One Poem Only

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

Love Song Dorothy Parker My own dear love, he is strong and boldAnd he cares not what comes after.His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,And his eyes are lit with laughter.He is jubilant as a flag unfurled—Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.My own dear love, he is all my world,—And I wish I’d never met him.
My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,And a wild young wood-thing bore him!The ways are fair to his roaming feet,And the skies are sunlit for him.As sharply sweet to my heart he seemsAs the fragrance of acacia.My own dear love, he is all my dreams,—And I wish he were in Asia.
My love runs by like a day in June,And he makes no friends of sorrows.He’ll tread his galloping rigadoonIn the pathway of the morrows.He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,Nor could storm or wind uproot him.My own dear love, he is all my heart,—And I wish somebody’d shoot him.

More from Dorothy Parker ↓

1. This poem is from Dorothy Parker's collection, Enough Rope, published in 1926.

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.

Lost Bond Pinky Faith Okafor There are stories the world claims to tell, Yet, we do not hear. Stories of girls denied the gift of learning, Who live through nightmares and are not allowed to dream.
Of salma–12 who watches her uncle close a business deal behind closed doors Scrubbing the blood of strangers two weeks later was how she learned It was her future which was traded.
Of preta–22, Dragged into a corner by 5 boys, Who walked away with her smile and her voice. Now she stands by her window every night, Talking to the moon This is the only way she feels heard.
Of every girl in my country who walks down the hill Before the sun even rises, Carrying a heavy container,And a heavier heart.dreams of desks and blackboards,Her childhood is passingOne chore, one silence, one sacrifice at a timeNo one asksNo one caresAnd when bad things happen, they ask,"What were you wearing,?""Where were you going?""Who did you go to see?"Instead of saying,"This shouldn't have happened to you."
They clap for us on special daysGirl's day, women's dayBut forget to lend us a hand on all the other daysWhen we need it the most.
And now,all I have to say is this:We will continue to stand tall,to dream without feareven when our dreams seem small.We will speak out,even if our voices still shake.
Because silence is never an optionWe are not weak,
And we will tell our stories with our own lips.

More from Pinky Faith Okafor ↓

1. @_pinkythepoet 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

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

PatienceAyesha MohalYes, you need patience,The patience of a steadfast tree,In autumn, it lets its leaves go free.Believing, not hoping alone,In spring, he will have grown.No one sits beneath the tree,Yet soon, they will come to see.Look, the birds are drawing near.Yes! yes! yes! Spring is here.Everyone is happy and free,Yes, you need patience,The patience of a steadfast tree

More from Ayesha Mohal ↓

1. @ayeshah.writes on Instagram
2. @ayeshamohal on Substack
3. Her book, Bitter Sip, 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 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.

You’ll Hear MusicChandra Tyler Mountain

This poem is included in the 2024-25 Stafford Challenge Anthology.

If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the quiet humming,pulses and surges of electricity,moving through uswith light and energy.
If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the windwhistling softly, making its way through,carrying seeds of hopefor a tomorrow that will surely come.
If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the stately elms and oaksplanning for a winterof full exposure:cold days, stark nights.
If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the private chirpsof the feathered ones who remainto brave the winter and feast on songs of insectsburied deep in the cold, hard earth.
If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the laughter of childrenfrolicking in the last remaining days of sunbefore the arctic breeze pushes us behind closed doorsto seek other sources of warmth.
If you listen closely—you’ll hear the music in the beating of your own heartin tune with blessing and grief,singing back to you:all is well; all is well.

More from Chandra Tyler Mountain ↓

1. @musings.from.my.grown.self on Instagram
2. Her books, Sacred Water: Scripture Haiku for Those Who Thirst, and Musings from My Younger Self, are available now.

Watch the Second Poem

You can watch and listen to Abandoned by Chandra 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.

Butterflied, ohYonsiri RojasI
fish-eyed, butterflied collectionof furrowed bones composed of dustand glitter scattered throughout the meadowthe gray-hued calcium boughs quiverat the poisonous, foetid breath of their beast…a skin sack stuffed with long rancid meat;sheathed in tettered flesh, a machete
II
a blood-colored glass of somethinghails onto the peppermint braids of greeneryaltogether the beasts croon about glory, thorns, warsfortresses built off your pearly lament sprout from the landmoonlight bathes the so-called clique of controlas merciful - but cunning - death abates the tempest.

More from Yonsiri Rojas ↓

1. @lvrimar and @florerlia on Instagram
2. @lvrimar on Substack

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.

Every Cell Misses YouDolon PramanikEvery single cell in my body calls your name.It’s like they all know who they belong to.When you’re near, they hum quietly,like a song only I can feel.When you’re far,they scream —they ache.
My heart tries to stay strong,but it beats too fast when I think of you.Sometimes it skips,like it forgot how to live without your rhythm.
My lungs struggle too —they fill with your memory,and when I breathe out,it hurts to let you go.
My stomach twists when I miss you,it forgets what comfort feels like.My hands reach out for nothing,and my skin burnsfrom the space where your touch should be.
My eyes get tired from searching for youin every shadow,every crowd,every dream.
I am made of you now —you live in my blood,my bones,my breath.You are in the tiny, invisible pieces of methat keep me alive.
And when you’re gone,those pieces cry out —they ache like broken glass inside me.
I’d do anything for you.Anything to see you happy,anything to make you stay.
Because loving youis not just in my heart —it’s in every part of me.And missing youfeels like my bodyforgetting how to live.

More from Dolon Pramanik ↓

1. @chitrangi_dolon 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

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.

Feb 2 Light by Shannon West @shannonswriting on Instagram.

Feb 3 The Cloak of Quiet Light by Dorothy Howls @thehumanspell on Instagram.

Feb 4 Dreams by Cecilia Knight @ceciliaknightpoems on Instagram. Her book, The Burning Pages, is available now. Listen to me read Treasures by Cecilia on Instagram @rembrandts.cure.

Feb 5 On My Own by Srishti Jain @thesocialsaunter on Instagram.

Feb 6 glass half by Michaela Godding @michaelagodding on Instagram. Her book, The Year Our Grandmothers Died, is available now.

Feb 7 Magnetism by Emma Lazarus

Feb 8

All the Words for BlueMaggie DeversI press pencils between my toesTo loosen the webbing holding me togetherYou must breathe into the pressure, diaphragmatically
The way that word rolls out, just like that, diaphragmaticallyMine is weak from holding my breath all my lifeI forgot how to open my back and make room for air
I forgot how to expand
But I’m learningOn the exhale, I imagine smog spewing out my noseI feel fresh like LA after the rainWith the sky that perfect blue,Azzurro, they call it in Italian
Of course a country of painters has a bountyOf words for blueBlu, celeste, turchinoTrue blue, baby blue, sea blueAzzurro
To hold an understanding of color,To know the truth of blueHelps me breathe

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

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

Mentioned in this episode:

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

glass halfMichaela GoddingI’m sorryfor this mess all over the all overthe carpetdragging at my heelslike a half dead dog

look at me

my empty is so big


my stomach fullof starsunapologizingon the way downat least I can sayI bellied the sky.

More from Michaela Godding ↓

1. @michaelagodding on Instagram
2. Her book, The Year Our Grandmothers Died, is available now.

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

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

More from Srishti Jain ↓

1. @thesocialsaunter on Instagram

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