One Poem Only

when we fall Paper Trail Poetry when we fall we give back to the soil that nurtured us. seasonally,  we are compost, yes, but life-giving nonetheless. when we fall our roots are ruptured; we are bare. decay tightens its cold, rotten grasp, but hope shall not be choked out. when we fall the way forward is paved with opportunity so make room for grace to replant you come spring where you’ll str...

Momma Said Be Nice Chris Kads This poem was originally published in Blood+Honey Lit mag and is being republished with SHINE International Poetry Series. You don’t expect to serve mashed potatoes and steak for breakfast. Don’t expect to find urine in a tub or to have sympathy for the assaulter who pissed in it. I’ve learned to let expectations fly like ashes. When the men retire so do the rules ins...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Dec 1 - Timeline by Quinn Holm @quinnholm.muse and @gratusgarden on Instagram. Quinn Holm on Substack. Dec 2 - my throat makes by atm.itm @atm.itm on Instagram. @atmitm on Substack. They are co-founder of studio somnus: a creative project agency. Dec 3 - “as the ground begins to frost” by esso @esso_overflow...

Morning Magic Maggie Devers A princess sits at the edge of my bed Telling fantastical stories, My sleepy head tripping over the details But in line with the nuance. She prattles like a caffeinated sage, Wisdom seeping out of jumbled phrases, Bits of stories, weaving together Her dreams, desires, realities. It’s all the same, She speaks her life. Mentioned in this episode: One Poem Only submissions...

Hearthside Dorothy Parker Half across the world from me Lie the lands I'll never see- I, whose longing lives and dies Where a ship has sailed away; I, that never close my eyes But to look upon Cathay. Things I may not know nor tell Wait, where older waters swell; Ways that flowered at Sappho's tread, Winds that sighed in Homer's strings, Vibrant with the singing dead, Golden with the dust of wings...

Baby Book Maggie Devers I didn’t make my daughter a baby book, I wrote her weird poems instead. I can hear her explaining this to her friends, “There’s no scrapbook full of memories But there is a special poem about me being Athena, and one about my birth, and when I was conceived. My parents named me after a fancy hotel.” Dear God, what have I done? I’m that mom, The unhinged mom that really shou...

“I dreamt I was in Paris” Jen Booton I dreamt I was in Paris scents of coffee and absinthe wafting as olfactory wind chimes typewriters snug on Boulevard Montparnasse tables peppered with burgeoning authors lost among their own generation but destined to be famous for centuries. Drunk on wine, cigarettes and delusion sturdy as centenarian tree roots that their precious moment in time, after war, w...

Of Course Maggie Devers Her feet were purple when she was born, The cord pinned between her shoulder and me. Half a dozen extra doctors and nurses had converged in the room moments before, All of me open to all of them As my doctor, the one I started with so many weeks ago, Back when she told me they don’t use the tongs anymore, Suction cupped her tiny head and yanked, I breathed, And the baby ent...

“My poetry has big bones” Bex My poetry has big bones And big ideas too She wears vintage lace And she remembers every time she was slipped on... Poetry smokes green in the grass with her lover and dissects the sun for she remembers its inception. Poetry says - "I’m with you in this life and the next, I will eat every piece of you whole, wiping up what's left and wringing the cloth out in my mouth...

First Blood Maggie Devers I remember the first blood of her, The implant blood they call it. It was possible I was pregnant, We had laughed about it in Malta a few days and half a world away ago, Sitting on our private balcony in a walled city, Drinking a bottle of wine as a cart pulled by a horse strolled by. We’ll call her Xara, we said, for the hotel built into the battlements where she was con...

“as the ground begins to frost” esso as the ground begins to frost  we snuggle in heavier cloth  to live out shortbread days  laden in chocolate, lavender & cedar-smoke  hugging hooded hours  to soothe broken & healing layers warm our hands by the fire     —holding safe— as a crackling back-up singer burgeons  creases intersecting  steely g...

For My Daughter Maggie Devers Chop off my head and put it on your shield. I will protect you until the day I die And all the days after that. You think I would let anything harm the perfection that sprang from my body? That force that is me and infinitely you at the same time? There is nothing in the world that could destroy us, Not when a mere glance can turn men to stone.

my throat makes atm.itm corridors into cloth carries shimmering light i have forgotten how fabric can be light as light stitches from hands i have not met rest lightly on my shoulder it is the words hard to say that stick to my mind it is your words that do not know how to die make me sing out wretched and loud i strain them against the current currently shaking into sea salty and rocky my throat...

The audiobook of For My Daughter releases 12-12. Listen to a poem a day from the book by subscribing to One Poem Only.

Timeline Quinn Holm I wrote Spring in Winter I wrote Winter in Summer and Fall somewhere in between the changing weather The nature in me has its own seasons I’m not afraid of being forgotten for my being needs no outside opinions Things used-to-be and mistaken no longer have a place in my present Long gone was their influence on my emotions I’m now loved and nurtured, every moment The universe in...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Nov 24 - Moonborn by Aura Guerra-Artola @g.a.aura on Instagram. Her book, How to Live with a Cat on Your Chest and a Whale in Your Heart , is out now. Nov 25 - Winter nights, burning cinder. by Sierra sylvie @the_fire_ave on Instagram. Nov 26 - My Son in the Sea by Lisa Zerkle @hag_lore on Instagram. Listen t...

How Clear She Shines Emily Brontë How clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whispering me, "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! These throbbing temples softly kiss; And bend my lonely couch above, And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. The world is going; dark world, adieu! Grim world, conceal thee till the day...

Stuck in the Blue Tushil Jariwala i remember that weekend — the lilac sky, how i smiled at the stars while learning goodbye. i gave you my laughter, my voice, my youth, and you gave me silence, disguised as truth. i thought we were different — the kind that last, but some fairytales burn out too fast. you called it timing, i called it fate, you called me lovely — and walked away late. i’m stuck in...

Canvas of Uncertainty Asiyah Yusuf We all wonder what the future holds A blank canvas waiting, like an unwritten scroll. Brushstrokes of imagination begin to unfold, As hearts find solace in stories yet untold. In the darkness of uncertainty, a light flickers bright, Guiding us gently, where shadows take flight. With each step we take, the canvas starts to fill— With every stroke, our story unfold...

My Son in the Sea Lisa Zerkle Somehow he knows he can breathe in both water and air. See how he grows piscine,   dull on land, iridescent in the deep. Delicate flesh of my blood and my bone.   How many bodies can this world hold? Men want to examine where exactly   skin meets scale. You can’t have it both ways,   choose: man or fish? Not a man, say the men.   Don’t li...

Winter nights, burning cinder. Sierra sylvie As I lie here with eyes that , Glint while the cinder burns each memory softly. As I lie here with  those eyes that , Soar across every memory longing to be embraced. As I lie here with a body , Longing to be worshipped As I lie here with the body , Of rusted skin from the torrent of tears . As I lie here with a soul , Suffering from the resen...

Moonborn Aura Guerra-Artola I am the Moon’s daughter. Forever shifting rooms within the skin I call home. My light has crossed the tides, so have my shadows. I leave pieces— memory like bark, fallen between full and hollow. I lay in the hands of the earth what in mine has completed its cycle— in case she wills that it might bloom anew for someone else. More from Aura Guerra-Artola ↓ @g.a.aura on I...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Nov 17 -   The Anatomy of a Queer Body by Gokul Prabhu @iamameme_gp on Instagram and @gokulprabhu1 on Substack. Nov 18 - Raindrops by Kunjal Saraswat @_heart_cuddles_ on Instagram. Nov 19 - A Boy Moose Ate My Tulips by Erynne DeVore @poemsprayersandswears on Instagram. She has two poetry books, Discoveri...

Fernando Keana Aguila Labra 2011. Fernando was where we danced with our heels above the sand. A sixteen hour flight with jet lag as we licked the 6am sun. This is where it rises. Where he rises. Six hours before the mysterious Fernando. An hour acquainted with Fernando. Your chin raised, proudly. I did not understand it then, nor did I care. There was only us and our hands and this big house. Buko...

Ode to the Familiar Strangers Yara Tawk Like a wave crashing down on shore to then melt back into the ocean, I wonder if I too must break to recollect myself in my mother's embrace. Do droplets of rain miss being a wave? Will I ever miss being her child? Where does an unstoppable river go once every ocean has run dry? And what of the lake with no mother to run to, what of the waterfall with no arm...