One Poem Only

Love Letter to the Lesion in My Brain Erin Zarro TW: explicit language, illness, mentions of death
Here’s a secret. This thing in my brain – this mass of cells and tissue — it’s not my friend – is it going to grow? Is it going to kill me?
Because I’ll tell you now: The Grim Reaper will have to drag me, screaming the whole way, from my life.
Because it is mine and I’m not fucking ready.
Not. Fucking. Ready.
I haven’t turned fifty yet, damn it. That’s too young to…yeah.
Too fucking young.
I never believed a small clump of cells in my white matter would take me out.
I always said I’d go out in a blaze of fire. And at the age of ninety, right?
But this little clump of cells might suck the life out of me, keep me from collecting those beautiful moments of joy, the things that make life worth the infinite breaths every single day.
The highs. The lows. The human experience.
All of it, human shaped and filled with blood and held together with bone.
But that blood… That’s a reminder that I’m here, I’m still breathing, something’s moving through my veins and arteries and I am not.
I’m not.
Grim Reaper’s gotta wait. I can see him, scythe upraised, ready to yank my soul out.
I’m not ready. I’m too young. I’m healthy. I refuse to go. I will scream for an eternity before I allow him to put one skeletal finger on me.
Oh, did my rage reach you, sir, at the wrong time?
I think you got the wrong chick. Check your records and fucking call back.
Or, better yet, don’t. Cause I ain’t answerin.’
This phone line is no longer in service.
I’ll tell you another secret: I have a lesion in my brain.
It might be cancer.
But fucking hell, I’m not letting it take me.
I’m too young to go.
Too young to go.
Too young to go.

More from Erin Zarro ↓

• @erinzpoetry on Instagram
• Her two chapbooks, Life as a Moving Target, and Without Wings, are 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 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

I want to escape this world.And sit with somebody in a quiet place.Looking at the stars, imagine a new world.Drinking silence in a cup of coffeeThe chaos-free, serene spaceA cessation in this running worldWalking on green grass barefootRunning wildly in green, loose spaceExploring myself in the woodsReading books in a tree houseLit up the world with tiny stars of night.O What a majestic view of dancing lights!Watching the dreamy aurora borealisThe magical moon nights, different canvasses of sunsets in the sky, and the cheerful sunriseFlow of air through hairRustling of bushes, crushing of dried leavesThe perfume of petrichor, silence before stormChirping of forbidden sparrows, cucks of Koel The exploration of vast universes within each otherAlthough I'm chaotic, I want to escape the worldly chaosI want to escape this world. - Lipy Goyal

More from Lipy Goyal ↓

• @thediaryofscript on Instagram

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

Where will we getWith the attack? Will the caged bird Finally bend the metal? Or should it learn to pick the lock?
Where will we get With the oppression?Will the Princess Be forced to use her hair? Or be allowed to put on pants And climb her way down?
Where will we get With the ego?Will the lion pounce at every chanceAnd fail? Or choose wisely, Waiting for the pride?
Where will we getWith the hate? Will the fire burn And become all consuming?Or simmer only enough to warm our hands? To cook a meal we can share?
Where will we get If we go on like this?
Where will we get If we don’t stop and think?
Where will we get If we don’t take a look around?
Where will we get?
Where will we get? - Sophia Nerenberg

More from Sophia Nerenberg ↓

• @sophia_the_writer10 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

House of Childhood Nataša Benedičič I would rest in a secret gardenWatering my unsaid thoughtsFor they had no other placeSince they were “too much”
Waiting for life to unfoldLike a flower before meWith unplanned moments Yearning to arrive where I belong 
Little knowing that some people Search for their purpose all their livesConstantly feeling they bloom in the wrong placesLoving things that never love them back
Growing pains were a certainty.That I was becoming an adultYet a part of me wanted to hang onTo the zest for life, a two-year-old holds 
Childhood is like building a house.You will live in it for the rest of your lifeUnaware of how it will feel inside its wallsFor construction felt so out of your control 
I didn't want to be judged by my outsideBut I rarely pulled up the blinds, always careful How much you could see from my windowsYet yearning for guests to come inside
I have learnt that not everything builtWas put in the best place for meSo I've crashed my windowsAnd broken down my walls
I have learnt that nobody can teach youHow your rooms and furniture should look likeYour inner kingdom is yours to mendThe only lesson being that it is possible 
I have learnt the only constant guest here is meAnd this should be a safe and secure placeTo hold in peace all I've been and all that I'm becoming Only after, others will feel welcomed too 

More from Nataša Benedičič ↓

• @natasek_poetry_corner on Instagram
• Childhood Reveries is her Substack
• Her book, Whispers of the Inner Child, 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 6 - Remember by Olivia Woods @owibia_writes on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube. She is currently writing the first draft of her novel, What Remains Of Us.

Oct 7 - "Nobody is coming to save you" by Georgia Groza @catastrophic_yearning on Instagram

Oct 8 - "Gone are the days" by Rusha Chatterjee @blooming_ru on Instagram. You can listen to me read Rusha’ poem Hope Is over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure.

Oct 9 - Another Day in May by Anthony Robinson @shedsofthenorthwest on Instagram. His books, Failures of the Poets, and Broke Republic, are out now.

Oct 10 - "If a tree falls" by Amelia Dunn @amelia.evie_poetry on Instagram and TikTok

Oct 11 - Twenty-First. Night. Monday by Anna Akhmatova

Oct 12 - Seek TruthMaggie DeversI can see the waning moon from my windowAnd shake off more of what I do not wantFor life is not suffering And we can all taste sweetness.
Time now to stop trivializing the fundamental Seek truth insteadKnow yours and hold it safeIt will be all that’s leftIf the dust ever truly settles.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

Twenty-First. Night. Monday Anna Akhmatova Twenty-first. Night. Monday.Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.Some good-for-nothing–who knows why–made up the tale that love exists on earth.
People believe it, maybe from lazinessor boredom, and live accordingly:they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,and when they sing, they sing about love.
But the secret reveals itself to some,and on them silence settles down...I found this out by accidentand now it seems I'm sick all the time.

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

"If a tree falls" Amelia Dunn If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to notice does it make a sound?Does its impact even hit the ground? Will the wind still whistle Or will silence echo in the burrows of what once was
what once was must be forgotfor leaves will fall again next autumn and shoots will spawn in the spring
does sadness fill you as you stare at an empty home or do you dance with excitement at the new creations that bloom within you knock down this wall and we’ll have a dream home But someone else’s once was must now be forgot
what once was must be forgotfor leaves will fall again next autumn and shoots will spawn in the spring
do you ever want to pick all the flowers to take home their beauty but then remember on the walk back you’ve killed what once was and stripped them from their home just to fill the empty burrows of your own
does your own happiness outweigh the presence of othersare you superior do you gather flowers for the home you built on someone else’s refuge and frolic amongst empty crevices unscathed does your god complex out rule you from the damages you create as you turn your back and wave your silence speaks of a thousand names
Your presence is impactful but there’s is still blamed
Someone running in the woods WILL trip and fall over the cavity of a being that once stood tall
someone’s life WILL be destroyed as you strip back the walls that barely resemble the home they once knew
someone WILL notice their garden is now bare of the beauty that once bloomed
it’s okay
what once was must be forgotfor leaves will fall again next autumn and shoots will spawn in the spring
but shoots can’t spawn if the saplings never scattered amongst the ground of their mother leaves can’t fall if the trunk that holds strong was taken by another the wind’s whistle won’t be heard if an army of alarms consumes and smothers
a nation is silenced
because if a tree falls down in the forest and no one was around to listen did it really make a sound silence speaks a thousand wordsbut the thunder that rolls in its hollows shudders even louderthe screams of a mother losing her child echoes for an eternity the sound of death knell echo as warning from once sturdy infrastructure the rumble of machinery shatters the glass of what once was Silence is impactful Until it is enforced perception is a construct and construction is a cage society collapses and a country disassembles again

More from Amelia Dunn ↓

• @amelia.evie_poetry on Instagram and TikTok

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

Another Day in MayAnthony Robinson Now more coffee and Brian Wilson And skittering creatures. I've eatenTacos for three days straight and DadIs still on oxygen. To feel intense griefNot right now is also to feel guiltyConcerning elements and microbesWhat makes a man sick is alsoWhat kills him, what kills a manIs also what sustains him. Here, loveIs a concept. Mercy is an actOf unshabby imagination. MotherPuts out food for the goldfinches,A famous athlete debases himselfTo the applause of at least dozens.I've been meaning to talk to you aboutThe shade-tree and all the shade-treePeople who are as exactly as lazy as IAnd exactly as beaten down. SurveyorsAre ranging out back, putting postsIn things. All winter we waitedFor the sun and now he's here but willHe make it through another year?

More from Anthony Robinson ↓

• @shedsofthenorthwest on Instagram
• His books, Failures of the Poets, and Broke Republic, are 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 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

"Gone are the days" Rusha Chatterjee Gone are the dayswhen my house felt like home,now the rooms filled with thousandmemories feels like a cage,suffocating and cold,laughs from my childhood echoes throughout the space maybe to light a little spark of hopeless hope.
The mint colour wallsare now pale and grim, the lack of warmth issurely from within,the rose wood furniture was a beauty to behold, now with layers of dustis an absolute eyesore.
The kitchen which always smelled like heaven, now occasionally whiffs of burntprepackaged Ramen,the porch with the view ofblooming flowers and neatly cut grass,is now laced with outgrown weedsso distasteful even the trespassers ignore a glance.
There was a timeI always prayed to be alone, to be free,now why theempty house seems like a nightmare one would never wish to see?

More from Rusha Chatterjee ↓

• @blooming_ru on Instagram

You can listen to me read Rusha’ poem Hope Is over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

"Nobody is coming to save you" Georgia Groza Nobody is coming to save you Stitch it back up, learn to live with it.
The world doesn’t begin and end at the kitchen tablemore than likely everything is preceded by a bed.It ends with or without a death gripWith or without the altar and the hummingWith or without divine intervention or a prayer or a poem
Don’t correct me if I’ve told this story before.It is not misanthropic ramblingIt is not an excuse to pathologize you it is the unblinking chasm in my chest, it is the ugly thrashing before the repose, it is the stain before the bleach.
You conducted every conversation with the sway and tide of your wet sadness, the rush to overturn the words you couldn’t say so I couldn’t either, even if I was just trying to tell you the memories I was built from.
You only permitted yourself to know me when the story couldn’t hurt you.
My bedside table growing things, Your clothes on the floor, this was a body, filling the room, kneeling. I tried to cauterise it, I did, but I couldn’t find my way back to you in all that muck, it was just one of those things we couldn’t talk about.
When I was 16 and lawless and bitter I learned how to tie a tourniquet. I packed my clothes and did it all by myself, all spit and gnashing teeth. The house was burning so I signed a new lease.
The insurmountable grief hits me in adulthood.If I had time to let it calcify, if I crawled my way back home,How come nobody else can?How am I the only person alive to reach the summit?To tumble down with the faultless epiphanyI am not the blueprint, I’m just the only one who got back up.Knowing the way out didn’t make the journey mine to justify.I just didn’t turn back around. I took Eurydice with me.I kept an even pace.
I cannot be the only one who came to this conclusion.There is no such thing as thriving.You suck the poison out or let it kill you. You are here, now. You didn’t choose it, you just have to live with it.
Tie a ribbon around the rotten tooth and slam the door.

More from Georgia Groza ↓

• @catastrophic_yearning 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