One Poem Only

Fringford Brook Violet Jacob 1863 – 1946 The willows stand by Fringford brook, From Fringford up to Hethe, Sun on their cloudy silver heads, And shadow underneath. They ripple to the silent airs That stir the lazy day, Now whitened by their passing hands, Now turned again to grey. The slim marsh-thistle's purple plume Droops tasselled on the stem, The golden hawkweeds pierce like flame The grass t...

worlds without blueprints Paper Trail Poetry Letter blocks, green, blue, and red, Are the only reading materials For a solitary teddy bear Lodged between two toy tractors Collecting dust in the old toy chest A myriad of memories sit dormant In this attic abode, awaiting A nostalgic itch to come searching I know you remember those days where childlike wonder bloomed As sun streamed through open win...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Jun 30 - Someone, open me up by Lindsey @writing.by.lindsey on Instagram. She is currently working on a poetry book. Jul 1 - Sonnet: To The Poppy by Anna Seward Jul 2 - No one needs to invent time travel by Christiana Doucette. Her website: Christiana Doucette . @doucette515 on BlueSky , Instagram , Threads ,...

Look it in the Mouth Katie Gilmour all I really want is for you to make me something only you can make let it be a chore let it take hours let your back give out later because of the way you had to stand learn a craft for years or even as a child and then when I ask you for it give it to me carve the wax pour the gold pull the trigger cut around those little feet and peel the skin pick up that pen...

The American Connie Helena in repose I chose a bit of small white coral hidden in my pocket so as not to get caught collecting at the beach has gone out of favor my rebellion it is so tiny get me off this rock I like the rainbows but something is not right here something is dead here in my pocket and now I am carrying it home More from Connie Helena ↓ @journalof1000days on Instagram Her book Journ...

She’s got a handle on it Maggie Devers She won’t let me clean the dirt from under her nails She holds onto it as a matter of distinction, An indication of her interests. The grey, opaque polish covers it completely But not the pink sparkles. Both will degrade equally To reveal the dark line still in place, But this will take a day or two. Now it’s time for bed Sleep well, I tell her Her response,...

First published in The Thieving Magpie No one needs to invent time travel It’s already here. We’re already traveling. The slam of a door layers then with now. Raised voices split screen brains send us back to prisms of pain. The moment of terror as the airplane turns just so. Oh, sky that certain clear cold blue, we go back. We are washing dishes here suds between our fingers. Indoor. But fear pla...

Sonnet: To the Poppy Anna Seward 1742 – 1809 While summer roses all their glory yield To crown the votary of love and joy, Misfortune’s victim hails, with many a sigh, Thee, scarlet Poppy of the pathless field, Gaudy, yet wild and lone; no leaf to shield Thy flaccid vest that, as the gale blows high, Flaps, and alternate folds around thy head. So stands in the long grass a love-crazed maid, Smilin...

Someone, open me up. Fillet me, from my shoulder blades, kneed out the knots I’ve collected throughout the years. Flip me over and crack open my ribcage, lungs deflated, heart popping out at you like a jack-in-the-box. Pour bleach down my airways, forget other aesthetics and make me pure like a candy cigarette. cut out my heart, Rumor has it that it's beaten for too long. Look inside, see the hear...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Jun 23 - Hunger, as Salvation by Ariel K. Moniz: @kiss.of.the.seventh.star on Instagram. Her chapbook, Nostos Algos , is published with Ethel, a Micro Press. Jun 24 - Shadows by Harriet Monroe Jun 25 - playing god by Michaela Godding : @michaelagodding on Instagram. Her book, the year our grandmothers died, f...

fatal dance - a love story between fire and wood Velvet Poetess there is this certain hunger a hunger that cannot be satisfied by another but you I reach out my hand don’t let it be in vain for we both know how this shall end; let us at least celebrate it properly dance til death with me let us light up this world one last time before my hunger will have been forever satisfied; before the only rem...

Gender Affirming Care Nikki Grierson When I was a girl Little flurries of hair Began to sprout Here and there At first I didn’t notice But then something made me care What if other people see, Will they point and stare? This worry, grew in my mind As I studied the weekly magazine Where cover girls were smooth Their skin had a beautiful sheen Was I a “proper girl” Like those in “Just Seventeen” So...

Inheritance Maggie Devers She tells me she likes the new side Where they eat pomegranates all day And her life Sounds like an ancient poem Chanted down the ages To her at six. I wonder if the myths are always in us And we ache to relive them through art She says meditate instead of pray And Stracciatella instead of chocolate chip And I think that’s a generational vernacular shift in the right dire...

playing god Michaela Godding (The average person forgets ninety percent of their dreams. I have started keeping tallies on a notepad next to my bed to keep track of all the forgetting. I wonder if endings are all we can rely on. I wonder and wonder and remember that eighty percent of the human body’s heat comes out from the head and I wonder if wondering will burn me to pieces.) They say that life...

Shadows Harriet Monroe 1860 – 1936 What is most near? Ah, sweet dead year- Thy fallen leaf And gathered sheaf, The presence that is fled, The vows that once were said- These are most near. Swift speeds away Rose-crowned To-day. So far, so far Her light feet are! I look and see thy face Haunting the upland place, Dear Yesterday. The blooming flowers, The sunny hours- These cannot rest, These are ha...

Hunger, as Salvation Ariel K. Moniz This moment, sun speckled and innocent— I speak of prophecies, i plant seeds of affection in your perfect, peachy ears, and it means that I am thinking of tomorrow. I await their blooming like all great pleasures, though i do not know in what season they may come or what balm of tenderness they may carry to me as you lay your head upon the pillow beside mine. I...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Jun 16 - Midlife Calculus by Britt Kaufmann : @brittwriter on Instagram. Her website: brittkaufmann.com . Her book, Midlife Calculus , is out now from Press 53 Jun 17 - Swans by Sara Teasdale Jun 18 - Pollen Count by Danielle Marie Cahill: @daniellecahillwriter on Instagram. This poem is published in The Quar...

After I Lost Him Barbara Ehrentreu The sun still shined Though its rays didn't warm me Encased in my shell of grief My body felt neither heart not cold One entire side of me was lost Lopsided I stayed indoors Not attempting to face the world alone Teetering in uneven terrain I tried navigating by myself Dipping my toe into the water of being alone And gradually I mended Put together with strands o...

Him Christy Granger This wasn’t supposed to happen You were not supposed to happen What a special ability you have I do not trust easily I do not trust at all I gave up on love years ago It was not for me The torture it brought was too much for me Here I am What is happening This is not like me I will not fall for anyone ever again I am a strong independent woman What do i need a man for For the w...

She has a new god Maggie Devers Her god is ecstatic dancing Surrender 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 Italy Motorbikes 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 children Soft bell...

Pollen Count Danielle Marie Cahill This poem first appeared in The Quarter(ly) . My computer tells me the weather There is a high pollen count today As if that matters deeply to someone Imprisoned in a glass tower At night, my daughter asks if I saw the rain She mimics the pattering noise with her Fingers over the mound of the duvet I pretend I did. The she reminds me how in February We stuck out...

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...

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. I’m filling the next chapter of One Poem Only and would love to include your work. Send me the poem you wrote...

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 Jel...

the body idea Bree North I know i am not my body But if i were I would remember just long enough For memory to mean imprints I would be curious as corneas Whiten with fear like follicles Wired up from the inside Disease could be free to teach me Like feldspar fragments or meteorology According to some holy math And I wouldn’t even wonder about it I would be water and dirt That’s it. Every hand wou...