspoetry on Instagram and Tiktok. Her book, Girls: A Collection of Poems, is out now.Aug 27 - What I love about women’s sports by Lauren Mantis @laurenmantis on Instagram. vers/atile by Lauren Mantis on Substack.Aug 28 - Wild Acolyte by Jenny Beldame @jennybeldame on Instagram. Jenny Beldame on Substack.Aug 29 - When two writers fall in love by Neeta S @pahadan.writes on Instagram.Aug 30 - Paper Boats by Donna Burke Esgro @the_writing_harpsichord on Instagram.Aug 31 - Propaganda I’m not falling forMaggie Devers Laws make us safeWar is necessary Our worth is determined by our usefulness Children must be taught Right and wrong Productivity creates happiness Sugar is badBabies are dumb Intelligence can be measuredEmpathy makes you weakNo pain no gainThe world is a cruel placeI don’t deserve to be happy There’s more suffering than goodAnd art won’t save us.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

This poem first appeared in Flora/Fauna an internationally curated book of eco-poetry and photography, edited by Pete Taylor and published by Open Shutter PressPaper Boats Donna Burke Esgro I am a rivercoiling, curvingflowing ore at first lightjumping the reeds, rushes, sedgestrailing silver ribbons of salmonI run heavywith blood, tears, poisonbroken hearts of bearswispy with water hyacinths, damselfliesListen to my ancient songsfrom glacial depthsto tarnished surfacePay heed as I flood, surge, rageagainst jagged cliffscrack boulders and chisel stoneinto sacred chasmsAttend as I light the votive candlesof ten thousand transparent spawnKneel as you set sail your paper boatsfleeting as wings of timeI am a riverresolute as the constant starsmy blue veins coursing, coursingto the thumping heart of the seaMore from Donna Burke Esgro ↓@the_writing_harpsichord on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

When two writers fall in love, they amuse each other weaving words And when at war with each other, they use equal amount of flowery words as swords.- Neeta SMore from Neeta S ↓@pahadan.writes on InstagramMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Wild Acolyte Jenny Beldame If my body is a temple I am its priestI will offer it the strongest grainsmy grandfathers did not farm the landfor me to starveI will pluck the ripest, juiciest fruitsand serve them in golden bowlsto this bodymy mothers did not give me a full bellyfor me to remain barrenFor this temple I will sacrifice the fattest calvesmy uncles did not drive the steersfor my bones to require a scaffoldI shall wash this temple in abundant florafrom verdant forestsmy aunts did not teach the medicinesfor me to fall ill This temple will glisten with fragrant oilsfrom the lushest grovesmy fathers did not fell the treesfor me to not feel homeI shall adorn this temple in the finest flax and silksmy grandmothers did not weave their fingers numbcreating wonderful garmentsfor my skin to chap in the wildernessI shall glorify this templefor this body is a testamentof perseverance and triumphthe love and gloryof time eternalMore from Jenny Beldame ↓@jennybeldame on InstagramJenny Beldame on SubstackMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

a soul of no age,shifting in and out of internal organs,white blood cells curse,being held back in the busy traffic of the body.signs flash with warnings of disturbance,the heart screams in agony,corrupted, deflowered at the hands of an invisible poet.skin aged 25, gives way to new textures,wrinkled flesh and flaky liquids,a soul of no age,settling within the whole, calcium sucked dry,how could a non entity, act in caligulan manner?intelligence no more, integrity lost,untrue are the veins, their patterns disguised now as the motorway to the soul.the soul with no age.- Elle SirsMore from Elle Sirs ↓@ellesirspoetry on Instagram and TiktokHer book, Girls: A Collection of Poems, is out nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

What I love about women’s sports Lauren Mantis It’s the sweat / the ponytails / the surprise ofacrylic nails / women moving like predators instead of prey / the endurance / the focus / their serious faces / only smiling when they’ve achieved something beautiful / the little girls in the crowd learning / this is another way a woman’s body can be celebrated / watching a goal lift a sea of people to their feet / perpetual motion / kinetic energy like growth / like hope / like possibility / the knowledge that failure just means / next week there is a chance of redemption / always another opportunity for a win / always loud and lifted by the cheers of the faithfulMore from Lauren Mantis ↓@laurenmantis on Instagramvers/atile by Lauren Mantis on SubstackYou can listen to me read another poem by Lauren, Now that I'm my mother's age, over on Instagram @rembrandts.cureMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Unfinished Men Miss Greenwood I can no longer burn for two.And certainly not for three.It's that truth which might shake your comfort zone, but in the end - it sets me free. Seeing potential without any action leads to some sad and mad dissatisfaction.I’ve seen potential, yes - but without any action, it becomes a ghost. A haunting echo of an almost-love...you know, that kind of love that hurts the most.No, my loves, you are not evil.You're only weak.You were never cruel.Just not complete.Too afraid to rise,too fragile to meet.Too insecure for my love to carry which you actually never really had to seek.Too anxious to change what always worked for you but actually never really did.Your lack of affection was what led to our dynamics and imbalanced interaction, I have to admit.You're a shadow that makes promises it never intends to keep. A shadow from which I could only guess where it comes from or where it goes - but never becoming really deep.Your ease became a weighton my wings meant to fly.Too light to hold me -too slow to try.Your shallow depth has become weight upon my free and wild wings. Easy. Relaxed.Attached. But without any strings.Easiness can turn heavywhen it carries what’s always been unsaid.All the feelings you’ve buried and all the truths you’ve left for the dead instead.Easiness too heavy to carry or -could it be my own?The perception of all those feelings you hid, never capable of truly being shown.This is my female rebirth after a sexual but asexual heartbreak of mine. I rise in all my female energy and learn again how to be mine.I rise, not angry -but finally whole.I love myself more than your almosts, your perhaps, your self-soothing roles.I love myself more than all of your 'Well, let's see!'s.More than all of your out of commodiousness arising maybes. I love my fire more than your promising, but actually cold breezes of unapproachable aloofness mess.Yes, I found you both attractive -thought we might align.I tried, I reached, I danced toward hope, but none of you ever truly met mine.Damn, I found you two so attractive! Was really convinced you'd be a good match.I dared to come closer. I tried.Even if it meant some hopelessly hopeful and desperate fight.But I've never experienced any success in that, since your mental cage and fear is everything you've ever had.Would never want to hate you for something I've done to myself for many years.I still love in spite of your deepest, chaos-bringing fears.Now I know:I will not hate youfor what I allowed.I will simply stop burningwhere there is no fire but only doubt allowed.I loved. I love.Those were my deeds.I just need to stop loving against myself and my very own needs. I've stopped asking myself and believe me, I too often did - on my patio sitting out there writing from my heart and from my most loving mind.I've stopped asking myself - sitting on my patio all by myself and all alone: Will you ever rise to meet me - or must I finally rise on my own? (April 2025)More from Miss Greenwood ↓@_miss_greenwood_ on Instagram and YouTubeMiss Greenwood on SubstackHer book, PolyPoetry, is out nowMentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Aug 18 - As I sit frustrated at the world’s apathies by Mar Lamar @marlamarrr on Instagram. Listen to her songs To the Moon & Someone to Blame now.Aug 19 - She will always be an unfinished poem. by Nur Houda Or @neverjustathought on Instagram.Aug 20 - In which I explain myself by Alex Dawson @alexdawcreates on Instagram. Second Nature on Substack. Her book, All these Living Things, is out now. She curated and edited the anthology, Upon Learning That: A Collection of Poetry Based on Facts About the Natural World. It is out now.Aug 21 - I Seek Solace I Seek Peace by Ro Hefzu @ro_hefzu on Instagram and Facebook. Ro Hefzu on Substack.Aug 22 - Hope is Dancing by James Roethlein @jroeth71 on Instagram. His books: Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1/2 (2018), An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing (2020), Letters to Roxanne (2022), and Writing With Scissors (2022)Aug 23 - Home by Narayani Goenka @star_lit_words on Instagram. She is featured in Across Latitude & Language: World Poetry Anthology published by Delhi Poetry Slam.Aug 24 - Full Moon in Capricorn Maggie Devers I made potato soup with chicken stock, butter and creamAnd felt like a wealthy peasant To know such bounty as potato soupI read something and took a screenshot of itAnd then it hit me in the face:This is the way I want to write, and I canI Googled when the moon would be fullExactlyAnd listened to my neighbors cackle from their balconyEverything we want is already hereJust waiting for us to hold open the door And nod the way inside.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

Home Narayani Goenka I scratch the wallstill my nails break.. till the sound of the scratch sends an unrelenting wave of anxiety through my body till there is a forced call in me to stop.I submerge my head in my bath tub full of water and count to 20, then 50, then as long as my limbs shake as if I'm caught in exorcism.I gasp, not sure if another moment in it would mean if I have wonor lost.Listen to me, I yell. My mind is trapped in a fog.Maybe that is why when you look into my eyes, you can't see the mess.Even when I'm screaming loud enough to paralyse myself, you don't hear me.You think you know me but you don't.We're right next to each other, still in different places.How do I invite you in my mind?A horrid place with spider webs, ghosts hanging from walls, I'm running for help.How do I tell you that this is my home?That this is where I live?That this is how I live?More from Narayani Goenka ↓@star_lit_words on InstagramShe is featured in Across Latitude & Language: World Poetry Anthology published by Delhi Poetry Slam 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

Hope is Dancing James Roethlein Lying alone each night, empty arms aching,all the while hope is dancing hope is dancing hope is dancing in my dreamswhen I’m awake I would seek to seethe sunshine in your facethe heavens in your eyesand to hear the melodic honey of your lipsthat would turn my lemonade soul sweet.And I would hopeAnd I would hopeAnd I would hopeyou’d dance duet with meall the years we have left.More from James Roethlein ↓@jroeth71 on InstagramHis books: Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1/2 (2018), An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing (2020), Letters to Roxanne (2022), and Writing With Scissors (2022) Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

I Seek Solace I Seek Peace Ro Hefzu I lost my chance at education, My possessions scattered like fallen leaves, Obliged to forsake my heritage, I buried my treasures deep in the earth. Most of my kin have drifted away, Our dignity crushed beneath harsh boots, All in the pursuit of peace and identity. In the end, I fled my homeland empty-handed.In a democratic land, I struggle every single secondLonging for a life that feels truly living. I lay bare my hunger to the world, Some suffer in silence while others perish, Yet, each flicker of hope is reborn, All for the sake of peace and tranquility. Still, I stand empty-handed and yet resilient.In the evening, I wander the shore, In the morning, I stroll through barren gardens, At night, I retreat to a restless bed, During the day, I often slip away from work, Searching for solace and serenity. Yet, I remain untouched and unfulfilled.In my leisure, I lose myself in haunting melodies, Sometimes, I pour my sorrows onto the page, I seldom linger alone, fading into shadows. On weekends, I venture into the bustling city, Seeking peace and tranquility. But still, no change has graced my life.“Oh Peace, Are you fleeing? I have never seen you.Grant me but a moment to feel your touch. Only just once”More from Ro Hefzu ↓@ro_hefzu on Instagram and FacebookRo Hefzu on SubstackRo Hefzu is a Rohingya poet and a writer currently residing in the world's largest refugee camp in Bangladesh. A survivor of brutal persecution in Myanmar, Ro Hefzu channels lived experiences of genocide, displacement, and resistance into powerful verses. He believes that poetry serves as a vital mirror reflecting human struggle and hope, and a potent tool in the fight for justice for the persecuted minorities like the Rohingya and Palestinians. Currently, Ro Hefzu is finalizing his debut poetry collection for global publication. 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

In which I explain myself Alex Dawson I want the garden, not the flowersin their sterile vase, I want the bees,the fruit, the soil under my nails,I want to make a mealof what is true. The grit and griefof life, the words you never said,caught in your throat, I want them like I want the birdsto follow the invitation of the moon. When I was young,someone peeled my eyes widelike wild grapes. Don’t you see?I couldn’t close them if I tried. More from Alex Dawson ↓@alexdawcreates on InstagramSecond Nature on SubstackHer book, All these Living Things, is out nowShe curated and edited the anthology, Upon Learning That: A Collection of Poetry Based on Facts About the Natural World. It is out now.You can listen to me read a poem by Alex that is included in the anthology Upon Learning That 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

She will always be an unfinished poem. Unfinished in the way she lives -where passion collides with fear,and potential and failure reside in the same home. There is this great risk,a constant edge of falling apartno matter what she pursues.That’s her way through the world. I wonder if she chooses this incompletionor if fate carved it into her life before she ever had a say.And I wonder -if I finish something she couldn’t,would that mean her fate isn’t mine after all?- Nur Houda OrMore from Nur Houda Or ↓@neverjustathought on 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

As I sit frustrated at the world’s apathies I see my daughter happily chasing light leaks spilling through the window they’re doing their own dance breaking up the room’s darkness “I’m chasing the light!” she screams It jolts me back to the present (she’s always teaching me lessons)-Mar LamarMore from Mar Lamar ↓@marlamarrr on InstagramListen to her songs To the Moon & Someone to Blame 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.Aug 11 - Silence the Foe by Gloriaea. @_gloriaea on Instagram. Gloriaea’s Atelier on Substack. She has an upcoming release planned for 2026.Aug 12 - i promised myself i will not write about you by Bushra Iqbal @lettersformedusa on Instagram.Aug 13 - The Biggest Lie by Gabrielle Kay @gabriellekayartistry on Instagram. Her book, The Trail She Left: A collection of poetry, is out now.Aug 14 - I Will Sing Louder Than Bombs by Aslam Sheik @smmaslam on Instagram. Aslam Mohammed on Substack. His book, Paper Boat - in Rumi's Garden, is out now.Aug 15 - Words Are Fairy Dust by Misti Marie Elmore @mistimarie8 on Instagram.Aug 16 - Baby Blue Marble by Old Fart with a Guitar @old_fart_with_a_guitar on Instagram. Listen to his music here: Old Fart with a Guitar.Aug 17 - Be FreeMaggie Devers Time for the chorusThe good bit we’re waiting forThe sweet part, the lines we knowBy heartAnd sing outFor us. You quote chapter and verseGood for youBut what does it mean?You’ve memorized sonnetsBut that won’t feed my loveWrite me a poemAnd shout itLike we did after dropping quarters in the jukebox Or crowded around the pianoSipping gin and sodaSmoking cigarettes Oblivious to anything that didn’t matterOnly there for the chorus.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

Baby Blue Marble Old Fart with a Guitar You ask me why in the world do many little things matter to me?Why in the world can’t I ever let anything slide?You say i’m piling up mountains of sand i’ve collected from mole hillsWhy in the world can’t I just go along for the ride?Well, it’s the why in the world that twists in my mind like a mysteryWhen I see bandits and bullies and arrogant villains prevailTrying to jam all they can through the eye of a needleBacking up traffic for miles on the heavenly trailAll the toys of the pharaohsAre in a museumOut in plain sightFor the whole world to see emGamblers and griftersAnd wannabe godsSoon figure out that they can’t beat the oddspampered or pooryou get only one tourRiding this baby blue marbleOn a journey around a less than significant starYou tell me Jesus is coming, well buddy you’d better get busyI don’t think fluffing up pillows or hanging his picture will doCause when he sees all the things you’ve done to the least of his brothersHe might be inclined to kick over a table or twoEvery breath drawnFrom the first to the lastEach life to comeAnd each one that’s pastflower and seedsChildren and mamasDinosaurs, dolphins, leopards and llamashighbrow and humbleall rolling and tumblingRiding this baby blue marbleOn a journey around a less than significant starMore from Old Fart with a Guitar ↓@old_fart_with_a_guitar on InstagramListen to his music here: Old Fart with a Guitar 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

Words Are Fairy Dust Misti Marie Elmore Presumably in disbeliefI chased the star of PsalmsSang a song of lamentationWisdom proved me wrongTemptation swept me into herI confessed and swam awayI look for the morning starTo turn and eat the dayMore from Misti Marie Elmore ↓@mistimarie8 on 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

I Will Sing Louder Than Bombs Aslam Sheik Sleep, my child, though the night is wide, I’ll hold the dark from coming inside.Close your eyes, don’t hear the sky, Just hear my voice, I’m standing by.I will sing louder than bombs, Louder than fire, louder than drums.Even if the world comes undone, You’ll only hear your father’s song.Windows shake, but your heart won’t break, Not while I’ve songs left still to make.Let the war howl, let the sirens cry, I’ll drown them out, I’ll sing them dry.I will sing louder than bombs, Louder than fear, louder than wrongs.Even if the walls come down, You’ll sleep safe beneath my sound.They may take the streets, the skies, But they won’t take your lullabies. As long as I can breathe and sing, You’ll never feel a single wing…of war.I will sing louder than bombs, Louder than grief, louder than guns.Till the silence comes again, I’ll sing you peace, my little one.More from Aslam Sheik ↓@smmaslam on InstagramAslam Mohammed on SubstackHis book, Paper Boat - in Rumi's Garden, 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

The Biggest Lie Gabrielle Kay The biggest lie you've been told Is that the world doesn't need youThat no one needs you to understandOr needs you to be understoodThat the world doesn't need you to know everything or anything because it is completely indifferent to you and will continue spinning anywaysBecause it doesYour world wants you to stand in your feetNeeds you to stand in your feetMove in your shoesIn your bodyWith your brain and your mindIt's the way you think, interpret, and reverberate through the halls of timeIt's what colors your worldWhat brings vibrancy to your lifeThey lied to you because their innocence wasn't valuedThey lied to you because their world was built on cardboard legsThey lied to you because when they opened their eyes and saw you lyingthere, glowing, in all goldEnvy was all they could seeThey tried to steal it, they moved you and sat in your place then cursed thebrown lighting that wouldn't make them glowThey lied to you because they thought love was in the shineThey thought love was something you could sneak under your jacket andwalk out with before getting caught They thought love was a dark secret reserved only for those slick enough tosteal itWhat's not a lie is thatYou are the most beautiful thing this world has ever seenYou are the most kindYou try so hard every day in every moment with every breath and waymore than every beat of your heartYou are strongAnd you are capable of loveIn fact, you love more than anything I've ever seenThrough the murky Mississippi to the salt to the seaI've never seen love like thatI've never seen love so freeYou are goodGood enough to sit with meGood enough to say your nameYou are good enough to cryGood enough to claim your painYou deserve to have it stopYou deserve to say THIS HURTS RIGHT HERE, NOW STOPYou are worthy of reliefYou are joyYou are meant to glowYou are funnyYou never speak too muchYou have exceptional ideas and your heart's so soft it's toughYour courage is big like a lion, which just means your heartYou are allowed to rip your prey apart,Devour it, sit with your face covered in blood and still be the beautifulmajestic beast that you areWhat if we all got that word wrongWhat if beast only ever meant womanWhat if she's the boogeymanWhat if she's the crackenWhat if she's godzillaWhat if she is the beastAnd they liedAnd named her that so we would hunt her and poke her with hot iron rods And chain her with iron shacklesHoping HopingHopingThat as soon as that final ash would drop they could step into her light That the light they burned up inside of her would somehow fall onto all ofthemIt's all a lieIt's just murder and lies So leave them there, with their thoughts And KNOW Just know Know it all Listen and feel it and know Because you are right And it was all a lie You are the beast You are the beauty You are the best this world has to offer And anything EverThat ever ever ever makes you feel like you're notIs a lieMore from Gabrielle Kay ↓@gabriellekayartistry on InstagramHer book, The Trail She Left: A collection of poetry, is out nowYou can listen to me read Gabrielle Kay’s poem, Different Spaces, 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

i promised myself i will not write about you Bushra Iqbal but here i ambreaking it in twolike the flesh of a fruitgone terribly badthe sand breaks softlywith every step i takei like the progressuntil they're swept awaythe waves pull me inthe same way you lovedso ferociously gentlewith their wantno teeth no clawsall warmth all salti like it herethe place from whereno one can tellthe sky from the seawhere everything and nothingcoexist togetherwhere i'm neither alive nor deadneither sinking nor floatingneither breathing nor deadneither in love nor outi said i like it herewhere it's neither in the beginning nor the endingbut right in the middle of the storyit's the closest i've come to peacepiece by piece you seeso leave me by the seafor a while let me be let me seethe world in this lightin only and only this momentneither the past nor the futurelet me live in the momentlet the waves pull me inlet me think that it's youwho's loving meso ferociously gentlewith your wantno teeth no clawsall warmth all saltMore from Bushra Iqbal ↓@lettersformedusa on 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

Silence the Foe Gloriaea Horror Horror Blood poured from my eyes Every word you penned Dug through my irisesBut why foil the ink Stuff it back in the pen Hold one end to their jugular Until they eat their stained paper Why not Pull out a fresh sheet And let your heart bleed Color every page With the kaleidoscope of you Until the lights shines Various frequencies amplified Blinding our skulls Until they've expanded Mute the poet Cut off his chords Or find your voiceAnd illuminate the stageMore from Gloriaea ↓@_gloriaea on InstagramGloriaea’s Atelier on SubstackShe has an upcoming release planned for 2026. 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.Aug 4 - Until We Are Soft Again by Shauna Richmond @shauna_lee_art_poetry on Instagram. Her book, It’s Time to Love Yourself First, is out now.Aug 5 - “meet me under the celestial croissant” by Irina Vérène @queen_of_gore on Instagram and @queenofgore on Substack.Aug 6 - Wednesday Double Feature Ancient Remedies by Raquel Medora @raquel.medora on Instagram, Lost in Thought on Substack. Her book Moms Are The Strongest Men is out now.Aug 7 - Episode 99: Speak by Maggie Devers Maggie Devers. Read my debut poetry book, For My Daughter. Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureAug 8 - I've had too much to drink today by Precious @precious_poetry101 on Instagram.Aug 9 - Voice by Yvette Francis @yvetteshealingspace on Instagram and Facebook. She has two books out now: Everyday Wisdom - Healing Words for the Journey & The Years of Solitude - Expanding Self.Aug 10 - Circe Maggie Devers You are Zeus come again.You are healed and rebornNow with all your strength That never left you,You who have foundHow to proclaim your immanenceAbove the seaBelow the cloudsEverywhere the heart beats,The blood flows,And the nectar noses sweetAnd sweeter still to taste.You eat the flowersLike a madwomanBut they heal youAnd you walk with even legs once moreTo birth a girl to save the world As Pluto moves to where they need to beAnd we stand once more,Forever more, to rite.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

Voice Yvette Francis Voice to speakWhy don’t they listen?Voice to teachDo they really learn?Voice to whisper… to sootheWill they take comfort?Voice to declare… truthWill they run away?Voice of courageVoice of beautyVoice of graceVoice of wisdom, love and joy!My voice goes on…The voice I have earnedThe voice that always has beenNow unencumberedNow freeNow me!All me!More from Yvette Francis ↓@yvetteshealingspace on Instagram and FacebookShe has two books out now: Everyday Wisdom - Healing Words for the Journey & The Years of Solitude - Expanding Self Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO

I've had too much to drink today The haze of smoke blurs the edges of my deepest musingand leads my mind to wonderLike a restless travelerThese songs I ruminate on arethe blood curling around my ribsechoing stories I don’t want to hearof a beautiful ingenue I once knewOne I feel, I am losingIn the dead of morning I sleep in silenceBut I can still feel the hum of the starsrepositioning themselves in my skyHow was I an ingenue at seventeenEyes wide open to endless possibilitiesand then-hollowed out.Just smoke and shadows at 23?Will they still want me??When the afterglow fades from my skinwhen the bruises of timebegin to show their colors in scarsWill I still want me when i’m ancient and listless???my youth slipping through my fingerslike blood once didfrom my veins so many moons agofingers that once held the future of the worldcoming to rest one last time.- PreciousMore from Precious ↓@precious_poetry101 on 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

Speak Maggie Devers She speaks in poetryLike she doesn’t know another way.Seriously, there is a soundtrack to her life.It’s not even main character energy,It’s ‘I embody me’ energy.How brave to live for yourselfAnd all your deep, true, pure desires,The ones underneath what you showAnd even the ones under those.Excavate your heart and find the way to live for you.Venture to the bottom of the wellWhere it’s cool and quiet,Where the water springs from the earth—There you will find all you need,The poetry to speak. 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

ancient remedies Raquel Medora can you tell me?how the roots and the leaves listen while i place my hand on their trunks and ask them to whisper their wisdom as if the bark could bark orders at me about how to save a marriage how to serve how to hide emotions in a vaulted reserve how the calluses on my memories have lived in my brain in vain can it snap back into place as if snapping wouldn’t just break a branch awaywithout a roof the air is like transparency voiceless and present no facet of truth to unearth your hands like wiggling worms ambition like a slippery snail hidden face of a temptress let her, like water, wash awayMore from Raquel Medora ↓@raquel.medora on InstagramLost in Thought on SubstackHer book, Moms Are The Strongest Men, is out nowYou can listen to me read Raquel Medora’s poem, The Month of Lavender, 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

meet me under the celestial croissantwith its ridged crispy doughand cream-colored insidesdreamy cratersperfect for scooping up spacelike blueberry jamedible stardustspeckled throughoutfind mewhere silver cutlery lightinvites to devourreflected in your eyesuntil the buttermilk orange juice skiesoffer milky way breakfastunder the egg yolk sunlightagain- Irina Vérène More from Irina Vérène ↓@queen_of_gore on Instagram@queenofgore on Substack 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

Until We Are Soft Again Shauna Richmond I know a place where living takes flight where we can plant willow and watch them grow gracefully cascade to the ground and together we can bring life to the parts forever shaded as we share oxygen and flashes of light kiss our skin through life we created a place with crystal clear streams forever changing, yet still the same where ery twist and turn we’ll be held close until we’re soft againMore from Shauna Richmond ↓@shauna_lee_art_poetry on InstagramHer book, It’s Time to Love Yourself First, 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.Jul 28 - Unholy Hunger by katherine kier. @katherinekier on Instagram and Substack. You can listen to her soundscapes at katherinekier.bandcamp.comJul 29 - Noon. by Sophie M. (Almon) HensleyJul 30 - Wednesday Double Feature Mourning Politely by Anne Card @annephora on Instagram. Anne Card at Sit for a Spell on Substack.Jul 31 - Irises by Maggie Devers. Read my debut poetry book, For My Daughter. Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cureAug 1 - Nights Full Of Terror by Nicole Marie. @nicolemarie_crim on Instagram. @bookbaddiexxx on TikTok. Nicole Marie on Substack. Her book Boneyard Poetry ~ A Wild Compilation of Poems & Cemetery PhotosAug 2 - You’re so hot by Jacqueline McCoy. @kaleidoscope_eyesx0 on InstagramAug 3 -Ask the Bear Maggie Devers I want to know what the bear knowsWhat the ocean knowswhat my heart knows.Might it all be the same.Does the bear not love?Does the ocean not mournis my heart not wild?But how to know what the bear knowsMaybe the salmon swimming in the stream will tell me.Or children who have learned to war like a bear Or the ghost of the hiker mauled by the bearThere must be truth in all they know Or I could just ask the bear. 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

you're so hot your heart will never break againonce you realize the absence you grieve is a presence within asking to receivethe magic you perceive is but you staring into yourselfI wish I could see you from as many perspectives as your mind composesI wish I could be the words you write see from their vantageto feel your smile as I'm pulled by your immersive gaze and melt into meaningblister into belonging and never scabevery time you hit the right noteyour eyes are a slow light ablazeglimmering through every disappearing duskI wish I knew what it was like to be the pen you holdthe way your grip tightens when a line makes you bleedsmearing black ink like a painting touched with a new feelingthe keys you type on with fervor and passion like you mean itI wish I could be a feelingto cleanse in the scent of your tearsto not need a sea but dive in the current ofyour nameand purify the body that carries youI want to be the lone freckle in your right eye to know how it feels to be submerged in avisionbreathingnever coming up for airnever needing to in order to feel aliveas the rest of your vessels contractyour eyes remind me of another way to breatheyou're so hoteven though you've been silent most of your lifehow I wish I could feel what your lips felt the moment they spokefeel the way they quivered before separating the rush of your releaseI want to exist as the air they press upon collapse between their symmetryand fall into its shape carved by your exhaleyou're so hotI wish I could see you without a mirrorknow what it is to really see youthen write a poem about the way I do what other choice could my body bear toseepwithout a barrier that only shows your reflectionI want to undress the glass as it shatters between usfeel you reach for me like I do when I reach for my voiceyou're so hotwhen you believe in a dreamlet reality retractuntil you're refracted in a realm of your callinghow I want to hear the volume of your cords raise arpeggios in the heat of an answer please always keeps answeringI want to be the floor you walk upon feel the whole of you without fracturingI want to be the fragment of the imagination you extractbe inside its prism that directs the sun where to shineI want to feel the sun when its rays devour youonly your silhouette remainsI want to know what she feelsin her knowing of how only she can unearthyour red highlightsthrough your hair the shade of burnt cocoa nearly blacktranslate your DNA strand by strand layer by layeruntil I'm stripped inside your particlesI want to dive deeper inside your depthyou taught me how my oxygen dissolves if I stay on the surfaceI want to be the silence that enters you feel the electricity of your insightwhat it is to be let in through youlet me be your iron the blood that moves you let me be inside your veinswhen your heart starts racing like a river that knows where it flows and how it will never empty but overflow to move me like you tend to love's motion is to know me in a nestled notion in the ache of devotionyou're so hot you're more than human poetry written by a god you recreated living inside you resurrecting me no wonder so many angels surround you it's your essence that penetrates the tincture pulling heaven down around usyou hide behind metaphor until you're promptedto tell me why you're so hotit was never a secretyou wanted to be seenyour truth transparentof what you've always been trying to say I believe first you had to love yourself become intimate with the muscle that knows more than your pain the way you glow when you can command grief where to go to make the vow to never bathe in concealment for you have always known on the other sideyou're so hotthe way you walk through your fears of open spaceshow bodies of water breathe you into the timing of their wavesto permeate your lungs with verses of vitalitythe way you feel the panic despite so you can live enough to write the poem to write the poem is why you are aliveyou're so hot when you think of me thinking of other women the way you look at themin a transfixed glazeyou knew there was no coming back to any other after the eye contact of the solvent of your spirityou're so hot the way you show me how to keep coming back keep me from missing you after you became the first to never leave keep me listening as your body whispers indelible ink on fabric so delicate delving into the geometry of your corethe truth is how will I ever know another the way you see me and I in you I hope you always rememberI know I’m never alonefor you alone exist- Jacqueline McCoyMore from Jacqueline McCoy ↓@kaleidoscope_eyesx0 on 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 pr

Nights Full of Terror Nicole Marie Remember the vision you had?For a split second, That caused you to feel complete terror?A thought,That chilled your body to the bone.You told yourself,You would never survive the loss.The failure.The wreckage.And you tried so hard, Sacrificing yourself,You stayed.But it happened anyway,And here you are,Living the vision that rocked you into oblivion. All of the nights of terror,Silenced.It was never what you thought it would be.More from Nicole Marie ↓@nicolemarie_crim on Instagram@bookbaddiexxx on TikTokNicole Marie on SubstackHer book Boneyard Poetry ~ A Wild Compilation of Poems & Cemetery Photos 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

Irises Maggie Devers I had to write her story Before I heard it from the lips of another,Even a writer I admired—I had to release it first.So I stopped readingTo write it downAnd saw it dance across the pagesFive lines later.Such certainty predilectionBrings to life.Irises between pagesYou cannot deny.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

Mourning Politely Anne Card sorry to bother you it's just that when I was new to the world he was the first person to ever hold me please excuse me it's just that even as an adulthe'd reach for my hand to cross the roadI do apologise for going onit's just thati've lost himMore from Anne Card ↓@annephora on InstagramAnne Card - Sit for a Spell on SubstackYou can listen to me read Anne Card’s poem, Motherhood, 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

Noon. Sophie M. (Almon) Hensley 1866 – 1913 No ripple stirs the water, No song-bird wakes the grove, Calm noon-tide sways his sceptre, And hushes even love. On earth the sun-god bending Poureth his wondrous store; The soft-tongued tide, advancing, Laps the unconscious shore. The long, low isle of marsh-land Stretches in weary waste, By sloping sand-banks guarded, By winding weeds embraced. Comes clearly from the open The splash of distant oars, - Over the rocky headland The snow-white sea-gull soars. I see as if through dream-clouds, I hear from far away. The scorched air breathes its opiate, The drowsy fancies stay; I have no hopes or longings, I scarce can feel your kiss, - For thought, and joy and worship, Another hour than this! 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

Unholy Hunger Katherine Kier the blood shed from biting my tonguetastes bitterbut you like it that waythe blood shed from the fruit between my thighsfilled with primordial recordsmetallic and clusteredrepulses youyet you wish to devour the secrets of the universeoh, the ironyyou name me temptress,then tremble at the spellyou begged to be cast underyou pray to forget mewhile carving my silhouetteinto your every loverhow many shrineswill you build from my silencebefore you admityou wanted me screaming?you speak of me in shadows,yet chase my ghost through every threshold—bride of Hades,Lilith’s grin beneath your sheets,Eve’s bite still fermenting in your gutyou call me chaosbut drink from my wellwhen your gods stop answeringI am the motherof your hungerthe altarand the ashyou bury me in storieswhere I bleed for your redemptionbut I do not die—I multiplyin every cracked mirroryou avoid at dawnyou dream of drowning in me,then wake with fists clenched,ashamed of the softnessthat split you openyou built your manhoodfrom my refusals—each “no” a nail,each glance a flameyou saw my powerand mistook it for permissionto conquerbut it was never conquest,only a mirrorreflecting what you buriedbeneath the armor—a boy with shaking hands,confusing possessionfor proof of worthyou call it lovebut it’s hungera gnawing needto disappear inside meso you don’t have to meetyour own abyssand when at lastyou find me unmoved,my back turnedlike a moon out of reach,you will screaminto the dark you made of metear at the soilsearching for the rootsof what you tried to ownbut I am not there—only echoes and dust,the scent of my leavingwoven into your breathyou will unravelthread by thread,your myths rottingin your mouthand I—I will rise from your ruinwhole,holy,and unmarkedas you weepnot for me,but for the emptinesswhere your illusion once livedMore from katherine kier. ↓@katherinekier on Instagram and SubstackYou can listen to her soundscapes at katherinekier.bandcamp.com 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.Jul 21 - Jawbone, Ribcage by Emily Holman @maximumsparrow on Instagram. Her chapbook Dreamscapes of the Metaphysical is published through 318 Journal.Jul 22 - Morning Song of the Bees by Louisa May AlcottJul 23 - Wednesday Double Feature Reckoning by Anna Goodman Herrick @annagoodmanherrick on Instagram. Her book A Speaker Is a Wilderness is out now.Jul 24 - Full and Free by Maggie Devers. Read my debut poetry book, For My Daughter. Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure.Jul 25 - It's Not Too Late by Travis Hupp @poetryoftravishupp on Instagram. His book American Entropy is out now through Atmosphere Press.Jul 26 - No Apologies by Michelle Vivier @michellespeakspoetry on Instagram.June 27 -War is a Defeat Maggie Devers After Audre Lorde When you realize the fake news is the whole system we’re stitched up in like a Met Gala dressOr a straight jacket,You pick.Who gave the bombs,Those party favors for regional stability,For a war we believe is not here?We would never be as barbaric as those others half a world away.Active shooter drills are a sign of a healthy society that values children,That values life,That wants every person, everywhere to be free.The mirror shows us what we can’t bear to see so we break it.And tell them to make it again,And get it right for once, for Christ’s sake. 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