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One Poem Only: Daily Summaries Delivered
by Maggie Devers
A daily reading. A quiet moment. One poem, center stage: just for now, just for you. A one-night-only show, in verse. Come back tomorrow. The curtain rises again.
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- Yesterday6 min
Hawk Feather by Connie Helena after Peyton Michelle Bryant | One Poem After
A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. Today's poem is: Hawk Feather by Connie Helena after Peyton Michelle Bryant -Poetess, you made me cryYou gave me grief with your wordsIt is not the tequila I promise youBecause I drink all the time nowYou made me rememberThe odds are against me, against faithI will never love anyone in this life againMost likely this is so (he surely died)Enough of the drama (eye roll)The truth is I have been alone too longTo give it up for second bestMuch less third best, three hundredth bestI will only open my hand for the oneWho has the power to surprise meNo matter how I try to be cynical, jadedI cannot help but wonderWho will call forth the wind in the treesMake my body electric againInhabit a body I have no choiceTo sleep peacefully beside, because I mustMore from Connie Helena ↓@journalof1000days on InstagramHer book Journal of 1000 Days is available nowAnd now for the poem this was written after. “God, you can keep the boys” by Peyton Michelle Bryant -God, 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 w
- 2 days ago2 min
Dear Unknown Ancestor Naked in the Woods by Danielle Eleanor La Valle after Chris Kads | One Poem After
One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Today's poem is: Dear Unknown Ancestor Naked in the Woods by Danielle Eleanor La Valle after Chris Kads -I haven't gone back far enough,keep going, keep going,back, back, back,farther still......ah, there, there you are, sitting on a log.Waiting maybe.You are wind-thickened skin, tattoos madeof soot and saliva,scars I didn't know a body could hold.I look at you and see an early death,abscess teeth, parasites, tuberculosis.You smile with the half teeth you have remaining.You look at me as I am, confused and wrapped in many layers of highly profitable fear.You are deaf in one ear and you limp,rheumatoid is already curling your fingers,but you're alive, gloriously and nakedly in this wood.We are I think the same age, though that means something different here.Then asking with your eyes -neither of us have any language that will mean anything to the other- you want to know why am I so sad, why am I so afraid?You put your hand on the scar that missed my eye,you hold up the face I fear is sagging too soon,you slid your arms around my soft, asymmetrical body.More from Danielle Eleanor Lavalle ↓@danielleeleanorlavalle on InstagramAnd now for the poem this was written after. Dear Personal Care Department God by Chris Kads after Lancee Whetman -God 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 slows us down. Thank you for listening.
- 3 days ago2 min
Bones by Toni Young after Ella B. Winters | One Poem After
One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.BonesToni Youngafter Ella B. Wintersit doesn’t take much to see through skin, through blood, through bones i’ve etched poems in each rib this cage can only hold so many stories see how this poem is stuck in the marrow see how this poem is caught in the hollow do i have to break these bones for you to read meMore from Toni Young ↓ @toniyoungpoems on Instagram@toniyoungpoems on SubstackAnd now for the poem this was written after. Ugly Bones by Ella B. WintersElla B. WintersBehind the dusty radiator, green splashed like blood spray in a B-film, from that time when you decided to paint our bedroom in the middle of the night,I keep my poems hidden in a puce manila file so unremarkable, it chameleons into the background, pink tongue unfurling to swallow my words into the shadowy crevice. Mostly, I don’t want you to see them, as though, in the starkness of the early hours, when our walls demand another change, they might reveal my ugly bones through the translucent skin. But sometimes, I forget they’re there, as well. Imagine leaving them behind when we move on. Who will I be when unsuspecting tenants pull me out word after word like a magician’s string of endless gauzy scarves? How will they piece my naked bones together? What colour will they paint 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.Feed yourself poetry every day.
- 4 days ago2 min
Taco Bell under a Full Moon by Kris Aziz after GiGi | One Poem After
One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Taco Bell under a Full Moon /Kris Aziz after GiGi /Dedicated to Beca /We are looking at the moonThrough the delicate linesof a spider's webDutifully spun in thebranches of a treeShe takes a sip of her Baja Blastand says "You're right,Maybe we shouldn't kill ourselvesToday."I bite into a cinnabon delightcrunch the sugar between my teeth.because I know what the moonhas told her.I can still hear my own messagefrom that night when the sky was blackwith despairand the full moon was red fromscreamingThere is no need to reply.More from Kris Aziz ↓@tacobellkris on Instagram@tacobellkris on SubstackAnd now for the poem this was written after.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 Threads@thematriarchyrising on SubstackHer 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 slows us down. Thank you for listening.
- 5 days ago12 min
YOLO by Maggie Devers & Weekly Poetry Recap | One Poem More
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 poemsLife Is The Backside of Embroidery by Aasfa SiddiquiUnnamed Season by Jules Travers“Hija de tu madre.” by Elisha FernandezLilies by Madilyn LopezRash by Viviana AbnurSparrowfall by Arch BudzarPlus one new one to carry us into the week aheadYOLOMaggie DeversThank god I’m a millennial and learnedYOLOAt a pivotal period in my life.Who thought I’d pull her out again forWWIII,But there you are—There we are:OnlyLivingOnceUnless we’re considering reincarnation—Which I do most days—Even those I only live once.But I think it meansWe only get this moment once(That we conceptually understand—)We probably live many moments at onceAnd maybe that’s why WWIII feels familiarAnd why grass smells like homeAnd getting smacked in the face by a wave feels like a baptismWaves YOLO—They live and dieWith the tug of the moon.Icarus YOLOed the sunrise,And I feel like he really got it.So I sit in the sun and feel waxMelting down my shoulder bladesAs I stare at the oceanAnd tell my daughter the history of YOLO.More from Maggie Devers ↓My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a 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.
- 6 days ago0 min
Sparrowfall by Arch Budzar | One Poem Only
One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.SparrowfallArch BudzarWhile maybe I wasn’t the smartestOr the strongestI never thought unkindly of youAnd Ialways sang my songAnd ISaw you as an angelUp until the very end.More from Arch Budzar ↓@archbudzar on InstagramYou can find more information about their life and work, as well as prints of their art at www.archbudzar.comSupport + 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.
- 1 weeks ago1 min
Rash by Viviana Abnur | One Poem Only
One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.RashViviana AbnurEverything I know about deathI learned the hard waywhen I saw you go by on the stretcherto intensive therapyI was an atheist like you and I only sawa slight and strange bodypass at the speed of lightis it that perhaps we live confusedor we are just light and nothing elsebecause I suddenly knew in an instantthat you were notin that bodythey took you to the Emergency roomlike a war trophythere was a rush for the doctors to arrivethere was a rush to deathfor fleeing the territoryminutes beforeyou asked for a bookminutes before I hugged you and you told meyou are so goodthen the power outage in the hospitalthe door half openand I was spying on you and could seehow they surrounded you with candlesstill alivelike in a Poe storysomeone hugged me and I criedwe lost said the doctorand I knew deathis in a rush dadand in the rush it's sloppybecause something was taken foreverI knew itbut something notin that defeated bodyyou were not in.More from Viviana Abnur ↓@cruda.luz on InstagramHer book, Rash, 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.
- 1 weeks ago2 min
Lilies by Madilyn Lopez | One Poem Only
A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.LiliesMadilyn Lopezblood gushes from underneath my index fingersunderneath my thumbsmy eyes go white and pin-point blackbloodshot— my artery.my throat seals itself shut like a wooden door stuck in humidity’s clutchi tilt my chin to the popcorn ceilinggasping for air that’s already escapedLilies are my favorite flower by the way.it is late.12:15am exactly.my neck starts to itch where brittle bone holds nostalgic flesh imprintsthe coffee on my wooden-chipped scarred nightstand has gone tepidthen frigidit is late.12:17am exactly.congealed blood gushes from my nose where I have never been hit only walked into steel andconcrete wallsmy tear ducts know no repentance stuck in confession my chest feels liketenmilliontrapdoorsleftunsealedi scratch at the duct tape fastened around my goosebumped body clawing like a ravedrabid wretched animal wretched thingsalivatingfoamingachingteeth baringLilies are my favorite flower by the way.it is late.12:21 exactly.Lilies.Lilies. Lilies. Lilies.Lilies.More from Madilyn Lopez ↓@v0guerat on Instagram@maryshelleysmymother on TikTok@madilynlo 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.
About One Poem Only
A daily reading. A quiet moment. One poem, center stage: just for now, just for you. A one-night-only show, in verse. Come back tomorrow. The curtain rises again.
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