One Poem Only

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.

ResistFrancesca AcquavivaA burning wickof resistancein two seasof indifferencebitter coffeewith the sweetnessof the vehemencewith which the windwhispersI resistto desirein more than one headto becomecloversto sew togetherthe pagesthe speakersthe soft notestables pushed togetherclosewhile on the napkinsone knitsa validfutureto embroiderto knitthe handfulsof grainsto be sanda free beachwe have litwe want to lightamong the ruinsthe fingerprintsthe encephalogramthe commas stillstained with inkthe typingthe unionthe gaitthe way of speakingthe way of dressingsometimes deemedwrongthe only thing wrong isthe yoke of the dustof the old—not the ancient—of those who squeezethe throatbut we are alivein the commas, even ifbelatedin the necessary periodsin the efforts madewith pairs ofbicepsin the snowsin the mountains ofdoing, not justsayingwe are alivein the life that descends upon usfrom abovethat rises to usfrom below

More from Francesca Acquaviva ↓

1. @a.cquaviv.a on Instagram
2. Her book, La Tela, is an Italian collection of poems, published by PAB Editore

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:

One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us after we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, a book, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.

Same Fire Diana Johar When things were beautiful,you stood in my corner—calling me strong, brave,everything you admired.
But beauty dims.And now you say I’ve got out of hand,call me crazy,as if this same firewasn’t the reasonyou loved me once.
So go—find another love,meek and gentle.Tell yourselfyou’ve done the right thing.
While I go on burning—fierce,unapologetic,like the wayI onceloved you.

More from Diana Johar ↓

1. @wordsbydianajohar on Instagram

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:

One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us after we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, a book, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only 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 poems

1. Human Nature by Lynn L.
2. Museum of Mourning by Maria Corcoran
3. The House with My Name Carved Into Its Teeth by Tess Ezzy
4. Still, something by Aditya Gupta
5. This Town by Macy Williams
6. Central Park At Dusk by Sara Teasdale

Plus one new one to carry us into the week ahead

The Day AfterMaggie DeversThe birds careen at the same place in the skyI wonder if we should tell them the mess we madeSo they can move on to something useful,So they can take a break as omen bearers—the tragedies keep piling up.
I pass a nest high in the treeIt’s been there all this time,Concealed by leaves.
The sparseness of winter uncoversWhat we believe is hiddenWe retrace our footprints in the snow,Trying to unravel the path forward,But all is confusion as we crossAnd recross our steps.
How to glide through the crisp morning airWith no wing beats to meter our journey?

More from Maggie Devers ↓

1. My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.
2. Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on Patreon
3. Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure

More from this week’s poets

Find links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.

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 is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.

Central Park At DuskSara TeasdaleBuildings above the leafless treesLoom high as castles in a dream,
While one by one the lamps come outTo thread the twilight with a gleam.
There is no sign of leaf or bud,A hush is over everything.
Silent as women wait for love,The world is waiting for the spring.

Support + Stay Connected to 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:

One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us when we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, in print, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.

This Town Macy Williams This town knows many ways of moving. Some rush. Some pause. Some stop and start again. All of them count.
I walk these streets with a body that does not follow the expected map. Some days it cooperates. Some days it asks for patienceI’m still learning how to give.
Disability lives quietly here.In waiting.In adapting.In choosing rest without permission.In knowing limits without shame.
There are doors that open easilyand others that don’t notice you at all.There are systems built for speed,and people built for survival instead.
I have learned that strengthis rarely loud.It looks like showing up anyway.It looks like leaving early.It looks like staying home and choosingto keep going tomorrow.
This place holds all of itthe visible, the hidden, the misunderstood.Bodies that ache.Minds that work differently.Lives that don’t fit tidy explanations.
I am not here to overcome anything.I am here to exist.To take space.To move at the pace my body allows,without needing to justify it.
And this townwith its noise and quiet corners,its imperfections and familiar streetskeeps making room for people like me.
Not because we are exceptional.But because we are part of it.

More from Macy Williams ↓

1. @macywilliams05 on Instagram

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 reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.

Mentioned in this episode:

One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us after we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, a book, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only Submissions Form

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.

Still, something Aditya Gupta I stopped praying long ago. The gods grew tired of my voice, or maybe I just grew tired of asking for things that never came.
My wallet’s thin, my dreams thinner a handful of words no one cared to read.
Even my parents’ eyeslook at me like unfinished work,a draft they wish they could rewrite.
And love,she always leavesbefore the song begins.I’ve learned the sound of silencethat follows a “maybe next time.”
But sometimes,in the middle of all that noise,a small thought humsthat maybe I’m still herefor a reason I don’t yet know.
Maybe the words I failed to write are still forming inside me.Maybe faithis not about believing in God,but believingthat the broken can still be beautiful.
And maybe one day,someone will see menot as a failure,but as a boy who kept tryingto love the worldeven when it forgot his name.

More from Aditya Gupta ↓

1. @serenadeinsilhouettes on Instagram

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:

One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us when we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, in print, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only 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.

The House with My Name Carved Into Its TeethTess EzzyExecutive dysfunctionis a kind of hauntingbut not the pretty kind,not the candlelit ghost girlfloating through the hallway.
No.This thing is a beastwith my name carvedinto its teeth.
Every morning I waketo a body that forgets me.A body that misplaces its own pulse.A body that drops intentionlike a strip of clothingbefore the lover even arrives.
My hands—god, my hands—they go spectral on me.I reach for the taskand the task slips throughlike a secret I’m not trusted with.I reach for the dayand the day folds shutlike a trapdoorand I fall through myselfagainagainagain.
People sayJust start.As if I am not wrestling a monsterin the foyer of my own life.As if the staircaseis not rearranging itselfthe moment I look away.As if time hasn’t been taunting melike a cruel exwho knows exactlywhere my soft skin lives.
My to-do listis a fucked-up funhouse mirror.Every item shows methe version of meI should have been by now.I stare at her—mouth full of apology,spine full of fire—and I want herjust onceto step out of the mirrorand stop pretendingshe’s possible.
I lose hours like loversI was too wild to keep.I lose whole afternoonsthe way some peoplelose religion.Sudden.Violent.
A kind of holy grief.And yes—there is shame.The thick, wet kind.The kind that grows mouldif you don’t drag it out into the sunand scream at ituntil it dissolves.
But don’t mistake me.I am not asking for rescue.I am not writing a tender poemabout learning to love myselfin a haunted house.
I am telling youI am renovating this bitch.With my bare handsand my broken rhythmsand my stubborn, feral hope.
I am ripping down the roomsthat taught me to disappear.I am tearing up the floorboardswhere the shame slept.I am oiling the hingeswith my own sweatuntil the doors swing openlike they’ve been waitingtheir whole livesto let me through.
TonightI stand inside the ruinand I say:
I am done being huntedby my own mind.
I am done apologisingto the ghosts I did not invite.
I am done calling this survivalwhen what I wantis a life.
And somewherebeneath the rubble,beneath the monster’s breath,beneath the chaos of a bodythat won’t hold still—
I hear a heartbeat.Mine.Still animal.Still stubborn.Still learning to roar.

More from Tess Ezzy ↓

1. @themoodyproject_ on Instagram
2. Poetess Press on Substack

Watch the Second Poem

You can watch and listen to Mud on Her Knees, Sky in Her Teeth by Tess as part of our Wednesday double feature on Instagram at @rembrandts.cure.

Support + Stay Connected to 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.

Two poems. One poet. Let the words keep moving.

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.

Museum of Mourning Maria Corcoran

This poem was first published in the Raven Review.

Ocean of silent, aching desiresDrowned before even taking formGuiltless, carried to the pyreSnuffed and swallowed, not yet born
O lulling waves of strangled dreams,Why do you refuse to die?Trying even now to be heard, be seenFrom below the depths wherein you lie
With your unclosing eyes full of blame,Every gurgled breath you heave,Ties me a knot borne of your painYou wish to take me as you leave
You, every dream never dared dreamtA drop in this vast cemeteryYour revenge is your lamentA cruel memoir of what I’ve buried
Sharp-edged guilt, bleeding griefYour torment is mine to keepUnintended sweet deceitMy regrets are your motifs
Is this your oath,Either drive me madOr kill us both?
Perhaps it is a fitting end,Succumbing to these rooted woundsThat I will, you will never mendTurning inside out, self-exhumed
Quiet rage, quiet tormentUndeclared indictment
Punishment for what I’ve done–A dictated requisite crime--To be forever on the run,For a choice that wasn’t mine

More from Maria Corcoran ↓

1. @_mariacorcoran on Instagram
2. @mariacorcoran on Substack
3. Maria is looking for authors and poets that write and appreciate Gothic literature. If you happen to be a poet who writes rhyming/structured poetry, she would like to connect for potential writing collabs and community building.

Support + Stay Connected to 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 reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.

Mentioned in this episode:

One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us after we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, a book, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only Submissions Form

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.

Human NatureLynn L.My fingertips feel the texture of a rose petal,Silken, yes, but silken with the hush of something already dying.Soft as sin, velvet against the finger,A whisper that resists and surrenders all at once.Cool at first, like a lover’s indifference,Then quick to the warmth beneath the weight of touch.

More from Lynn L. ↓

1. Her website: www.lbachman.com
2. @authorlynnl on Instagram
3. Her book, Saint Woman, is available now

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:

One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us after we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, a book, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only 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 poems

1. Every Cell Misses You by Dolon Pramanik
2. Butterflied, oh by Yonsiri Rojas
3. You’ll Hear Music by Chandra Tyler Mountain
4. Patience by Ayesha Khalid
5. Lost Bond by Pinky Faith Okafor
6. Love Song by Dorothy Parker

Plus one new one to carry us into the week ahead

Writing Love Poems to the NASA Artist’s ConceptMaggie DeversHow small we are,How infinitesimally small,And yet I am hereWriting this down so you may read it10 years from now, or a hundred,Or never.Is never the same as zero?What if every breath is a big bangThe end of one universeAnd the beginning of another?Galaxies live in your voiceEchoing through the walls, off the wallsIn the space between your ribsI hear youI see youOnceTwiceForeverAnd it’s never enough.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

1. My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.
2. Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on Patreon
3. Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure

More from this week’s poets

Find links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes.

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 is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.