One Poem Only

“My heart is a museum of every person I’ve ever loved” Megan Phillips My heart is a museum of every person I’ve ever loved My Dad’s birthday is national start over day Yesterday I told the ocean that I would let go of all the victim bullshit I would let the past me be in the rearview I will be new after washing my feet in the sand Venus, I said, I will have more fun And love And I won’t be bitter...

January Born JC I was winter’s child, wrapped in borrowed wool, breath small as frost on windowpanes. 
 The world outside was brittle then, trees bare-boned against a sky that never learned warmth, roads lined with grit and quiet. 
 Inside, there was laughter, steam from mugs that fogged the kitchen glass, a lullaby of radiators clanking as if they too were proud to keep me alive. 
 January taught...

New Dawn Kyeremah ‎Smile on me, ‎the Sun is awakening. ‎Yesterday and today left no crumbs ‎We begin from there. ‎ ‎I won't tell you how to live ‎But be happy, ‎be happy ‎ ‎One step at a time ‎Love, eat and pray ‎Give thanks and make merry. ‎ ‎Today will be gone ‎So will you, someday ‎But what will matter ‎Is that you lived well. ‎ ‎So be happy, ‎be happy. More from Kyeremah ↓ @Kyere_mah on Instag...

Of Love and Hell Kajal Of how the hell fell in love and went straight to heaven, I know the story of a dove who used to weep for a raven. Nights when Earth cried for tearing Sun and Moon apart, When horizons used to pain world, there was no war in the name of art. Take me back to the time when agony was not a trend, time of ancients, where lies beginnings end. More from Kajal ↓ @mermaidspen_ on In...

Cold Plunging Kristin Yates Breath leaves my lips like a bird, and I feel the cardinals and the chickadees and the cold in my hands sing. I become the shiver of saying it: I love you enough to let you live. More from Kristin Yates ↓ @beautefantasy on Instagram You can find links to her published work on her Linktree Mentioned in this episode: One Poem Only submissions are open. I’m filling the nex...

Eclipse of the Self Ruvaani I dissolved in the shadow of my own becoming, where every heartbeat was an echo of absence, and every breath a question unspoken. The world pressed against my ribs, but in the hollow between despair and forgetting, a seed trembled— ancient, patient, luminous. From it rose fire unbidden, not to burn what remained, but to weave the fragments of me into a new geometry of b...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Dec 22 - From a Home, to a House by Gunneet Kaur Bhamra @wordsmith._.witxh on Instagram. She's founder of a creative club for teenage writers, called The Pioneering Pens . Members learn new forms and styles of poetry, have monthly theme based challenges, edit weekly newsletter and make every voice heard. If y...

Return to Light Gordan Struić The longest night exhales, and somewhere beneath the frost a seed remembers warmth. I walk through fields where shadows thin like old thoughts, each breath a small sunrise. Inside me, the dark softens — becomes room for light again. More from Gordan Struić ↓ @gstruic on Instagram @gordanstruic on Substack Mentioned in this episode: One Poem Only submissions are open....

Silent Echoes Zahra In the quiet descent of twilight's curtain, I stand, a solitary figure, uncertain. Lost within the shifting hues of fading light, I navigate the spaces where solitude takes flight. Threads of connection, delicate and fine, A tapestry woven with the hands of time. Moments form a mosaic, a complex array, Each fragment a story, in shadows they sway. Silent whispers linger in the v...

“little tree” E.E. Cummings little tree little silent Christmas tree you are so little you are more like a flower who found you in the green forest and were you very sorry to come away? see i will comfort you because you smell so sweetly i will kiss your cool bark and hug you safe and tight just as your mother would, only don't be afraid look the spangles that sleep all the year in a dark box drea...

The Miseducation (How the Sugarcane Remembers Us) Lia D. Elen They told us the cane was sweet, that sugar was a gift- never whispering of century-long bones ground into their stalks. My great-grandmothers spoke truth in drum and smoke, their hands weaving rivers of power, the earth crowning them healers. Still, the priests named them devils. Still, their altars were burned. Yet Atabey whispers now...

For the Pines Amanda Galeotti I’ve known the paralyzing anguish Of the dark nights of soul When the gleaming edge of a blade Glints like a glittering savior I’ve been in cave pitch blindness I’ve wondered in a world of 8 billion How loneliness could ever put down roots In despair, I’ve found communion with mosquitoes and loons black bears and ravens And every phase of the moon With sparkling stars...

From a Home, to a House Gunneet Kaur Bhamra From the place, where comfort was found, And people meant happiness and laughter. From the lazy and cozy mornings, And chattering and cheery evenings. From those late-night family games and gossips, Because “tomorrow's a holiday... what a bliss!” To the place where comfort is only sought, Where people mean suffocation. To busy and chilly dawns, And gloom...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Dec 15 - The Keeper’s Dream by Kiki Johnson @kiki_poetry  on Instagram Dec 16 - The Belle Of Yule by Melani Udaeta @melrose_poetry18  on Instagram. Her book,  Of Love and Music , is out now. Dec 17 - Clava Cairns by Jessica Aure Pratt @jessaure.poetr...

Still Light Unveils Marissa M. Zhu Moonrise drapes her muslin throat across the room. Everything hushes. Desire folds itself into brocade: my letter pressed beneath perfume bottles, your name stitched inside a pillow's seam. The sky forgets its vowels. Fingers braid the air with rumor. Windows withhold our reflections. Your face is washed in cathedral glass. We soak harsh truths in amber-dipped to...

Angels In Our Mouths Sandra Beth Levy On the tip of my tongue sit the ancient rabbis Yeshiva style they debate how many angels dance in my mouth thousands, millions, more than the stars in heaven The oldest star in space is named Methuselah grandfather of Noah, oldest biblical patriarch Scientists date Methuselah back fourteen billion years Before our universe exploded into existence with a Big Ba...

The Art of Returning Dr. Deepak Dev — for the ones who stayed through winter Some winters arrive without snow — only the long ache of unfinished warmth. Even the mirrors frost inward, as if the soul has forgotten its reflection. But the earth knows better. It keeps its promises underground — roots rehearsing resurrection, petals studying silence until they can speak again. Renewal is not a sunrise...

Clava Cairns Jessica Aure Pratt Clava Cairns A Scottish Bronze Age stone burial complex 4,000 years, pink standing stone faces winter solstice sunset, entryway to death, passage to return. solstice standing stone face death entryway to sun stone faces sunset passage pink face winter stand return to stone death faces sunset years return pink faces entryway to stone to solstice 4,000 year return pin...

The Belle of Yule Melani Udaeta She walked in the natural belle of Yule, lit up like the glitter upon the trees. Holding a dove waiting for its release in her arms the white bird appeared a jewel. Harmony poured from every molecule, joy rang in and sang of freedom and peace. Flying off fingertips into the breeze its wings carried an iconic symbol. Encompassing each of the Northern Lights her smile...

The Keeper’s Dream Kiki Johnson The ice angel said, “I know you dream of snowfields with lost fawns & tall pines” There are those of us who look to the call of snow’s powder to warm our souls. The blanket of death to keep us moving. To the call of herding spotted fawns back toward clearing in deep woodland, where majestic papa waits. We are the keepers of the deep-down buried things. We unders...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Dec 8 - Momma Said Be Nice by Chris Kads @chris_kads on Instagram. Chris runs Gut Punch Prompts , a twice monthly poetry challenge on Instagram looking for poems that contain visceral language, raw emotion, and/or thought-provoking political and social commentary. In other words, poems that pack a punch! Dec...

Winter Marmalade Matthew D Albertson When the days of midnight sun Are past, a gnawing grows within— A pit of need. Not for want of food Or drink. No, it is the dark itself I yearn To eat, grown in gloaming hours— That of thy heart. Whene'er thy sorrows Fruit like sour, violet crabapples, I Lust to pluck them all from limb and Ground. Those succulent woes, thy Nighttime dread, to me is most Preser...

Good Things She remembers that you get to pick where you want to sit at IHOP And she knows exactly where she wants to sit. She notices we are wearing the same outfit Bike shorts and shirts with sleeves that are too big. Two women pick their favorite booth. She clocks their enthusiasm Content to share the experience Knowing the good things in life Come easy. More from Maggie Devers ↓ For My Daughte...

The Forest Maria Beben We tasted the ache like a familiar cocktail, one we hoped to never drink again. We took a branch that posed a danger and added more kindling, looking around for anything that would burn. We gathered and added until the branch became a forest and we couldn’t see through to the other side. We felt betrayed and confused and didn’t understand how we got there. We stood on opposi...

The Graduate Caitríona Walsh On the vesper of March I pulsed through the desert, Ever the vagary Clot of the bloodline. Koutoubia's minaret Catnapped before me, Steepled in sandstone– A moonshot missile Lullabied by ouds And kittens' Bare-bellied Midnight mewls. Medina mazes Assuaged by Cloud-confetti Orange blossoms– Palls of scent spun In arabesque spells Through souks Keyhole arches. I woke wit...