One Poem Only

Sundays on One Poem Only are reserved for the weekly recap, but since we were writing a poem a day with Write After in April, we haven’t had a break for a recap in a month. So today I’m reading a poem that perfectly encapsulates Write After. It is a cento and contains one line from each of the 30 poems shared on One Poem Only during April.April: A PoemElla B. WintersShe never whispers in my ear, unfurlingto swallow my words, abandon mewhen I most need her,while the past rides shotgunsilent.My mind is a black sand beach. My fingersstop tracing spines. I've stopped turningthe light on. I have climbed to the topof the very last tree, gawkingat the sky turning into a riot of gold.Sadness presses its thumbinto my chest - a cascadeof the most unruly waves,they sparkle in the morning sun.Delayed and denied a day's breath,drums prelude river current tears, drawtogether the wet ravines of skin like a zip.Observing life like Dali from below the waters,cracked asphalt flowers, reachingfor a Mediterranean sun, stand underthe downpour. If I couldunzip my heart from skin, unleashingperfection to fully know me, I'd chooseto embrace the perfect contradiction.My world would be trickling waterin this moss forest, while stars are singingto us from the cosmos - the masterpieceI've waited my life to see. How delicatelythe water ripples;I forgive the fluidity.Let my body be a vessel! I've got enoughwords to feed the both of us.This silence sets me free.Contains one line from each of the 30 poems shared on the One Poem Only podcast during the April 2026 'Write After' challenge.More from Ella B. Winters ↓@ella.b.winters on Instagram@ellabwinters 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 sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Square SocietyFaye SimpsonIn the land of square people,They live ridged lives,With right angled rooms made to fit their intended occupants only,And the ridged rules silently spoken by every straight line,Bent and broken are often indistinguishable,For the square mind,In this curveless space,Everybody fits into their place.Or so it’d seem,Between the boundaries of 2D,Live creatures like me.Natural plasticity has allowed me to form a false face,A more angular appealing shape,So, I can be a member of this strict society,Otherwise, no such thing is available to me.I bend but I am not broken,I attain and abandon all easily,Square society was not made for shapeless souls like me.My differences have been made disabling,My lack of a true shape is an “issue”Not inherently,No, I quite like me,But square society, has decidedly defined,That I don’t deserve a space.Because no matter how I change my face,My mind, isn’t the right shape.More from Faye Simpson ↓@faye.poetry.prose 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 shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.Everlong/EvergreenDan WebberAfter an endless winterthe spring has finally come,a reminder,that all things will passeventually.In defiance, nature remainsguarded by tall treeand howling wind.The beauty of the forestis untarnished.Frostbitten or sun kissedupon doorstep, or far, far awaytravellers and explorersold and neware welcomed inin equal measure.These whispers from the woods call:Come.Sit a spell.Breathe in the good air.Calm mind and soothe body.It’s peaceful here,but never lonely,still but ever-changing,eternal yet new-born,respectful, if respected.It’s time to reconnect.Mother Earthhas waited long enough.She wonders when we will realisethat every day is differentwhen you stop and look up.So, look up.More from Dan Webber ↓@imgenrefluid on InstagramHis book, Whispers from the Woods, 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

I didn’t miss a day. Thank you for being here. For listening, for sharing, for writing, for championing poetry with me. There’s so much more to come.I dwell in Possibility –A fairer House than Prose –More numerous of Windows –Superior – for Doors –Of Chambers as the Cedars –Impregnable of eye –And for an everlasting RoofThe Gambrels of the Sky –Of Visitors – the fairest –For Occupation – This –The spreading wide my narrow HandsTo gather Paradise –By Emily DickinsonThere’s something poeticAbout a country eating itself aliveTo appease the gods of private equityWhile stars are singing to us from the cosmos.Children go hungryBut fear not,They trim the fat and the wasteAnd the bloated, seeping fools will realize too lateThat a country without its peopleIs no country at all.There’s something poeticAbout letting it all fall awayAnd giving up the fight,Not because we know we lostBut because the fight is not ours.It never has been.We are free now to create something newFor those who careWill we save the world?No. That is not our task.We will save ourselvesAs the world spins round the sun.By Maggie DeversSupport + 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. To 365 and counting.

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.AbstractWC QuinnMy pieces appear askew, but I am no Picassojust a Girl Before a Mirror trying to love myselfdespite the flaws in my reflectionI keep counting my brush strokesgrooming tangles in penance.My tongue’s burden is languageThe She Wolf bellow calls to me; I don’t replymy words, sticky sweet honey,smacking heavy in the roof of my mouthsplatters canvas akin to Pollock.My nightmares covet realityso call me a dream walker; lucid surrealistobserving life like Dali from below the watersbearing witness to The Metamorphosis of Narcissusunsure if I am art or artist.My heart stenciled with purposein the face of perpetual loss; A Girl with Balloonblack and white statements strickenwith red accentsRecognizable / Unknown.More from WC Quinn ↓@astoldby.wcquinn on Instagram@wcquinn 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 sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Unlearning PerfectionMya NoelaniI took up the task of unlearning perfectionBecause what is perfect anyway?Besides of bunch of standards we try to maintain to impress other peopleI’m learning that it’s okay that the same pile of clothes has sat on my floor for three daysOr that I’m not always on my P’s and Q’sAnd that sometimes the most productive thing I can do is get in my bed and sleepI’m learning that perfection is a performance for which I don’t have time because I’m trying my hardest just to stay aliveI’m learning that life isn’t linear but bunch of highs and lows a bunch of day by days and lot of figuring it out as we goLet me ask you something…if Jesus got killed for being just that, then truly, what is the point of perfect anyways?It’s something I’ll never be no matter how much I tryAnd life is just not meant for constant strivingSo, I’m unleashing perfection to fully know meTo embrace opportunity and possibilityTo give myself some graceTo find courage and strength to complete the tasks I’ve been assignedSo tell me again…what is perfection besides a distraction that prevents you from experiencing the fullness of life?More from Mya Noelani ↓@noelanis_diary on InstagramHer book, The Dreamer’s Diary, 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.Feed yourself poetry every day.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.On the Roof I SeeMirela SalihovicMy little sister and I,When we’re in the tent,love to play a game.We call it:"On the roof I see..."And whoever’s turn it issays what they see on the tent’s roof.On the roof I see…Birds of all sizes.They land on the tent roofand tiptoe across the canvaswith their tiny feet.They wander back and forth.I hear them chirping.Winter is coming.It will be cold under the tent.Mom will bring more blankets and quiltsfrom the humanitarian aid.Father’s friend Ahmedused to sell beautiful quiltsin his little shopat the end of the street.Before they threw rocks at itand destroyed it.The birds fly off to warmer places.On the roof I see…Raindrops.They sparkle in the morning sunlike crystals.On the roof I see…Leaves falling from the treesin autumn.Our old mulberry tree didn’t survive the shell.My sister and Ihid in its trunkwhen we played hide-and-seek.We would hang from its branches.Mom made homemade jamfrom its white clusters.On the roof I see…The moon and stars.The tent’s roof is see-through,so at night,when the sky is clear,you can see the moon and stars.On the roof I see…Mom dustingand bird droppings.On the roof I see…The roof of our old house.Dad says:"When the war is over, we’ll come backand rebuild everything.With our own hands."On the roof I see…I want to believe my dad.I want to go back to elementary school.If there were no war,I’d be in seventh grade.I want to play hide-and-seek againwith my sisterand hide in the old mulberry tree.I want to see my best friend, Omar.I wish we could play with paper airplanes.The ones flying above us nowaren’t as fun.And when I hear the sound of those airplanes nearby,I hold my sisterand lay her head on my chest.And I tell her that on the roof I see…Flowers of every colorgrowing from the tent’s canvas,as if from the earth itself.More from Author ↓@salihowitch 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 shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.Crushed Peaches In PalmPaige KellerThis poem was first featured in Mad Persona MagazineI am gathering my memories like peaches,plucking each from the most recluse of branches,filling up my baskets,my bruised knees - purple and blueContrast these pristine fruits,bright and sweet.When I have climbed to the top of the verylast tree where that very last fruit lay,when my baskets are full,my evasive past – I will consumeI will desolate the pristine fruit,swallow its pits whole.Until I am filled to no measure, until peachpits weigh me down, until they take rootinside of me and grow w i l d l y.More from Paige Keller ↓Her website: pkfictions.com@pk_fictions on Instagram@pkfictions 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 sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.Mastering the PenEllie AugustinI learned the weight of a penthe way warriors learn steelnot in theory,but in the quiet repetitionof showing up again.By survival.In my hand, it is not delicate.It is trained.It knows how to press into a sentenceand when to lift,how to cut cleanlywithout tearing the page.I learned this among books.Among shelves that holdwhat others survived long enough to say.Among spines that stand uprightafter everything it took to write them.This is where I am safestinside ink,inside margins that do not interrupt me,inside pages that let me finishwithout asking me to soften the truth.A bookstore breathes with this permission.The hush is not silence.It is respect.Every aisle is lined with proof:each book once a private reckoning,each chapter a decision to stay,each author wielding the same instrumentuntil it obeyed.I walk slowly herebecause I am already among my own.Because every title was once a handlearning the same discipline I am still mastering.And I dreamwithout spectacleof the day my fingers stop tracing spinesand recognize themselves.Not as victory.As belonging.That I learned the bladeinside these walls.That I survived the writing.That one day my book will stand here tooquiet, upright,having earned its placeamong endurancebound in paperand called literature.More from Ellie Augustin ↓Her blog, Lines Between Living@lines_between_living_now on Instagram@linesbtwnliving 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 reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.CAUTION: STUDENT DRIVERCarly ThompsonI’ve jumped out of the boatthe churning water turns to smokemy mind is a black sand beachthe world is one of those where time is differentslow, fast, all at once, almost neverif a window doesn’t open, is it a wall?is it even there?the cows die all at once and we don’t ask whywe buy sheep instead, not for milk for woolit is not enough to be called sad and beautifulremarkable or terrifyingit is not enough to pick up the phoneto text back, to cry on cueI hover over that plane where one highwaymeets another, no one ever taught me to mergeMore from Carly Thompson ↓@comehither_poetry on Instagram@comehither 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 shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.To Be a Salamander Rachel Turney I want to be like you. I crave your regenerative abilities.Does the heart count as a limb? If so, I could regrow thepart that is now missing, rebuild sinuous tissues andthe fat of my epicardium.I want to wallow in the petrichor and muddy places. Iwant to glide between the fallen leaves and tadpoles.My skin would breathe, my lips smell, my world wouldbe trickling water in this moss forest.I would darn socks for my four toes. One tiny bit ofwool to cover each one so that I might step with easefrom chilled rock to frozen ground as winter comes.More from Rachel Turney ↓@turneytalks on InstagramRachel Turney on SubstackHer book, Women Making Soup Together, is out now with Vinegar PressSupport + 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Not mine anymore Avalon If my words are my ownThey are all that I haveExcept... that’s not quite rightIf my words are my ownThey abandon me when I most need itAnd, that never feels rightMy words are my ownAnd they blink in and outA lighthouse on the shoreWhile I’m drowningMy words are my ownAnd others desperately pry them out of meA clam with a pearlA person blinded by the rewardMy words are my ownThey yearn to hear itMy words are my ownMy words are my-My words are-My words-My words are my ownI cannot repeat themUtterance loses meaningIf my words are my ownWhy must I give them away?More from Avalon ↓@avalonspoems on InstagramHer book, Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird, 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.ButterscotchAmy Laessle-MorganSomewhere between the amberblush streetlight of Divisionand the butterscotch stain on the back of my throat,there was a glasslike momentnearbentbut not yet breaking.Half-formed, honeydrunk on the hourslipping past the soft machinery of becomingunbecomingrewindingrethreading.Warm, butterfat air washing in subtlebreathing through the cracked window taxicabteacuplight broken open on my cheekwhispering nothing is permanentexcept the way we almost changed.There was always something burning—toastbridgesthe last good version of me I kept resuscitatingwith mouth-to-mouth-watering memory.Tonight, I’ll wear that dress you lovedin the color of skinbrushed apologieswhile the past rides shotgunsilentadjusting the mirror like it still matters how I see myselfbecause when mirrors grow honestthe corridors echo less—as everyone pours out.Let us go then, you and Ithrough the goldblood hourswhere no one teaches you how to bleed pretty—not in the swanpale wrist pressedto cold porcelain tile wayhalf-lit in someone else’s forgetting.You learn it knees to marblecheek to linoleumin radio silence buzzing through your teethplaying love songs that didn’t learn the language.He liked it leaning in disrepairso I sucked the ghostsweet butterscotch slow.I let it split goldenglass hard and sharpthe bloom red blooming—behind teetha salty flood.It cut me—but I didn’t spit it out.I kept itI kept it all.More from Amy Laessle-Morgan ↓@ultramarine_poetry on InstagramHer book, Live Wire, 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 reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.“God, you can keep the boys”Peyton Michelle BryantGod, you can keep the boyswho only write sad poetryand listen to The Smiths on repeat.God, my man is a warrior.Lord knows I’ve got enough wordsto feed the both of uswhen times get tough.My man writes poems with his hands.My man is not afraidto bloody his knuckles for me.My man is a lion, Lord.He is a stallion running down his own mission.Our paths meet in the middle where we playbut neither one pulls the other off course.He knows I belong to this wild worlddoesn’t try to rope me inor brand me with his name.He knows I am not something to be owned.Instead, he builds me a boatwith the biggest sail you’ve ever seenand paints my nameon the side of her.He builds me a set of wingsthat carries me fartherthan Icarus could ever go.He builds me a writing cabinand doesn’t get offendedwhen I’m taken by the desireto be alone for daysin my cocoon of creation.His hands are shields-his palms big enoughto hold the entirety of the Milky Wayand each one has memorizedthe blue/brown/green/red planetof my body.His fingertips brush the column of my throatand he calls the rain down.Gardens grow in the marrow of meand not oncedoes he try to pluck them from the soil.My man has arms and legs like the trunksof the six-hundred-year-old Sycamore.I want to nest in the branches of him.I chart the map of his bodylike a world-eager traveler-trace the veins like blue-green riversalong the shores of his forearmslick the salt ocean sweatgathered in his jugular notchclimb him like a wolf in heatand stillI am hungry for the meat of him.My man calls me Brilliantcalls me Dragon Firecalls me Wolf Witch,Poetess,Great Moon of His Heart.My man calls me Thank God.He calls me At Last.God, my man is an inferno.I need him to be sturdy enoughto withstand the heat.He is my burning crimson star;I reach for the ten-million-degree Fahrenheit center of himwithout flinching.God, I know you’ve put us together before;our lifetimes are an ancient songmy cells still remember.I remember how we smelledof campfire smoke and sweat-our feet pounding a beat into the Earth.I remember his face cast in firelight-the two of us skin on skin,a tangled pile of limbsblanketed by furs.I remember my nailstracing red lines down the planes of himmy hair held like a birdtender in his fist.I remember his mouthmarking each rung of my spine,his calloused handslike rocky planetsorbiting the moon of me.I remember I fell from my horse-he took an arrow to the heartand new bodies and livesmade up a river of time between us.I am a queen lost to his kingdom, Lord.Send the cavalry!The lines have been blurredbetweendragonwomanand towerand I can no longer rememberwhich one I’m supposed to be.God, I want you to give him back.I want to lay him downin the feather bed of my heartonce again.I want to take his handcatch a ride to some faraway red planetwhere reincarnation is just myth-where this lifeis the only one that matters.God, call him back to mewith bone and bloodwith fire and howl-stitch soul to body once more.I will rearrange the cosmos myselfif need be.And this time, when stars alignand we find each other again,I will not fall from my horse.No.This timewe’ll ride side by sideall the way back home.More from Peyton Michelle Bryant ↓@mama.laloba on InstagramHer newest poetry book Wolf Witch of the Wild and her debut, Feral Mother, Sovereign Woman, are out 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 shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.Dear Personal Care Department GodChris KadsAfter Lancee WhetmanGod of the Personal Care Department,please grant me musk. Grant methe strength of “Steel Courage” -buffness in a bottle. Let mybody be a vessel of “dragon’s breath”and “warrior’s blood”. Allow me,like men, to be baptizedin wet swagger, to have mypreconceived softnesswash away with the scentof toughness.Bless me,with blindness in the faceof razors. Grant methe normalizationof forest-y armpitsto pair with the scent of“Sasquatch Foot”.And, please, oh holyPersonal Care Department God,revoke your commandmentsand let the avoidance of “Secret”and smoothnessnot be a sin.Amen.More from Chris Kads ↓@chris_kads 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.Ugly Bones by Ella B. WintersElla B. WintersBehind the dusty radiator,green splashed like bloodspray in a B-film, from that timewhen you decidedto paint our bedroomin the middle of the night,I keep my poemshidden in a puce manila fileso unremarkable, it chameleonsinto the background, pink tongueunfurling to swallow my wordsinto the shadowy crevice.Mostly, I don’t want youto see them, as though,in the starkness of the earlyhours, when our wallsdemand another change,they might reveal my uglybones through the translucentskin. But sometimes, I forgetthey’re there, as well. Imagineleaving them behind when wemove on. Who will I be whenunsuspecting tenants pull meout word after word like a magician’sstring of endless gauzy scarves?How will they piece my naked bonestogether? What colour will theypaint the room?More from Ella B. Winters ↓@ella.b.winters on Instagram@ellabwinters 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 reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.Mentioned in this episode:Write After 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.When the Moon is fullGiGiWhen the Moon is Full,She never holds Me by the hand.She grabs right behind thegape of My neck anddrags me to all I've been avoiding.When the Moon is Full,She never whispers in My ear.She screams at the top of Her lungs,so loud, that her rasping voice awakensthe aliens in outer space; now peering fromtheir spaceships.When the Moon is Full,She never glides across the sky.She anchors through the cloudsbeaming directly foreveryone and everything in Her path.When the Moon is Full,She is never dainty but always true.She smiles from above,sneering at everything You thought You knew about Her,and reminding you of exactly who You areMore from GiGi ↓@thegigirising on ThreadsHer books, The Scorpio Rising and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to MarilynShe has a new book coming soon The California Rising: Poems from San Francisco to LASupport + 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.This is How I DieKris AzizThis is how I dieGlass reflecting moonlighton the pavementMetal and gasoline mixing withBlood in the airA paramedic holding my handExcept, wait-- rewind.I chose to get Taco BellBefore getting on the highwayAfter all.I don't worry about the caloriesOr how a dress will fitAfter all, I have a coupon forA free soft tacoThat says "you deserve it".I am not dead, I am eating aNacho fry Baja blast chalupaIn standstill traffic.No, this is how I die:An empty bottle with one undrunkDrop of poison drippingOn the floor, mixing with theSweat on my blanketsShivering through my last feverWith nobody to hold my handExcept, wait-- rewind.This time I chose to text my friendTo speak my pain into existenceAnd arm myself with herwords of love and worry.She brings me a Chicken Enchilada BurritoWith extra Diablo sauce.I am not dead,I am sleeping soundlySafe in my bedWith many dreams to come.No, this is how I die:In a hospiceBreathing life throughan oxygen maskI am surrounded byThose who love meEnough to sneak inA Mountain Dew Baja Blast.I am telling my grandkids aboutThat one time in the Himalayas.They don’t understand what I’m sayingUntil I pronounce it“Him-uh-LAY-uhs”.Their overbearing AmericanizationIs too much for my impatient heartI love them dearlyAnd am only leaving for a short time.This is how I lived:Flirting with Death and cursing GodHeld together by soft tacosAnd nicotineTesting the limits of existenceWith recklessness andScraped together wordsEmbracing the joyEnduring the hurtNow this is how I live:Pouring words on a pageEven though I am just aBoy/Girl/Ghost/Person,Not a poetShowing my heart to strangersHolding my own hand.More from Kris Aziz ↓@tacobelltrauma 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. First DraftJo WrightI don’t want AI.I want bees and seasDeep evergreen forestsGreat honeycombsIcecaps.Just, knowledgeable loversMen needing othersPeople questioning rhetoricSpeaking truthUnderstanding VaccinationsA world where we exclude no oneYears where there is still ozone.I want words to matterAnd when I draft my patterI don’t want my phone to ask‘Can I rewrite that for you?’I want credit where credit’s bloody dueAnd throwing that swear word inStops Google taking the line from you.I want water poured into humanityUntil everyone’s cup is fullUntil this thief clad in microchipsBurns itself out.I want precisely zero of your excusesWailing viciously under this skyRetreat quietly pleaseOut to no man’s landKeeping jealous ignorance ofHow generosity feedsEveryone’s delicate creativityBetter without AI.I don’t want it.I want to reclaim the land.More from Jo Wright ↓@joslipstick 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 poemsPlutocracy by Alicia SwainTony and/or Tonee by Nguyen Minh TriSnail by Lizzie Elliot-Kleinintuition by rismReduced by Rosalind DaviesEpitaph On A Tyrant by W. H. AudenPlus one new one to carry us into the week aheadIn WarmthMaggie DeversHow many pots of tea have we forgotten to drink?Have we left sitting calmly on the counterGoing from hot to warmWarm to coolNoiselessly with no protestAs if our neglect was nothing to the brew,Our forgetfulness marked by indifferenceBut more is wasted than the tea–The chance to pause, to communeTo let the warm sweetness envelop us slowlyLike ivy covering a buildingSometimes taking years to grow.But slowly, slowly spreading to touch every cellTo remind us to protect our warmthSo we remember to shoutWhen we are left alone to grow cold.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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.Epitaph On A TyrantW. H. AudenPerfection, of a kind, was what he was after,And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;He knew human folly like the back of his hand,And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,And when he cried the little children died in the streets.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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.ReducedRosalind DaviesEasy winter option, ideal for layering over your favourite outfits,regular fit, timeless crew neckline.The glory of a full-price itemChosen in the hot bloom of the seasonMy size, my length.I take time to choose, plan ahead, create,Build a look, an image, or someone else’s,The one I want to lay on me,The one that speaks loud what I want it to say.A gift card redeems me and I walk, like a cat, away.Long sleeves feature subtle fluting at the cuffs for a stylish finish,a staple for your occasion wardrobe.Not every occasion has a desirable, describable outfit.January watches and waits to launch and throwIts missile attacks on a cratered high streetAnd I remember the decorum of the time before.Arms reach and grab.The crunch of hangers underfoot.A cruel mixture of trousers and skirts, fighting colours, jumble sale,Disordered sizes, lying labels, sale stickers skewering helpless synthetics.I feel the loss.Rubbing between finger and thumb the fading image of careless success,I mourn the season of choice and purchase, the easy accumulation,the beautiful utility of seamless day-to-night.Boutique has become bric-a-brac.I battle, eyes sharp for rivals, at the end of line.Cropped length with belt to cinch you insharp, refined silhouette, a contemporary tailored cut.More from Rosalind Davies ↓@rosssie.d 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.intuitionrismPattern recognition is acognitive discipline —congenitally decided for most,congested with emotion.Not to boast, butI’m a fucking psychicfunctioning on fumes and faint tracesof a beautywho previously inhabitedthis body, this brain.I mainline cues.It’s smooth, yet dangerous —an almost cancerous paranoia.Sometimes wildly,the past is a tool used primally;utilize your history.Intuition powerfully promotes fruitionpassionately if tempted.Trust in the process promptedby your progress.More from rism ↓@bugshearyou 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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form

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 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. If you want to join: Listen to a poem from the month of April on One Poem Only, then write your own in response. I will pick one for each day to read in June for a special series: One Poem After 🍎🍏 Submissions close May 15.Write After Submissions Form