One Poem Only

The Wish, By a Young Lady Laetitia Pilkington 1709 – 1750 I ask not wit, nor beauty do I crave,Nor wealth, nor pompous titles wish to have;But since, 'tis doomed through all degrees of life,Whether a daughter, sister, or a wife;That females should the stronger males obey,And yield implicit to their lordly sway;Since this, I say, is ev'ry woman's fate,Give me a mind to suit my slavish state.

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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

Long, Too Long America Walt Whitman 1819 – 1892 Long, too long America,
Traveling roads all even and peaceful you learn'd from joys and prosperity only,
But now, ah now, to learn from crises of anguish, advancing, grappling with direst fate and recoiling not,
And now to conceive and show to the world what your children en-masse really are,
(For who except myself has yet conceiv'd what your children en-masse really are?)

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

Did you know? Maggie Devers The divine feminine loves to find trouble and communeTo cannonball into the pool just to make wavesAnd feel the splash back

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

The garden path and all that jazz Anisha SenGupta Yanger Often enough,the ziplock splitsthe bones crash,and I can feel the days presence all too well,the particles of my cerebellum,caught unawaresjust like the watchtowerits not able to keep trackof the salubriousneeds and has put togethera search of sorts, futile in time,a calibrated onset of old and new, a used photo, a preset to an onset, a zapa heart lurch,a momentary confusion,another parable, exiting the marrowso entrenched in the dailies but flying high, the linesbeen drawn,3 times over at least andon the invisible one, the tropics heaving over my shoulder, where not a drop of water was to be foundBut Ares sits, amused,I move quietintently,winding my way around atonementthe belly of the beastfed, distracted for a moment,and the equal measure of pain and passionsteady, at least for a, moment.

More from Anisha SenGupta Yanger ↓

• @anishasgy on Instagram

Listen to me read Read the instructions carefully, so many said. by Anisha on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

The Coliseum Edgar Allan Poe 1809 – 1849 Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary Of lofty contemplation left to Time By buried centuries of pomp and power! At length—at length—after so many days Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst, (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,) I kneel, an altered and an humble man, Amid thy shadows, and so drink within My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!
Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld! Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night! I feel ye now—I feel ye in your strength— O spells more sure than e’er Judaean king Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane! Geth sen a me O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee kalee Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!
Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, Lit by the wanlight—wan light of the horned moon, The swift and silent lizard of the stones!
But stay! these walls—these ivy-clad arcades— These mouldering plinths—these sad and blackened shafts— These vague entablatures—this crumbling frieze— These shattered cornices—this wreck—this ruin— These stones—alas! these gray stones—are they all— All of the famed, and the colossal left By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?
“Not all”—the Echoes answer me—“not all! “Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever “From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, “As melody from Memnon to the Sun. “We rule the hearts of mightiest men—we rule “With a despotic sway all giant minds. “We are not impotent—we pallid stones. “Not all our power is gone—not all our fame— “Not all the magic of our high renown— “Not all the wonder that encircles us— “Not all the mysteries that in us lie— “Not all the memories that hang upon “And cling around about us as a garment, “Clothing us in a robe of more than glory.”

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

St. Pancras Station, August 1915 Vera Brittain 1893 – 1970 One long, sweet kiss pressed close upon my lips, One moment's rest on your swift-beating heart,And all was over, for the hour had come For us to part.
A sudden forward motion of the train, The world grown dark although the sun still shone,One last blurred look through aching tear-dimmed eyes— And you were gone.

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.

May 19 - Fides, Spes by Willa Cather

May 20 - Love by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

May 21 - Storm Chaser by Melanie Hess

May 22 - During this year's lunar eclipse by Maggie Devers

May 23 - The Visionary by Emily Brontë

May 24 - Spring Storm by William Carlos Williams

May 25 -

She was in her prime
And she knew it.It wasn’t just the swagger,It was her ain’t give a damn About any of it.
She could wake up And beWhatever she wanted To be.
She could transform herself in the momentBurn and rise from the ashesUnsheathe her sword to vanquish foes Cuddle the cat as the rain rambles down
Anything she wantsTo beIs hersShe knows
The prison of identity is only in the mindAnd she’s limbered hers up over the years Studying chameleons and flying squirrels To learn the ways of flashing in the light.
- Maggie Devers

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

Spring Storm William Carlos Williams 1883 – 1963 The sky has given over its bitterness. Out of the dark change all day long rain falls and falls as if it would never end. Still the snow keeps its hold on the ground. But water, water from a thousand runnels! It collects swiftly, dappled with black cuts a way for itself through green ice in the gutters. Drop after drop it falls from the withered grass-stems of the overhanging embankment.

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

The Visionary Emily Brontë 1818 – 1848 Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep,Watching every cloud, dreading every breezeThat whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.
Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:I trim it well, to be the wanderer’s guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:But neither sire nor dame nor prying serf shall know,What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.
What I love shall come like visitant of air,Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;What loves me, no word of mine shall e’er betray,Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.
Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear—Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.

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

During this year's lunar eclipse Maggie Devers I misplaced my shot glassAnd over-poured my negronisOr what's it called with port instead of vermouth?It doesn't really matter.
We floated on togetherI booked tickets for DisneylandAnd wrote stories that confused meThe next morningIt doesn't really matter.
Except I woke up thirstyMe, perpetually thirstySoaking up the waterAnd drowning myself in ginWherever you go, there you areSo they say.
So here I amPulled by the moonLike the ocean's tidesFeeling out of controlIn these rhythms of my 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