One Poem Only

When two writers fall in love, they amuse each other weaving words And when at war with each other, they use equal amount of flowery words as swords.
- Neeta S

More from Neeta S ↓

• @pahadan.writes 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

Wild Acolyte Jenny Beldame If my body is a temple I am its priestI will offer it the strongest grainsmy grandfathers did not farm the landfor me to starve
I will pluck the ripest, juiciest fruitsand serve them in golden bowlsto this bodymy mothers did not give me a full bellyfor me to remain barren
For this temple I will sacrifice the fattest calvesmy uncles did not drive the steersfor my bones to require a scaffold
I shall wash this temple in abundant florafrom verdant forestsmy aunts did not teach the medicinesfor me to fall ill
This temple will glisten with fragrant oilsfrom the lushest grovesmy fathers did not fell the treesfor me to not feel home
I shall adorn this temple in the finest flax and silksmy grandmothers did not weave their fingers numbcreating wonderful garmentsfor my skin to chap in the wilderness
I shall glorify this templefor this body is a testamentof perseverance and triumphthe love and gloryof time eternal

More from Jenny Beldame ↓

• @jennybeldame on Instagram
• Jenny Beldame 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

What I love about women’s sports Lauren Mantis It’s the sweat / the ponytails / the surprise ofacrylic nails / women moving like predators instead of prey / the endurance / the focus / their serious faces / only smiling when they’ve achieved something beautiful / the little girls in the crowd learning / this is another way a woman’s body can be celebrated / watching a goal lift a sea of people to their feet / perpetual motion / kinetic energy like growth / like hope / like possibility / the knowledge that failure just means / next week there is a chance of redemption / always another opportunity for a win / always loud and lifted by the cheers of the faithful

More from Lauren Mantis ↓

• @laurenmantis on Instagram
• vers/atile by Lauren Mantis on Substack

You can listen to me read another poem by Lauren, Now that I'm my mother's age, over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

a soul of no age,shifting in and out of internal organs,white blood cells curse,being held back in the busy traffic of the body.signs flash with warnings of disturbance,the heart screams in agony,corrupted, deflowered at the hands of an invisible poet.skin aged 25, gives way to new textures,wrinkled flesh and flaky liquids,a soul of no age,settling within the whole, calcium sucked dry,how could a non entity, act in caligulan manner?intelligence no more, integrity lost,untrue are the veins, their patterns disguised now as the motorway to the soul.the soul with no age.
- Elle Sirs

More from Elle Sirs ↓

• @ellesirspoetry on Instagram and Tiktok
• Her book, Girls: A Collection of Poems, is out now

Unfinished Men Miss Greenwood I can no longer burn for two.And certainly not for three.It's that truth which might shake your comfort zone, but in the end - it sets me free.
Seeing potential without any action leads to some sad and mad dissatisfaction.I’ve seen potential, yes - but without any action, it becomes a ghost. A haunting echo of an almost-love...you know, that kind of love that hurts the most.
No, my loves, you are not evil.You're only weak.You were never cruel.Just not complete.Too afraid to rise,too fragile to meet.Too insecure for my love to carry which you actually never really had to seek.
Too anxious to change what always worked for you but actually never really did.Your lack of affection was what led to our dynamics and imbalanced interaction, I have to admit.
You're a shadow that makes promises it never intends to keep. A shadow from which I could only guess where it comes from or where it goes - but never becoming really deep.
Your ease became a weighton my wings meant to fly.Too light to hold me -too slow to try.
Your shallow depth has become weight upon my free and wild wings. Easy. Relaxed.Attached. But without any strings.
Easiness can turn heavywhen it carries what’s always been unsaid.All the feelings you’ve buried and all the truths you’ve left for the dead instead.
Easiness too heavy to carry or -could it be my own?The perception of all those feelings you hid, never capable of truly being shown.
This is my female rebirth after a sexual but asexual heartbreak of mine. I rise in all my female energy and learn again how to be mine.
I rise, not angry -but finally whole.I love myself more than your almosts, your perhaps, your self-soothing roles.
I love myself more than all of your 'Well, let's see!'s.More than all of your out of commodiousness arising maybes. I love my fire more than your promising, but actually cold breezes of unapproachable aloofness mess.
Yes, I found you both attractive -thought we might align.I tried, I reached, I danced toward hope, but none of you ever truly met mine.
Damn, I found you two so attractive! Was really convinced you'd be a good match.I dared to come closer. I tried.Even if it meant some hopelessly hopeful and desperate fight.
But I've never experienced any success in that, since your mental cage and fear is everything you've ever had.Would never want to hate you for something I've done to myself for many years.I still love in spite of your deepest, chaos-bringing fears.
Now I know:I will not hate youfor what I allowed.I will simply stop burningwhere there is no fire but only doubt allowed.
I loved. I love.Those were my deeds.I just need to stop loving against myself and my very own needs. I've stopped asking myself and believe me, I too often did - on my patio sitting out there writing from my heart and from my most loving mind.
I've stopped asking myself - sitting on my patio all by myself and all alone:
Will you ever rise to meet me - or must I finally rise on my own?
(April 2025)

More from Miss Greenwood ↓

• @_miss_greenwood_ on Instagram and YouTube
• Miss Greenwood on Substack
• Her book, PolyPoetry, 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.

Aug 18 - As I sit frustrated at the world’s apathies by Mar Lamar @marlamarrr on Instagram. Listen to her songs To the Moon & Someone to Blame now.

Aug 19 - She will always be an unfinished poem. by Nur Houda Or @neverjustathought on Instagram.

Aug 20 - In which I explain myself by Alex Dawson @alexdawcreates on Instagram. Second Nature on Substack. Her book, All these Living Things, is out now. She curated and edited the anthology, Upon Learning That: A Collection of Poetry Based on Facts About the Natural World. It is out now.

Aug 21 - I Seek Solace I Seek Peace by Ro Hefzu @ro_hefzu on Instagram and Facebook. Ro Hefzu on Substack.

Aug 22 - Hope is Dancing by James Roethlein @jroeth71 on Instagram. His books: Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1/2 (2018), An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing (2020), Letters to Roxanne (2022), and Writing With Scissors (2022)

Aug 23 - Home by Narayani Goenka @star_lit_words on Instagram. She is featured in Across Latitude & Language: World Poetry Anthology published by Delhi Poetry Slam.

Aug 24 -

Full Moon in Capricorn Maggie Devers I made potato soup with chicken stock, butter and creamAnd felt like a wealthy peasant To know such bounty as potato soup
I read something and took a screenshot of itAnd then it hit me in the face:This is the way I want to write, and I can
I Googled when the moon would be fullExactlyAnd listened to my neighbors cackle from their balcony
Everything we want is already hereJust waiting for us to hold open the door And nod the way inside.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

Home Narayani Goenka I scratch the wallstill my nails break.. till the sound of the scratch sends an unrelenting wave of anxiety through my body till there is a forced call in me to stop.I submerge my head in my bath tub full of water and count to 20, then 50, then as long as my limbs shake as if I'm caught in exorcism.I gasp, not sure if another moment in it would mean if I have wonor lost.Listen to me, I yell. My mind is trapped in a fog.Maybe that is why when you look into my eyes, you can't see the mess.Even when I'm screaming loud enough to paralyse myself, you don't hear me.You think you know me but you don't.We're right next to each other, still in different places.How do I invite you in my mind?A horrid place with spider webs, ghosts hanging from walls, I'm running for help.How do I tell you that this is my home?That this is where I live?That this is how I live?

More from Narayani Goenka ↓

• @star_lit_words on Instagram
• She is featured in Across Latitude & Language: World Poetry Anthology published by Delhi Poetry Slam

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

Hope is Dancing James Roethlein Lying alone each night, empty arms aching,all the while hope is dancing hope is dancing hope is dancing in my dreamswhen I’m awake I would seek to seethe sunshine in your facethe heavens in your eyesand to hear the melodic honey of your lipsthat would turn my lemonade soul sweet.
And I would hopeAnd I would hopeAnd I would hopeyou’d dance duet with meall the years we have left.

More from James Roethlein ↓

• @jroeth71 on Instagram
• His books: Musing on the Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1/2 (2018), An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing (2020), Letters to Roxanne (2022), and Writing With Scissors (2022)

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 Seek Solace I Seek Peace Ro Hefzu I lost my chance at education, My possessions scattered like fallen leaves, Obliged to forsake my heritage, I buried my treasures deep in the earth. Most of my kin have drifted away, Our dignity crushed beneath harsh boots, All in the pursuit of peace and identity. In the end, I fled my homeland empty-handed.
In a democratic land, I struggle every single secondLonging for a life that feels truly living. I lay bare my hunger to the world, Some suffer in silence while others perish, Yet, each flicker of hope is reborn, All for the sake of peace and tranquility. Still, I stand empty-handed and yet resilient.
In the evening, I wander the shore, In the morning, I stroll through barren gardens, At night, I retreat to a restless bed, During the day, I often slip away from work, Searching for solace and serenity. Yet, I remain untouched and unfulfilled.
In my leisure, I lose myself in haunting melodies, Sometimes, I pour my sorrows onto the page, I seldom linger alone, fading into shadows. On weekends, I venture into the bustling city, Seeking peace and tranquility. But still, no change has graced my life.
“Oh Peace, Are you fleeing? I have never seen you.Grant me but a moment to feel your touch. Only just once”

More from Ro Hefzu ↓

• @ro_hefzu on Instagram and Facebook
• Ro Hefzu on Substack
• Ro Hefzu is a Rohingya poet and a writer currently residing in the world's largest refugee camp in Bangladesh. A survivor of brutal persecution in Myanmar, Ro Hefzu channels lived experiences of genocide, displacement, and resistance into powerful verses. He believes that poetry serves as a vital mirror reflecting human struggle and hope, and a potent tool in the fight for justice for the persecuted minorities like the Rohingya and Palestinians. Currently, Ro Hefzu is finalizing his debut poetry collection for global publication.

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

In which I explain myselfAlex DawsonI want the garden, not the flowersin their sterile vase, I want the bees,the fruit, the soil under my nails,I want to make a mealof what is true. The grit and griefof life, the words you never said,caught in your throat, I wantthem like I want the birdsto follow the invitation ofthe moon. When I was young,someone peeled my eyes widelike wild grapes. Don’t you see?I couldn’t close them if I tried.

More from Alex Dawson ↓

• @alexdawcreates on Instagram
• The Messy Writer's Club on Substack
• Her book, All these Living Things, is out now
• She curated and edited the anthology, Upon Learning That: A Collection of Poetry Based on Facts About the Natural World. It is out now.

You can listen to me read a poem by Alex that is included in the anthology Upon Learning That over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure