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One Poem Only

One Poem Only

Von: Maggie Devers
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 A daily reading. A quiet moment. One poem, center stage: just for now, just for you. A one-night-only show, in verse. Come back tomorrow. The curtain rises again.Maggie Devers Kunst Persönliche Entwicklung Persönlicher Erfolg Unterhaltung & Darstellende Künste
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  • Not mine anymore by Avalon | One Poem Only

    Not mine anymore by Avalon | One Poem Only
    Apr 6 2026

    One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise.

    Not mine anymore Avalon If my words are my ownThey are all that I haveExcept... that’s not quite rightIf my words are my ownThey abandon me when I most need itAnd, that never feels rightMy words are my ownAnd they blink in and outA lighthouse on the shoreWhile I’m drowningMy words are my ownAnd others desperately pry them out of meA clam with a pearlA person blinded by the rewardMy words are my ownThey yearn to hear itMy words are my ownMy words are my-My words are-My words-My words are my ownI cannot repeat themUtterance loses meaningIf my words are my ownWhy must I give them away?

    More from Avalon ↓

    • @avalonspoems on Instagram
    • Her book, Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird, is available now

    Support + Stay Connected to OPO

    If you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.

    Poetry slows us down. Thank you for listening.

    Mentioned in this episode:

    Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem Only

    Write After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.

    #WriteAfterOPO
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    2 Min.
  • Butterscotch by Amy Laessle-Morgan

    Butterscotch by Amy Laessle-Morgan
    Apr 5 2026

    A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud.

    ButterscotchAmy Laessle-MorganSomewhere between the amberblush streetlight of Divisionand the butterscotch stain on the back of my throat,there was a glasslike momentnearbentbut not yet breaking.Half-formed, honeydrunk on the hourslipping past the soft machinery of becomingunbecomingrewindingrethreading.Warm, butterfat air washing in subtlebreathing through the cracked window taxicabteacuplight broken open on my cheekwhispering nothing is permanentexcept the way we almost changed.There was always something burning—toastbridgesthe last good version of me I kept resuscitatingwith mouth-to-mouth-watering memory.Tonight, I’ll wear that dress you lovedin the color of skinbrushed apologieswhile the past rides shotgunsilentadjusting the mirror like it still matters how I see myselfbecause when mirrors grow honestthe corridors echo less—as everyone pours out.Let us go then, you and Ithrough the goldblood hourswhere no one teaches you how to bleed pretty—not in the swanpale wrist pressedto cold porcelain tile wayhalf-lit in someone else’s forgetting.You learn it knees to marblecheek to linoleumin radio silence buzzing through your teethplaying love songs that didn’t learn the language.He liked it leaning in disrepairso I sucked the ghostsweet butterscotch slow.I let it split goldenglass hard and sharpthe bloom red blooming—behind teetha salty flood.It cut me—but I didn’t spit it out.I kept itI kept it all.

    More from Amy Laessle-Morgan ↓

    • @ultramarine_poetry on Instagram
    • Her book, Live Wire, is available now.

    Support + Stay Connected to OPO

    If you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon 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.

    Mentioned in this episode:

    Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem Only

    Write After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.

    #WriteAfterOPO
    Mehr anzeigen Weniger anzeigen
    3 Min.
  • “God, you can keep the boys” by Peyton Michelle Bryant | One Poem Only

    “God, you can keep the boys” by Peyton Michelle Bryant | One Poem Only
    Apr 4 2026
    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now.“God, you can keep the boys” Peyton Michelle BryantGod, you can keep the boys who only write sad poetryand 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 afraidto 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 worlddoesn’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 boatwith the biggest sail you’ve ever seenand 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 cabinand doesn’t get offended when I’m taken by the desireto be alone for daysin my cocoon of creation.His hands are shields-his palms big enough to hold the entirety of the Milky Wayand 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 meand not oncedoes he try to pluck them from the soil.My man has arms and legs like the trunksof the six-hundred-year-old Sycamore.I want to nest in the branches of him.I chart the map of his bodylike a world-eager traveler-trace the veins like blue-green riversalong the shores of his forearmslick the salt ocean sweatgathered in his jugular notchclimb him like a wolf in heat and stillI am hungry for the meat of him.My man calls me Brilliant calls me Dragon Firecalls 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 enoughto withstand the heat.He is my burning crimson star;I reach for the ten-million-degree Fahrenheit center of himwithout flinching.God, I know you’ve put us together before;our lifetimes are an ancient songmy cells still remember.I remember how we smelledof 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 himmy 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 livesmade up a river of time between us.I am a queen lost to his kingdom, Lord.Send the cavalry! The lines have been blurredbetween dragon womanand 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 downin the feather bed of my heart once again.I want to take his hand catch a ride to some faraway red planetwhere reincarnation is just myth-where this life is the only one that matters. God, call him back to me with bone and bloodwith 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 timewe’ll ride side by sideall the way back home.More from Peyton Michelle Bryant ↓@mama.laloba on InstagramHer newest poetry book Wolf Witch of the Wild and her debut, Feral Mother, Sovereign Woman, are out now.Support + Stay Connected to OPOIf you’d like to support the show, Substack and Patreon members receive a copy of my book, For My Daughter, along with episodes from the audiobook.Poetry shows us what we need. Thank you for being part of the experience.Mentioned in this episode:Write After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPOWrite After: National Poetry Month with One Poem OnlyWrite After is a way to encourage poets to listen and write, and use National Poetry Month to highlight how listening to poetry makes us better poets. I know I write the best when I’m surrounded by beautiful poetry–it’s part of the reason I created this podcast, and I want to encourage others to share this practice. We'll get started in April. You can share to #WriteAfterOPO.#WriteAfterOPO
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    5 Min.
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