One Poem Only

Him Christy Granger This wasn’t supposed to happenYou were not supposed to happenWhat a special ability you have
I do not trust easilyI do not trust at all
I gave up on love years agoIt was not for meThe torture it brought was too much for me
Here I amWhat is happeningThis is not like me
I will not fall for anyone ever again
I am a strong independent womanWhat do i need a man for
For the way you make me feelNever in my life has this happened to meI would like to say it had
What a foreign conceptSafe I have never really felt safe
CalmWhat is that
TrustHow do I trust you so completely
This doesn’t make senseHow did you do that with such ease
I do not love
I do not likeI do not trust
Love was for suckersI had no time for it at all
Maybe I trust men after allMaybe I don’t hate all of themMaye they don’t all hate meMaybe they don’t all want to hurt me
My experiences with men have never been goodJust once I wish they were

More from Christy Granger ↓

• @christysdigitalhaven on Instagram
• Her book, Broken By Beauty: The Beauty of Broken Bonds, 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

She has a new god Maggie Devers Her god is ecstatic dancingSurrender to the music, feel the beat in your marrow, your feet planted, the earth holds you, spin with her, faster and faster, until all that remains is pure joy
Her god is ItalyMotorbikes and cycles with bells and churches with bells and 14th century art and a sore neck from looking at domes and gelato
Her god is her childrenSoft bellies, chubby cheeks, that divine scent at the top of their heads, bath time, first words, crawling, walking, the rise and fall of a chest, eyes closed, blink and you’ll miss it magic
Her god is poetry Words flow through our most complex parts and hand us empathy, stanzas give rhythm to the day, lines whispered in the night bind our wounds, we heal letter by letter

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

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

Pollen CountDanielle Marie CahillThis poem first appeared in The Quarter(ly).My computer tells me the weatherThere is a high pollen count todayAs if that matters deeply to someoneImprisoned in a glass towerAt night, my daughter asks if I saw the rainShe mimics the pattering noise with herFingers over the mound of the duvetI pretend I did.The she reminds me how in FebruaryWe stuck out our tongues to feel snowflakesFalling–so gentle and so coldWe both catch imaginary wisps for a whileI tell her that I love the rainTomorrow, I must go outside to feel the dropsOn my face–not learn about it far too lateIn the left-hand corner of my shining screen

More from Danielle Cahill ↓

• @daniellecahillwriter on Instagram
• This poem is published in The Quarter(ly)

You can hear me read Soft Plastic by Danielle over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

Swans Sara Teasdale 1884 – 1933 Night is over the park, and a few brave stars Look on the lights that link it with chains of gold,The lake bears up their reflection in broken bars That seem to heavy for tremulous water to hold.
We watch the swans that sleep in a shadowy place, And now and again one wakes and uplifts its head;How still you are—your gaze is on my face— We watch the swans and never a word is said.

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

Midlife Calculus Britt Kaufmann

Edited by Dava Sobel

View the poem in Scientific American

More from Britt Kaufmann ↓

• @brittwriter on Instagram
• Her website: brittkaufmann.com
• Her book, Midlife Calculus, is out now from Press 53

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.

Jun 9 - Last Fog at Sunrise by 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.

Jun 10 - A Jelly-Fish by Marianne Moore

Jun 11 - “Tell me…” a poem by Margaux Paul: @margauxpoetry on Instagram, Margaux Paul on Substack. Her book, Unsent Letters, is out now.

Jun 12 - History in Art by Maggie Devers

Jun 13 - I look for the Holy Fuck in everything I see. by Jo Guzman: @mjvcoast & @_acuppajo on Instagram. Her books, Craving & 28, are out now.

Jun 14 - the body idea by Bree North: @zenmischief on Instagram

June 15 -

This can’t be the end of the world Maggie Devers I finally super-glued my daughter’s doll furniture back togetherIt’s only been two Christmases since I meant to do that
We’ve come too far to end here.
She hasn’t started to read yet, but she’s close. She weaves stories in her headAnd layers them on her dayLiving two lives at once
What is real anyway?
I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that this is itShe stays in the IKEA kids’ space and I panic something terrible will happen
I don’t know why But when I come back she’s in a powerful stance at the chalkboard easelHolding on to make something important To show her new friend To share their art, their spirit
And that image grounds meTo keep on for now and not despair,This isn’t the end.

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

the body idea Bree North I know i am not my bodyBut if i were
I would remember just long enoughFor memory to mean imprints
I would be curious as corneasWhiten with fear like folliclesWired up from the inside
Disease could be free to teach meLike feldspar fragments or meteorologyAccording to some holy mathAnd I wouldn’t even wonder about itI would be water and dirtThat’s it.
Every hand would be the sameThe same like elastic on my joggersPlastic comb fingers
God, how i would harden up when starvedAnd soften when i am fed

More from Bree North ↓

• @zenmischief 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

I look for the Holy Fuck in everything I see.Jo Guzman—after Courtney LoveI look for the Holy Fuck in everything I see.I wanna whisper Wow, Wow, Wow and have no idea I am even whispering it like a childUntil someone with a dick smaller than mine tells me to Shush.I tell him to Fuck Off.Wow me, Life!Holy Fuck that is hot!You with those red lipsIn those vintage boots from Paris.That time you got so fucking lost on Rue LeFebvreAnd needed that damn Google maps to tell you where to go.Stupid AI.Yet it led me to you.Where I get to see the reflection of my own greatnessIn the eyes of someone who also understandsThis is a made up LifeOne made up of simple moments.The Now.The Right Here.Because we are all gonna die.And I want stories of being lost in the Holy Fucks.Because you know what?I am finally free.Because I decided to stop giving any fucksUnless, of course, they are holy.Life is Holy.Go on.Be your Bad Ass Self.

More from Jo Guzman ↓

• @_acuppa.jo on Instagram
• @acuppajoguzman on Substack
• Her latest book, Eros Despite, is out now. She has also published Craving and 28.

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

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

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

"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