One Poem Only

“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...

Loneliness is a strange dopamine Dipanwita Dey Loneliness is a strange dopamine. Slowly, steadily, it consumes existence. Under its spell, it traps, strangulates, murders, and extinguishes. The desperate try to defeat it, unleashing the invisible chain around the collarbones. Feels like a gravitational force, pushing into the darkness of the unseen. Solitude devours the ultimate version of yoursel...

A Boy Moose Ate My Tulips Erynne DeVore i discovered marbles and obsidian buried in my garden next to the worms after a moose ate my tulips “of course it was a boy moose,” someone joked with me i tried not to wake my daughters scaring him away they woke anyways irony is never lost on poets my daughters have ears and eyes and hearts of their own they would’ve seen the evidence in the morning those...

Raindrops Kunjal Saraswat Raindrops shine under warm lights. I notice it for the first time As I sit here— Two hours deep Into this night With the rain. Well, not just the rain. It brings its companions: Thunder, Lightning, Showers, And storms. Tonight, it’s a stormy rain. The wind is wild, And the glass of my balcony shutters Shudders under its weight. I sip my coffee And keep penning my poetry—...

The Anatomy of a Queer Body Gokul Prabhu This poem first appeared In Plainspeak . Please tread gently. This poem has potentially disturbing content. I see death, perched at my window. Sometimes, they even sit on the edge of the bed. Death is my friend now! I am often tempted to draw them into a kiss. They no longer hold a scythe, and are no longer dressed in a cape. They dress like my ex: shabby t...

Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Nov 10 - Signs by Defne Kartal @defnewrites on Instagram Nov 11 - Sometimes I feel like writing by Junaid Ali Akbar @the.misfitpoet on Instagram. Nov 12 - "this is not a poem (exactly)" by Tess Ezzy. @themoodyproject_ on Instagram. Poetess Press on Substack. You can listen to me read Cross Roads by Tess @remb...

"A lousy sunday afternoon when" Aliya Narghese A lousy sunday afternoon when The world had gone, for a momentary slumber Her world fell forever quiet beneath the burning timber An unwelcome call, a cacophony of cries Looks of pity, soulless sympathy Life that was laid gently into her hands Now a burden far heavy to carry They called her brave, called her strong But she knew they were wrong Met wit...

The Altar I Didn’t Know I was Building Elle Zaspel There’s a small bowl on the bookshelf, not meant for anything in particular. But in it: a cicada shell, a rock from a Hamptons beach, a blurry photo propped up beside them. Things I kept without knowing why. Things I wasn’t ready to throw away. Cicadas remind me of him— loud among friends, a little bit silly, as if joy itself made them tremble. Th...

In Another Lifetime Edyth Grace To an old friend, wherever you are....... In another lifetime, Where the skies are plastered With soft pinks and blues and golden hues And the grass, softer than your skin I once caressed. In another lifetime, where the air hums the lyrics of the song, we would've remembered And your fingers would've fit mine like the stars aligning in some perfect, forgotten sky. I...

"this is not a poem (exactly)" Tess Ezzy this is not a poem (exactly) but a leaf-fall of words unclaimed— (dear dirt) how softly you listen and when wind folds the gumtrees into parentheses (yes) what survives is breath— a syntax of birds unsinging • meanwhile: Calla walks thru rain’s lowercase and writes a cloud into her pocket (a sentence of dew) Orion maps stars in the dark of the page, his foo...

Sometimes I feel like writing Junaid Ali Akbar Sometimes I feel like writing... Writing words that could shake the earth, But how foolish of me to think, That ink could stop the bloodshed. Sometimes I feel like writing... When I see the corpses of children, Hanging from the rubble, Their bodies too small for the weight of this world, Crushed by the sins of those who never knew their names. Sometim...