One Poem Only

Winds of reverie Philippa Drake A lord soarsinto the azure expanseforsaking blood bondschasing the winds of libertyto repose in distant islandswhere no man yet resides.Friends of wondrous creatureshe dreams in covesand tunneled cavesat one with moonlightand dimensions of mystery.There he waitsfor time to spiralfaster and fasterinto a relentless vortexthat transports himto a sparkling agewhere he meetsanother lifeanother love.

More from Philippa Drake ↓

• @drakephilippa on Instagram
• Her book, Mystic Meanderings, 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

Clouds Have Always Been Women Nanki Kandhari Clouds have always been women—braided in softness,swollen with storiesthey were never allowed to pour.
They gather, quietly,between gossiping winds and forgotten rooftops,holding storms in their bellyso that the harvest may thrive.
They do not arrive with announcements—only anklets of thunder,skirts stitched with rain,and a scent like old lullabies soaked in soil.
You call them moody.I call them magnificent.They grey with waiting,then split open—gracefully—so you may breathe.
They are motherswho refill rivers,loverswho never overstay,daughterswho drift too soon.
They are blamed for floods,for spoiling weddings,for blocking light.No one thanks them for the shade.
Clouds have always been women—asked to give,expected to vanish,judged for the weight they carry.
But when they do decide to stay—when they rain with rage instead of permission,they drown cities,rewrite skylines,and still—still—are called over-emotional.

More from Nanki Kandhari ↓

• @therhymemuse_nanki on Instagram
• Her book, The Girl Who Spoke In Starlight, 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 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

Ash and Gardens Jessica Sorya She asks me, “What did I want at nineteenthat I have now?”I answer, “Nothing. Everything I wanted is gone.”Every man I pedestaled, fell.toppled over, head heavy.Bless ‘em.Cowards.I’ve always been surrounded by womenscurrying,cleaning dirt from their nails,scrubbing blood from tile,handling shitwhen shit needed handling.They stitched silence into their spines,only let loosewhen the liquor was heavy.You should have seen them,the men, watchingas they carried entire familieswithout flinching.They’d bend,but would not break,even when the weightwasn’t theirs to carry.And me?I studied.Took notes.Learned to smile through clenched jaw,mastered lovewithout needing return.I’m no longer building altars for ghosts,fighting battleswhile worshipping control.Quieting my voiceto keep another’s strong.I’m no longer burning myselfto keep their ego warm.Let them fall.I come from women who rise,carrying handfuls of ash,sifted through calloused fingersand still.Even still.After everything has gone,We plant gardensand sow songs

More from Jessica Sorya ↓

• @jessicalynnvision on Instagram
• Her book, Pinch, Breathe, Burn, is out soon

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

Nikomis Shelby Larkin Your smile sung out to sunshine& carried it across ages& every sunny day has a piece of you in it
I think of you when a butterfly lands gently on a Black Eyed Susan Or a humming bird shimmers through the air
I think of you when a warm breeze touches the tree tops & they dance, glittering like emeraldsI think of you when childhood ease whispers gently against my soul
I think of giggling through trails in the forest& you showing me the magic that’s always there
I think of dancing naked in the sunshine because no one was there to see & the freedom you placed right in the heart of me
I think of you when the powwow drums beats& my heart cries out to dance
You gave me those things before you left& I’ll always think of that

More from Shelby Larkin ↓

• @calamityverses 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

a walk from my Eve to my Lilitha swim within my own soul
One was made from your rib,the other, from the same soil as you.
One sacrificed herself for your love,the other loved herselfUntil there was nothing left to hate.
One poured herself into empty vesselsuntil they overflowed.The other filled her cup first,Before she emptied yours
One accepted the truth she was given,the other bent reality to fit her fire.
To one, we owe origin.To the other, feminine rage.
One was never enough.The other was always too much.
One of me was taught to be Eve.The other longed to walk the earth as Lilith.
I spoke like Eve,but I bled like Lilith.
Until they both destroyed me to save my soul.And I?I became the prayerburning in the fire.
- Eva Garg

More from Eva Garg ↓

• @thelifedraft 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

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

Sep 15 - First Person Account of a Seed by Vinita Agrawal @vinitaagrawal18 on Instagram. Her book Eartha is out now.

Sep 16 - the listener by Laura Theis @wodehouse_and_i on Instagram. Her book, Introduction to Cloud Care, is available now. Her children’s poetry book, Poems from a Witch’s Pocket, is also available now.

Sep 17 - I am the dove by GiGi @thegigirising on Instagram. Her books, The Scorpio Rising, and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn, are available now. Her third book, The California Rising: Poems from San Francisco & LA, will be published March 20, 2026

Sep 18 - Sometimes by Hania Anwar @wanderings.in.words on Instagram and @BeeInMyBonnet on Substack.

Sep 19 - When I fall asleep by Jessica Lyon-Wall @thetrinitypoet on Instagram. Her book, Bones, is out now.

Sep 20 - A Pocketful of Joy by Mishty Singh @mishty_22writes on Instagram.

Sep 21 - Theory Maggie DeversThe bees dive back in the poolEven though they can’t swim.Something to do with their polarityOf navigation or death wish.
I’ve not yet decidedWhich story to believe So I’ll move between the two As suits what I seek that day—
Alignment or death. Perhaps They are not so far off.We seek extremes to know the boundary,The lines we inhabit
Crawling on the underside of the string Lost to physics or the reality we believe we inhabitPerhaps the veil looks different than we imagineAnd the moth to a flame isn’t so absolute in the end.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

A Pocketful of Joy by Mishty Singh Joy doesn't always dance in paradesor call your name from mountaintops.Sometimes, it drifts in quietly the same way light pools on windowsills,the same way a breeze remembers your hair.
It hides in mismatched teacups,in songs that start slow and end in smiles,in the rustle of pages at midnight,and the comfort of socks pulled just right.
A butterfly doesn’t know how much wonder it carries.A laugh, once shared,can echo longer than any storm.
These are the things we tuck in our pockets,not loud, not bold, not grand,but soft like petals lost in journals,blooming when we understand.

More from Mishty Singh ↓

• @mishty_22writes 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

When I fall asleep by Jessica Lyon-Wall I was 12 when they brought me back. The process Was a slow one, over a year I went unnoticed, Pale, thin, and guzzling My brother's juice in secret.
One day I went to sleep And didn't wake up. I don't know how I got there, But I remember some bright lights. Then starched sheets and my teddy,The wires in my hair. They said I had been gone 3 days,Link up my machines, I could be an industry!
(This is perhaps a story I should never tell)
I'd find my mum in the medicine room, practicing,Stabbing citrus again,But oranges don't bruise and satsumas Don't feel pain.
The needles got shorter, the technology refined. They were ever sure They would fix the biology in my lifetime,And find a decent cure.
I am fearful, and alone with it. That is how it feels. And if I do sleep, I have the dreams.
I settle down, I pull the duvet up,Turn the lamp off, I wonder what my night will bring,Whether my body is done,If the morning will come. Or if it will blossom Into the perfect combination Of sugar and hormones, A day I've never seen before. At the clocks twelfth strike, Now the sun glows Like corridor lights.
How I live is this- And this is what it's like.

More from Jessica Lyon-Wall ↓

• @thetrinitypoet on Instagram
• Her book, Bones, 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

Sometimes by Hania AnwarSometimesI wish I was born aManin true Plath-ian fashionto roam the desolate fieldsat Dusky Dawnwithout the gripping fearof being stripped bare andTornIf I were a Man I wonderwould I fight half as much with my mother?Would she chastise me for not wordlessly helping around the house were I a Son and not adaughter?Would my father have turned away the childish outstretched handthat reached towards his noisy busy factorywere I a Son and not adaughter?If I were a Manwould I have worried about unborn childrenpart of un-lived futures and the thousand ways I would Fail them?The only reason Rhett could say he didn’t “Give a damn”was because he was a ManI was born with all the Damns in the world crammed into meUntil I began to Choke

More from Hania Anwar ↓

• @wanderings.in.words on Instagram
• @BeeInMyBonnet on Substack

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 am the doveby GiGi I am the dove.
My song is mournful,a single nerve splitting cry outin painbecause it’s fucking rainingand pouringwith pressure and bullshitand there’s nothing I can do to stop itand it feels like I’ll absolutely burstbefore a diamond is formed.
I am the dove.
I bring the waterthrough tearsand motherhoodand a basket of fresh laundrythat always happens to wind up on the bed,in a lump, similar to the one stuck in my throatfrom all of the wordsthat I want to spitin your face.
I am the dove.
So instead of spitting on you,I scream at myselfand I cry out to God asking,“WHY?!”
Even though I already know the goddamn answers.
Because I just wantthe clipping of my wingsto commenceso I can finally take flightand truly soarthe way God has beenpreparing me.

More from GiGi ↓

• @thegigirising on Instagram
• Her books, The Scorpio Rising, and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn, are available now
• Her third book, The California Rising: Poems from San Francisco & LA, will be published March 20, 2026