One Poem Only

Storm Chaser Melanie Hess last week the riverbed cracked,its veins like autumn leaves,plows and combines idle in fieldsdinosaurs on the verge of extinction
my joints simmer with arms and legs splayed star-shaped in an old plantation rockerI imagine the wettest place on earth and watch a scout ant migrate up the kitchen tap in search of water for the queen
the sky shifts moodreleasing a peaty potpourrithe squall appears windward.
I grab the monkey on my backwe gobble the rainjabbering whirling eddiesmy skirt swirling like Carmen Miranda

More from Melanie ↓

• @alohamonkey on Instagram
• Her book Bread and Bone is out now

You can listen to me read Picture This by Melanie over on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

Love Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1806 – 1861 We cannot live, except thus mutuallyWe alternate, aware or unaware,The reflex act of life: and when we bearOur virtue onward most impulsively,Most full of invocation, and to beMost instantly compellant, certes, thereWe live most life, whoever breathes most airAnd counts his dying years by sun and sea.But when a soul, by choice and conscience, dothThrow out her full force on another soul,The conscience and the concentration both makemere life, Love. For Life in perfect wholeAnd aim consummated, is Love in sooth,As nature's magnet-heat rounds pole with pole.

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

Fides, Spes Willa Cather 1873 – 1947 Joy is come to the little Everywhere;Pink to the peach and pink to the apple, White to the pear.Stars are come to the dogwood, Astral, pale;Mists are pink on the red-bud, Veil after veil.Flutes for the feathery locusts, Soft as spray;Tongues of the lovers for chestnuts, poplars, Babbling May.Yellow plumes for the willows’ Wind-blown hair;Oak trees and sycamores only Comfortless bare.Sore from steel and the watching, Somber and old,—Wooing robes for the beeches, larches, Splashed with gold;Breath o’ love to the lilac, Warm with noon.—Great hearts cold when the little Beat mad so soon.What is their faith to bear it Till it come,Waiting with rain-cloud and swallow, Frozen, dumb?

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 12 - We never know how high we are (1176) by Emily Dickinson

May 13 - The Dream by Edna St. Vincent Millay

May 14 - Letter #14 of 36 from The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn by GiGi

May 15 - Brood by Maggie Devers

May 16 - Verse for a Certain Dog by Dorothy Parker

May 17 - Dewdrops by Myra Viola Wilds

May 18 -

Proportions Maggie Devers I went to Catalonia the week pastAnd can't get Gala out of my mindIt's as if Dali is inhabiting me,And all I think about is my muse
She was luminous with her swansAnd then I saw them stuffed in the library.That was a bit much,But it all was
That's why we like it.Atomic Leda, what have we made?Suspended, untouching foreverFloating on the planes to sea

More from Maggie Devers ↓

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

Dewdrops Myra Viola Wilds Watch the dewdrops in the morning, Shake their little diamond heads,Sparkling, flashing, ever moving, From their silent little beds.
See the grass! Each blade is brightened, Roots are strengthened by their stay;Like the dewdrops, let us scatter Gems of love along the way.

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

Verse for a Certain Dog Dorothy Parker 1893 – 1967 Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes, Dear little friend of mine, I never knew.All-innocent are you, and yet all-wise. (For heaven’s sake, stop worrying that shoe!)You look about, and all you see is fair; This mighty globe was made for you alone.Of all the thunderous ages, you’re the heir. (Get off the pillow with that dirty bone!)
A skeptic world you face with steady gaze; High in young pride you hold your noble head;Gayly you meet the rush of roaring days. (Must you eat puppy biscuit on the bed?)Lancelike your courage, gleaming swift and strong, Yours the white rapture of a wingèd soul,Yours is a spirit like a May-day song. (God help you, if you break the goldfish bowl!)
“Whatever is, is good,” your gracious creed. You wear your joy of living like a crown.Love lights your simplest act, your every deed. (Drop it, I tell you—put that kitten down!)You are God’s kindliest gift of all,—a friend. Your shining loyalty unflecked by doubt,You ask but leave to follow to the end. (Couldn’t you wait until I took you out?)

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

Brood Maggie Devers The three hens at my daughter’s schoolAre oblivious to egg pricesConcerned with lunch scrapsAnd the stray termiteAnd their stair perch when the sun dips low
I wonder how they spend evenings and weekends If they miss the sound of childsongOr the Sunday scaries set in
I imagine they commune with their comradesOffer jokes and such for tradeMy daughter assures me chickens dislike the mud And I'm inclined to believe her

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

Letter #14 of 36 from The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn GiGi Dearest Marilyn,
Why didn't you speak up? Why didn't you say something?
All of the moments where you kept silence as your secret lover, why didn't you just scream?!
I'm just now learning that my rage is sacred so, pardon me for wanting to power through these pages with a blow torch.
You were so good, so pure, so angelic, and they had to demonize you.
They took something so natural, so sacred, so expansive, and shrunk you down to a plain white halter dress.
Little did they know of your witching ability to alchemize all the vanilla in the world into a hot fudge chocolate fucking sundae with rainbow sprinkles and the juiciest red sexpot cherry on top.
They saw your beaming icy blue eyes and platinum blonde hair and said to themselves, “yup she's the devil in human form!”
HOW COULD THEY?!
How could they do that to you and, here's that sacred rage coming in, how could YOU ALLOW IT?!
Because every day I feel the strongest wave of your energy coursing through me, revitalizing and invigorating me for this treacherous and wild journey we call life.
Ya know, I've always been more of an ice cream gal like yourself, never much for pie, even though life keeps serving me many servings of the humble variety.
I know you, I know my imperfections, and I know you spoke up when you needed to, and that all played out as it was magically meant to then, now, and forever more.

More from GiGi ↓

• @thegigirising on Instagram
• Her poetry books, The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn and The Scorpio Rising, are out now

Listen to me read Mary Magdalene by GiGi on Instagram @rembrandts.cure

The Dream Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892 – 1950 Love, if I weep it will not matter, And if you laugh I shall not care;Foolish am I to think about it, But it is good to feel you there.
Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking, — White and awful the moonlight reachedOver the floor, and somewhere, somewhere, There was a shutter loose, —it screeched!
Swung in the wind, — and no wind blowing! — I was afraid, and turned to you,Put out my hand to you for comfort, — And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew,
Under my hand the moonlight lay! Love, if you laugh I shall not care,But if I weep it will not matter, — Ah, it is good to feel you there!

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

We never know how high we are Emily Dickinson 1830 – 1886 We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise;And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies—
The Heroism we recite Would be a daily thing,Did not ourselves the Cubits warp For fear to be a King—

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