“Words don’t even flow to me anymore” by Lisa Le Guiader | One Poem Only

Hawk Feather by Connie Helena after Peyton Michelle Bryant | One Poem After

A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. Today's poem is: Hawk Feather by Connie Helena after Peyton Michelle Bryant - Poetess, you made me cry You gave me grief with your words It is not the tequila I promise you Because I drink all the time now You made me remember The odds are against me, against faith I will never love anyone in this life again Most likely this is so (he surely died) Enough of the drama (eye roll) The truth is I have been alone too long To give it up for second best Much less third best, three hundredth best I will only open my hand for the one Who has the power to surprise me No matter how I try to be cynical, jaded I cannot help but wonder Who will call forth the wind in the trees Make my body electric again Inhabit a body I have no choice To sleep peacefully beside, because I must More from Connie Helena ↓ * @journalof1000days [https://www.instagram.com/journalof1000days/] on Instagram * Her book Journal of 1000 Days [https://www.amazon.com/Journal-1000-Days-Connie-Helena/dp/B0DWKDMV11/] is available now And now for the poem this was written after. “God, you can keep the boys” by Peyton Michelle Bryant - God, you can keep the boys who only write sad poetry and listen to The Smiths on repeat. God, my man is a warrior. Lord knows I’ve got enough words to feed the both of us when times get tough. My man writes poems with his hands. My man is not afraid to bloody his knuckles for me. My man is a lion, Lord. He is a stallion running down his own mission. Our paths meet in the middle where we play but neither one pulls the other off course. He knows I belong to this wild world doesn’t try to rope me in or brand me with his name. He knows I am not something to be owned. Instead, he builds me a boat with the biggest sail you’ve ever seen and paints my name on the side of her. He builds me a set of wings that carries me farther than Icarus could ever go. He builds me a writing cabin and doesn’t get offended when I’m taken by the desire to be alone for days in my cocoon of creation. His hands are shields- his palms big enough to hold the entirety of the Milky Way and each one has memorized the blue/brown/green/red planet of my body. His fingertips brush the column of my throat and he calls the rain down. Gardens grow in the marrow of me and not once does he try to pluck them from the soil. My man has arms and legs like the trunks of the six-hundred-year-old Sycamore. I want to nest in the branches of him. I chart the map of his body like a world-eager traveler- trace the veins like blue-green rivers along the shores of his forearms lick the salt ocean sweat gathered in his jugular notch climb him like a wolf in heat and still I am hungry for the meat of him. My man calls me Brilliant calls me Dragon Fire calls me Wolf Witch, Poetess, Great Moon of His Heart. My man calls me Thank God. He calls me At Last. God, my man is an inferno. I need him to be sturdy enough to withstand the heat. He is my burning crimson star; I reach for the ten-million-degree Fahrenheit center of him without flinching. God, I know you’ve put us together before; our lifetimes are an ancient song my cells still remember. I remember how we smelled of campfire smoke and sweat- our feet pounding a beat into the Earth. I remember his face cast in firelight- the two of us skin on skin, a tangled pile of limbs blanketed by furs. I remember my nails tracing red lines down the planes of him my hair held like a bird tender in his fist. I remember his mouth marking each rung of my spine, his calloused hands like rocky planets orbiting the moon of me. I remember I fell from my horse- he took an arrow to the heart and new bodies and lives made up a river of time between us. I am a queen lost to his kingdom, Lord. Send the cavalry! The lines have been blurred between dragon woman and tower and I can no longer remember which one I’m supposed to be. God, I want you to give him back. I want to lay him down in the feather bed of my heart once again. I want to take his hand catch a ride to some faraway red planet where reincarnation is just myth- where this life is the only one that matters. God, call him back to me with bone and blood with fire and howl- stitch soul to body once more. I will rearrange the cosmos myself if need be. And this time, when stars align and we find each other again, I will not fall from my horse. No. This time we’ll ride side by side all the way back home. More from Peyton Michelle Bryant ↓ * @mama.laloba [https://www.instagram.com/mama.laloba] on Instagram * Her newest poetry book Wolf Witch of the Wild [https://bookshop.org/a/115728/9798267107402] and her debut, Feral Mother, Sovereign Woman [https://bookshop.org/a/115728/9798329370348], are out now. Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry reminds us what matters. Thank you for listening.

Dear Unknown Ancestor Naked in the Woods by Danielle Eleanor La Valle after Chris Kads | One Poem After

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Today's poem is: Dear Unknown Ancestor Naked in the Woods by Danielle Eleanor La Valle after Chris Kads - I haven't gone back far enough, keep going, keep going, back, back, back, farther still... ...ah, there, there you are, sitting on a log. Waiting maybe. You are wind-thickened skin, tattoos made of soot and saliva, scars I didn't know a body could hold. I look at you and see an early death, abscess teeth, parasites, tuberculosis. You smile with the half teeth you have remaining. You look at me as I am, confused and wrapped in many layers of highly profitable fear. You are deaf in one ear and you limp, rheumatoid is already curling your fingers, but you're alive, gloriously and nakedly in this wood. We are I think the same age, though that means something different here. Then asking with your eyes -neither of us have any language that will mean anything to the other- you want to know why am I so sad, why am I so afraid? You put your hand on the scar that missed my eye, you hold up the face I fear is sagging too soon, you slid your arms around my soft, asymmetrical body. More from Danielle Eleanor Lavalle ↓ * @danielleeleanorlavalle [https://www.instagram.com/danielleeleanorlavalle/] on Instagram And now for the poem this was written after. Dear Personal Care Department God by Chris Kads after Lancee Whetman - God of the Personal Care Department, please grant me musk. Grant me the strength of “Steel Courage” - buffness in a bottle. Let my body be a vessel of “dragon’s breath” and “warrior’s blood”. Allow me, like men, to be baptized in wet swagger, to have my preconceived softness wash away with the scent of toughness. Bless me, with blindness in the face of razors. Grant me the normalization of forest-y armpits to pair with the scent of “Sasquatch Foot”. And, please, oh holy Personal Care Department God, revoke your commandments and let the avoidance of “Secret” and smoothness not be a sin. Amen. More from Chris Kads ↓ * @chris_kads [https://www.instagram.com/chris_kads/] on Instagram Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.

Bones by Toni Young after Ella B. Winters | One Poem After

One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. BONES TONI YOUNG after Ella B. Winters it doesn’t take much to see through skin, through blood, through bones i’ve etched poems in each rib this cage can only hold so many stories see how this poem is stuck in the marrow see how this poem is caught in the hollow do i have to break these bones for you to read me More from Toni Young ↓ * @toniyoungpoems [https://www.instagram.com/toniyoungpoems/] on Instagram * @toniyoungpoems [https://substack.com/@toniyoungpoems] on Substack And now for the poem this was written after. UGLY BONES BY ELLA B. WINTERS ELLA B. WINTERS Behind the dusty radiator, green splashed like blood spray in a B-film, from that time when you decided to paint our bedroom in the middle of the night, I keep my poems hidden in a puce manila file so unremarkable, it chameleons into the background, pink tongue unfurling to swallow my words into the shadowy crevice. Mostly, I don’t want you to see them, as though, in the starkness of the early hours, when our walls demand another change, they might reveal my ugly bones through the translucent skin. But sometimes, I forget they’re there, as well. Imagine leaving them behind when we move on. Who will I be when unsuspecting tenants pull me out word after word like a magician’s string of endless gauzy scarves? How will they piece my naked bones together? What colour will they paint the room? More from Ella B. Winters ↓ * @ella.b.winters [https://www.instagram.com/ella.b.winters/] on Instagram * @ellabwinters [https://substack.com/@ellabwinters] on Substack Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Feed yourself poetry every day.

Taco Bell under a Full Moon by Kris Aziz after GiGi | One Poem After

One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. TACO BELL UNDER A FULL MOON / KRIS AZIZ AFTER GIGI / Dedicated to Beca / We are looking at the moon Through the delicate lines of a spider's web Dutifully spun in the branches of a tree She takes a sip of her Baja Blast and says "You're right, Maybe we shouldn't kill ourselves Today." I bite into a cinnabon delight crunch the sugar between my teeth. because I know what the moon has told her. I can still hear my own message from that night when the sky was black with despair and the full moon was red from screaming There is no need to reply. More from Kris Aziz ↓ * @tacobellkris [https://www.instagram.com/tacobellkris/] on Instagram * @tacobellkris [https://substack.com/@tacobellkris] on Substack And now for the poem this was written after. WHEN THE MOON IS FULL GIGI When the Moon is Full, She never holds Me by the hand. She grabs right behind the gape of My neck and drags me to all I've been avoiding. When the Moon is Full, She never whispers in My ear. She screams at the top of Her lungs, so loud, that her rasping voice awakens the aliens in outer space; now peering from their spaceships. When the Moon is Full, She never glides across the sky. She anchors through the clouds beaming directly for everyone and everything in Her path. When the Moon is Full, She is never dainty but always true. She smiles from above, sneering at everything You thought You knew about Her, and reminding you of exactly who You are More from GiGi ↓ * @thegigirising [https://www.threads.com/@thegigirising] on Threads * @thematriarchyrising [https://substack.com/@thematriarchyrising] on Substack * Her books, The Scorpio Rising [https://www.amazon.com/Scorpio-Rising-GiGi/dp/B0CWSWW1K9] and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn [https://www.amazon.com/Marilyn-Rising-Letters/dp/B0F1YQT9J4/] * She has a new book coming soon The California Rising: Poems from San Francisco to LA Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.

YOLO by Maggie Devers & Weekly Poetry Recap | One Poem More

One Poem More gathers all of this week’s poems from One Poem Only—an unhurried chance to listen again, or catch what you missed. THIS WEEK’S POEMS * Life Is The Backside of Embroidery [https://player.captivate.fm/episode/1236e25c-3a33-43e1-bd6c-9cc6a197818d/] by Aasfa Siddiqui * Unnamed Season [https://player.captivate.fm/episode/02327882-a909-42be-a680-e3e7b5585603/] by Jules Travers * “Hija de tu madre.” [https://player.captivate.fm/episode/24964e11-863a-4332-a6de-ff8c09c760e3/] by Elisha Fernandez * Lilies [https://player.captivate.fm/episode/833e407a-2441-494d-a16e-34db6efe9286/] by Madilyn Lopez * Rash [https://player.captivate.fm/episode/9ba74685-5b42-455b-a2af-c34da052a687/] by Viviana Abnur * Sparrowfall [https://player.captivate.fm/episode/a27a3f3b-ea99-4f7d-a94f-c80f26d2a294/] by Arch Budzar Plus one new one to carry us into the week ahead YOLO MAGGIE DEVERS > Thank god I’m a millennial and learned > YOLO > At a pivotal period in my life. > Who thought I’d pull her out again for > WWIII, > But there you are— > > There we are: > Only > Living > Once > > Unless we’re considering reincarnation— > Which I do most days— > Even those I only live once. > > But I think it means > We only get this moment once > (That we conceptually understand—) > We probably live many moments at once > > And maybe that’s why WWIII feels familiar > And why grass smells like home > And getting smacked in the face by a wave feels like a baptism > > Waves YOLO— > They live and die > With the tug of the moon. > Icarus YOLOed the sunrise, > And I feel like he really got it. > > So I sit in the sun and feel wax > Melting down my shoulder blades > As I stare at the ocean > And tell my daughter the history of YOLO. More from Maggie Devers ↓ * My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter [https://www.audible.com/pd/For-My-Daughter-Audiobook/B0G7P1DLKR], available as an audiobook. * Purchase a copy of For My Daughter [https://mybook.to/for-my-daughter] or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only [https://www.patreon.com/cw/OnePoemOnly] on Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/cw/OnePoemOnly] * Follow me on Instagram for more poetry @rembrandts.cure [https://www.instagram.com/rembrandts.cure/] More from this week’s poets Find links to each poet’s work, books, and social accounts in the show notes for the individual episodes. Support + Stay Connected to OPO If you’d like to support the show, Substack [https://rembrandtscure.substack.com/] and Patreon [https://www.patreon.com/c/OnePoemOnly] members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook. Poetry is better when it’s lived with. Thank you for listening.