One Poem Only

Poetry Reading Maggie Devers After Chelsie Diane
This is a rememberingWhen we come togetherAnd read our truth.We have been doing this forever.
They have tried to stop us—Burnt us alive, tied rocks to our ankles and threw us in the river, locked us in cages.So many cages.
But we didn't stop.We can never stop,We are right where we are.

The audiobook of my debut poetry book, For My Daughter, will be released 11/11.

In the tradition of a poem a day, starting 11/5, I will be offering a daily reading from the book for subscribers to One Poem Only.

You can subscribe on Substack and Pateron.

Mentioned in this episode:

For My Daughter Audio Book Releasing 11/11

I will be releasing a poem a day from the audio book for subscribers of One Poem Only.

Join the mailing list to be the first to know when OPO submissions open ⬇️

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Poetry Reading Maggie Devers After Chelsie Diane
This is a rememberingWhen we come togetherAnd read our truth.We have been doing this forever.
They have tried to stop us—Burnt us alive, tied rocks to our ankles and threw us in the river, locked us in cages.So many cages.
But we didn't stop.We can never stop,We are right where we are.

The audiobook of my debut poetry book, For My Daughter, will be released 12/12.

In the tradition of a poem a day, starting 11/5, I will be offering a daily reading from the book for subscribers to One Poem Only.

You can subscribe on Substack and Pateron.

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

Naked Danielle Martin Naked in the truth that she is alone she hugs herself tightly and succeeds in creating the illusion of wellness. Damp eyes close as jaded lips conjure up wide smiles. Damn! Her mind begins to do its own thing again.
Briefly, she forgets, as she floats on a magic carpet of memories, smiling, as death did not steal everything after all. Basking in apparent nothingness, she waits. No one knows her thoughts. But her silence, is better left a mystery. As she knows only too well, every beginning has an end.

More from Danielle Martin ↓

• @cosquelle.mind on Instagram
• DanielleM on Facebook
• Her book, Kissing Shadows: Caribbean Love Poems, is out 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

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

Oct 27 -  i don't remember being small by Momena Khan @still.in.my.d4afts_ on Instagram.

Oct 28 - What Are We by Laker Patience @laker.p_poet on Instagram. Her poetry anthology, Echoes of Colour, will be out soon.

Oct 29 - Green Soup by Tabitha Dial @TabithaDial on Instagram. Her book, Cheese Astrology: A Weekly Guide, is out now. Listen to me read Apparition Appetizers by Tabitha on Instagram @rembrandts.cure.

Oct 30 - The Spider by Philippe Blenkiron

Oct 31 - Coffin monologue: The non-rhyming rant poem by Manasvita Sukthankar @manasvita._ on Instagram.

Nov 1 - "I would peel pomegranates for you—" by Hareem Ismail @wordssmith_ on Instagram.

Nov 2Forty-Three Is PoetryMaggie Devers After @motheatencurtain
Twenty-four is driving without a steering wheelMoving at a clipBumping into all that enchants you until you fall out a window
Literally.
And you find it necessary to relearn how to climb stairs.
You are empty,
But thirty is flirting with the one you love,Obsessing deeper into everything you seek.
Thirty-five is big and round and swollenAnd you are full of life,Not metaphorically,Though that would be simpler.
Your dreams are tangibleAnd you learn how to feel them.That’s forty-three:When poetry comes into focusAnd you write all you want.It’s yours.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

I would peel pomegranates for you—Not just slice them open, but gently with my fingers stained red— I would learn its anatomy, the way they bruise and break if held too harshly, the way they hold memories in every seed.I would sit at the table, a bowl between us as I unraveled the fruit slowly— almost reverently.I’d gather the delicate pieces and offer them to you like little treasures, letting the juice spill— dark and intoxicating.And in the simple act, I’d tell you everything— talk to you about the world and nothing at all, that I chose you, I see you. “I would peel pomegranates for you” I’d say giggling as I pop a seed in my mouth. - Hareem Ismail

More from Hareem Ismail ↓

• @wordssmith_ 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

Coffin monologue: The non-rhyming rant poem Manasvita Sukthankar I love myself,but which one?Can I love the person that most hate?Does she deserve the ache in her chest?It feels like being trapped in a coffin alive, like death is leaning by the doorframe.
If so,I'd like it to carry me home,and leave me on my bedroom floor to stay.
Maybe I feel safer in this coffin,No one can get to me.Maybe it's a shield that saves me, but from whom?The weight of this world?
I wonder how it’s bearing the weight, It feels like it’s made of glass.I wish to be as strong as the coffin,but maybe it's because it's got a heart of steel too.
I don't know if I should try to escape, Is the coffin written in my fate? Should I bang it from the inside, can anyone hear? Or should I let it engulf my soul. It already trapped my body, I'm a corpse soon to be. Death is more alive than the life in me, my eyes would say the same.
I feel like if words cut me deep, I'm not sure I'll even bleed. Would that mean I'm dead on the inside,Or that my heart is asleep?
When my flesh starts to rot and the worms come my way, will they consider me supper? Or am I unwanted in the afterlife too, That I should've gone sooner.
Is this the hell that humans run away from?Well I found it in this life.I could have a party with the ghosts that haunt me.I found something I could call my own.
The party has begun.It’s loud in my head.There are balloonsdarker than the dreams I weave,confetti with shimmer and silence,candles burning like they’re coming for me,and a cake with fractured frosting.
Maybe the worms and the ghosts could be friends.They both feed on me, after all.
The party has come to an end.And mine has come too.I felt it come a lot soonerbut time warp is real.
I think these words I gather myself to spit outare heavier than my coffin in the ground.Maybe the Earth could put me to sleep,and cradle me with a lullaby.
Okay,that’s it. Good evening, good night or whenever you're reading this.

More from Manasvita Sukthankar ↓

• @manasvita._ 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 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

The Spider Philippe Blenkiron "Is God a Spider?" I asked,
"constantly weavingelectron threads into spiraling elemental webs?
His iron will, spun with a silk of liquid steel,torn by the slightest of whims? His tenacious tapestry resewn,a glistening embroidery of frosted jewelled fibrils?"
"God scares me," you said,
"In the corner of the room,observant, unmoving,a silent host of eyes.
His uncanny mechanics,a mystery of hydraulic inkwrapped in adhesive shadow.
"But He's a friend," she replied
"Call Him carpenter,cellar-dweller,a long-limbed daddy,
because He eats flies like sins, laboursin your shed while you hammer and nail,
accompanies your best wine.Raise a toast, man, raise your cup high to the ceiling to Him
then you can slide something thinbetween the glass and the walland take Him outside
so he doesn't bother anyone."

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

Green SoupTabitha Dial(Halloween Night 2020)From a quiet keeping-space,I promise my motherghostto create meals and music.Even if fromdry bones and tangled memories,my vow as I unstem kale and spinach,add it to the copperlined pot with green onion, cilantro,yukon golds and snap peas.Remember when I made your favorite souplast year? I caramelize the onions and recallthat patient pot.I've spent almost 2 hours at the stove, there'sonly a little more: the garlic and gingersizzle in the pan, then slide into the pot. Another 10 minutes.I add the broth, taste. I follow the recipe,as one day I'll follow you. Blend in batches,return to pot, simmer, flavor with lemon juice,white vinegar, salt, pepper, cumin, chili powder,and the sound of your name.

More from Tabitha Dial ↓

• @TabithaDial on Instagram
• @tabithadial on Substack
• Her book, Cheese Astrology: A Weekly Guide, is out now

Listen to me read Apparition Appetizers by Tabitha on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

What Are We Laker Patience What are we? is there even a we, or is it possibly just a you and a me, a concoction of delusion, desire, mismatched expectations with no actual communication.What are we? what is this? Because my soul can't keep skinny dipping in the misread signals of others, it can't! My heart can't keep bungee jumping off of platforms made from shaky commitment, committing to shaky commitment, it's exhausting, it's exhausting to keep trying to cultivate seeds in farm lands offered to you as fertile, that bear testimony of harvest, of bounty,to watch them yield for everyone else except you! I can't keep stripping for eyes that refuse to see me, why bare my soul when the only parts of me you desire to see naked are flesh, my breasts, hips, butt and lips that don't speak, as though if they could you'd even bother to listen, I can't! Can't keep holding open houses for the prime real estate that is my body, existence, being, to have prospects take tours, show interest, ask questions, eat cookie, make offers,only for them to turn around and declare I am not what they're looking for.it's dangerous how proficient I've gotten at deploying parachutes during trust falls, at spotting plot holes in confessions and pot holes in promises, surprised only if they remain unbroken I can't!can't keep putting my love up for adoption, can't keep fostering it in seemingly loving homes, only for it to keep being returned to me, each time a little more traumatized, each time a little more broken, So..before we waste my time,before we paint memories in vibrant sounds and over saturated colors, that I'll only recall In greys as fantasy, before we make me believe that I jumped of the edge alone, unprompted, with delusion as my safety instructor and your words in my ears and hand in mine, make belief before we gaslight me into believing that your actions didn't drive me to conclusions of claim, of more, knowing full well that 93% of all communication is nonverbal..before we subject me to all that,and I'm forced to look with eyes puffy and incapable of seeing myself attached to worth, Forced to look with those eyes for all the parts of me that make me defective and unworthy of love with weight, with claim, Again! what are we? what is this? Because it feels kinda shaky.

More from Laker Patience ↓

• @laker.p_poet on Instagram
• Her poetry anthology, Echoes of Colour, will be out soon

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

i don't remember being small Momena Khan i was sitting beside her, my not-sister. we were eating oranges and she was laughing with her whole mouth open like joy had never betrayed her. i held my fruit too carefully, too clean, trying not to let the juice run down my wrists.
she said, you never eat like you're hungry. i said, i don’t think i am.
i don’t remember being small. there are photos of me, hair sticking out in all directions, one sock off, holding a stick like it was a sword. i must have been wild, once. i must have screamed and reached for things. but the memory of that version of me has been folded up so many times, the edges have worn off. i only know her through photographs.
i used to think gentleness was my personality. it took me ten years to realize it was fear.
when i was twelve i stopped raising my voice. stopped correcting people when they said my name wrong. i learned the art of shrinking, i mistook stillness for safety. but safety is not always safe. sometimes it is just hiding in better lighting.
she said, you can take the last orange. i said, you can have it. i always say that. i always let them have it. but i wanted it too. i did.
i think i’m just waiting for someone to notice.
i think i’m just waiting for someone to say, take it.
i think i’m just waiting to be small again.

More from Momena Khan ↓

• @still.in.my.d4afts_ 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 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