A POEM A DAY

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One Poem Only

Maggie Devers

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.

  1. Shake It Up by Maggie Devers & Weekly Poetry Recap | One Poem More

    18H AGO

    Shake It Up 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 poemsWhat's Wrong with My Heart by Gillian ShielsA Few Weeks Into the Dreams by Jorge Lopez LlorenteBenedict Fruit by Yonsiri RojasDisjointed Conversations by Jean WathuguHuman-Nature by Katie-May FinchamIn the Hot Spring Locker Room by Haley DiRenzo Plus one new one to carry us into the week ahead Shake It UpMaggie DeversI water my plants to feed myselfI feel my toes expandMy neck releaseMy lungs make room for airWe're not under the bootBut we feed itLeila Khalid said revolutionMust mean life in all formsSo I dream of life–In the plants I feed,In my daughter's wet hairI comb after she swims,In my mother's handsAs she towels off the dogWho shakes, covering usWith waterAnd we squeal in unisonAs we recall lifeAnd revolt More from Maggie Devers ↓ My debut poetry collection, For My Daughter, available as an audiobook.Purchase a signed copy of For My Daughter or get one free by subscribing to the podcast: One Poem Only on PatreonFollow me on Instagram for more poetry @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 and Patreon 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.

    10 min
  2. 2D AGO

    Human-Nature by Katie-May Fincham | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily poetry podcast offering a quiet moment with a single poem—read aloud, without analysis or noise. Human-NatureKatie-May FinchamIn the stillness of the awakening forest,where twilight dances with the dawn,human hearts pulse beneath the light rays,piercing the gloom like fragile promises.We wander, shadows flickering among blooms,breathing in the sweet scent of renewal,lost in the echo of stories yet to unfold.Together, we tread the sun-dappled paths,where branches stretch to embrace the light,and the wind carries whispers of ancient hope.Beneath the canopy, we are fleeting spirits,our laughter a fragile melody,swallowed by the weight of memories,as the darkness lingers,a haunting fragrance, blooming with spring.In this gentle light, we find our place,two beings woven with the wild,our dreams intertwined like ivy on the brink of life,yet always reminded of the fragile line,between warmth and the void,where every breath is a testament to our bond,illuminated by the rays that pierce the night,as spring unfurls, urging us to remember,that even in shadows, we are drawn together,bound by the cycle of light and dark. More from Katie-May Fincham ↓ @katie_mayportfolio on Instagram@katiemayartist on Substack 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 sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast.

    2 min
  3. 3D AGO

    Disjointed Conversations by Jean Wathugu | One Poem Only

    A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. Disjointed ConversationsJean WathuguBecause I saw that obligatory smileI am dismembering the foot in my mouthYour eyes like to wander in the middle of my lame anecdoteSo here’s my prosthetic humourSo I can fake it enough to make itHow about you write me a technical manual on how to beSo in between the jargon I can mourn the parts of me that don't fit inYou took me in beforeSpitting me outI’m a mishmash of mismatched ingredientsPreheating the oven to bake foreign philosophies into my ownI hoped you'd see me but I guess now I'm in betweenCrystal glasses of wineSo I can see through thisDismembering of the foot in my mouthThe burning off of offensive quirksThe flogging of my delinquent idiosyncrasiesThe branding of new philosophiesMy drunk mind was always more imaginative. So I'm drinking 4% beerDreaming up a version of realityWhere your attention doesn't wander off-In the middle of my syllablesThe only visions that matter are the ones you have of meIn the right lens. Did you get my good side?I am dreaming up a version of realityWhere I am solid enough to be elusiveAnd you don't have to see through me and my bullshitI am mourning the parts of me that don't fit in - do you get it? More from Jean Wathugu ↓ @jean.wathugu on Instagram@jean.archived on Substack 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.

    2 min
  4. 5D AGO

    A Few Weeks Into the Dreams by Jorge Lopez Llorente | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. A Few Weeks Into the DreamsJorge Lopez LlorenteBack then, a few bodies ago, you knew how to get your dreams delivered. You would sleep in the shape of a question mark and the empty side of the bed would be the silent answer. Now the silence is broken by you answering the door late, groggy. Now dreams are strangers’ hands, with covered faces, leaving a parcel on the doorstep, untouched, which you find too late, with the doorbell’s ring muffled. You’re asking for more than you need. You lie that it’s broken and you’re reimbursed and keep these dreams. You lie to yourself: you don’t want them, you don’t know where to put them. Fragile, this way up, they are now half-used and tucked beneath your unmade bed. Now the dreamfulness wakes you up at odd hours of the night, with that shudder as if you’re dreaming that you’re falling or flying and then stop. Nothing is enough; the nothing is too much. You can’t say no to them, although you can’t say yes to them and follow them through; that would spoil these dreams. Besides, they’re not even yours. Kind of. Sleeping with outdoor clothes on has got you dreaming of the bubble wrap these dreams came in. You never finish bursting the bubbles; your room smells of plastic. In the next few sleeps, you want no more dreams, you want the sound of burst bubbles instead; not foam, but seconds of spindrift spittle. Throw it all out except the wrapping. A choking hazard. Only then can you wrap it all up, forget all the forgetting, stop feeling those dreams and that body as your own. Sleep on your back, straightened, correctly, staring at the ceiling. Sleep like a few bodies ago, some body on a commute, delivered, daydreaming of no longer dreaming, onwards, straight ahead, correctly. The bubbles don’t all burst. More from Jorge Lopez Llorente ↓ @jorgelllorente on InstagramThis poem is from his recently published poetry Dreamescapes published by Alien Buddha Press, 2025 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. Feed yourself poetry every day.

    3 min

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About

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.