History in Art Maggie Devers My husband tells me I have a twentieth century assAnd that’s a type of poem.Rubens put touches of red on his angels' rears,Literally rogue on cheeks
And I feel that’s what this world is missing—More blushed bottomsMore naked debaucheryMore holy stories
We laugh out loud at some of the babies,Old man newborn is forever the haha trope,The mortality, ever life, after life, reincarnation, universal onenessCreated for us by some Flemish dudeAppeasing his benefactor.Before time’s upAnd we walk down the mountain back to life.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

• Read my debut poetry book, For My Daughter
• Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure

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"TELL ME, WHAT IS IT YOU PLAN TO DO WITH YOUR ONE WILD AND PRECIOUS LIFE?"-Mary Oliver
I plan on washing my sheets, cooking pasta, and cleaning broken glass off the kitchen floor quickly lest it cut up any little feet. I plan on eating peaches in the summer and oysters only in months that end in -er because that's what my mother taught me. I plan on making lovers out of poetry and poetry out of lovers. I plan to eat tomato salad with salt, oil, and hot French bread while my cousin regales me with her stories. I will swallow the bitterness of missing entire years together. I plan to say bless you when someone sneezes. Excuse me when I pass them by. I plan to forgive —even the people who don't deserve it. I plan on giving loneliness a warm place in my bed when I need her. I plan on hosting dinner parties and listening to my friend's laughter in the half-light of evening. I plan on sending the letter. I plan on falling in love often. Often, with the wrong people, which will make the right one's love go down like milk and honey. I plan on making mistakes, making love, getting sunburnt, and still basking in the sunlight.
What is it I plan to do with my one wild and precious life?
Mary, I intend to live it.
-Margaux Paul

More from Margaux Paul ↓

• @margauxpoetry on Instagram
• Margaux Paul on Substack
• Her book, Unsent Letters, is out now.

You can listen to me read another poem by Margaux over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

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A Jelly-Fish Marianne Moore 1887 – 1972 Visible, invisible,A fluctuating charm,An amber-colored amethystInhabits it; your armApproaches, andIt opens andIt closes;You have meantTo catch it,And it shrivels;You abandonYour intent—It opens, and itCloses and youReach for it—The blueSurrounding itGrows cloudy, andIt floats awayFrom you.

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Last Fog at Sunrise Travers Charron If life stretched on forever,would we still kneel in the wild mintjust to listen to the wind?
It’s the fire burning lowthat draws us near.The song, fadingthat makes us sing.The morning mist liftingthat reveals the deer in the clearing.
Grief is not just absence–it’s the overflowof all we didn’t say,the touch we postponed,a life paused too longon someday.
We are eacha breath on glass,a shadow just beginning to fall.One day,we’ll rise as the last fog at sunrise–already vanishing as the light arrives.
Sof if you love, say so.If something stirs you,listen.
The morning comes quickly.And the fognever stays.

More from Travers Charron ↓

• @the_inkwellian on Threads
• Scattering Poem Seeds on Substack
• His tanka and haiku collection, Glass Shadows, is available now.
• Currently he is preparing his first full-length poetry collection, Thunderclap Heart, for submission later this year.

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

Jun 2 - cream soda by Stephanie Valente, Portals on Substack, @stephanie.maria.valente on Instagram; her book, Internet Girlfriend, is out now

Jun 3 - Lines Written At Thorp Green by Anne Bronte

Jun 4 - Honey by Debbie Radford, @debbiearadford on Instagram and TikTok; her book, The Enchanted Cottage, is out now

Jun 5 - Because that is all it is. by Maggie Devers

Jun 6 - I open a book by Joanne Witzkowski, @a.wannie on Threads & Instagram

Jun 7 - Goodnight, Yesterday by Nichole Johnson on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, Threads; her two books: Love, Death, and Other Distractions, a Collection of Poetry & Circling The Downward Spiral

June 8 -

Spin the Weekend Maggie Devers The beasts are brunchingWith a Saturday fervor That excites me.
The valet nearly got hit by a car,Or I nearly ran into him,As he stepped boldly into traffic.
He knows his purpose is greater than mine,And I know it too,These four hours to let it all go.
I cannot quibble with the revelersWho watch in amazement As the plates keep spinning.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

• Read my debut poetry book, For My Daughter
• Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure

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Goodnight, Yesterday Nichole Johnson I thoughtMy heart might die loudly–Thunder cracking,LighteningGrinding stone to sand.
But–
It is quiet.
It withersIn my ribcage,Like a heavy fog–The last breathOf midnightSoftly tiptoeingTowards dawn.

More from Nichole Johnson ↓

• Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, Threads
• Her two books: Love, Death, and Other Distractions, a Collection of Poetry & Circling The Downward Spiral

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I open a book.One brittle flower falls,Shudders into dust.No flicker of flameCould be as beautifuland as burningand as briefAs the memoriesthat perfumed powderevokes.
- Joanne Witzkowski

More from Joanne Witzkowski ↓

• @a.wannie on Threads & Instagram

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Because that is all it is. Maggie Devers I want to know your process So I can make it with youThe way you sketch until your nails are packed with graphite And your warm hands smell of wood shavings and masking tapeI could hold them to my nose and die happy
I want to know how you changeSo I can be there with you As you chop off your hairLet your eyebrows grow wilder and abandon heels for Birks. Even your feet are now free
Tell me what makes your heart growAnd mine will grow tooHow you smell the top of a baby’s head watching the sun dip over the ocean.There’s a margarita with salt in your handAnd the lime stings at your cuticle, but it’s a good hurt.
Show me the hidden parts of you So I can see all of you The way you shield yourself from criticism Even your own. How you fight for everyone But yourself. How you believe these parts are more hidden than they are.
Know I am here for the process.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

• Read my debut poetry book, For My Daughter
• Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure

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Honey Debbie Radford Honey pools in the dip of my waist.It flows like warm sunlight down my thighs.Every curve a golden river, every step a supple pour.
Like a honeycomb, my body is textured and endless, mailable like bees wax, with threads of dripping sweetness curling around my hips.
My skin gleams like amber in the late afternoon- something one cannot help but savor.
I wear the curves of my body like sugar silk- soft, lustrous, and shimmering in a sunshine touch.
I am the sap of my creation, overflowing in luxury I melt into the depths of my form, as smooth as nectar's fall-slow and sure. Each layer of me ripened in richness, and oozing in flavor.

More from Debbie Radford ↓

• @debbiearadford on Instagram & TikTok
• Her book, The Enchanted Cottage, is out now.

You can listen to me read Candle of Hope by Debbie over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

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Lines Written At Thorp Green Anne Brontë 1820 – 1849 That summer sun, whose genial glow Now cheers my drooping spirit so Must cold and distant be, And only light our northern clime With feeble ray, before the time I long so much to see.
And this soft whispering breeze that now So gently cools my fevered brow, This too, alas, must turn To a wild blast whose icy dart Pierces and chills me to the heart, Before I cease to mourn.
And these bright flowers I love so well, Verbena, rose and sweet bluebell, Must droop and die away. Those thick green leaves with all their shade And rustling music, they must fade And every one decay.
But if the sunny summer time And woods and meadows in their prime Are sweet to them that roam Far sweeter is the winter bare With long dark nights and landscapes drear To them that are at Home!

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