A POEM A DAY

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One Poem Only

Maggie Devers
  • 5.0 (3)
  • BOOKS
  • UPDATED DAILY

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. 2H AGO

    Central Park At Dusk by Sara Teasdale | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. Central Park At DuskSara TeasdaleBuildings above the leafless treesLoom high as castles in a dream,While one by one the lamps come outTo thread the twilight with a gleam.There is no sign of leaf or bud,A hush is over everything.Silent as women wait for love,The world is waiting for the spring.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.

    1 min

  2. 1D AGO

    This Town by Macy Williams | 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. This Town Macy Williams This town knows many ways of moving. Some rush. Some pause. Some stop and start again. All of them count. I walk these streets with a body that does not follow the expected map. Some days it cooperates. Some days it asks for patienceI’m still learning how to give.Disability lives quietly here.In waiting.In adapting.In choosing rest without permission.In knowing limits without shame.There are doors that open easilyand others that don’t notice you at all.There are systems built for speed,and people built for survival instead.I have learned that strengthis rarely loud.It looks like showing up anyway.It looks like leaving early.It looks like staying home and choosingto keep going tomorrow.This place holds all of itthe visible, the hidden, the misunderstood.Bodies that ache.Minds that work differently.Lives that don’t fit tidy explanations.I am not here to overcome anything.I am here to exist.To take space.To move at the pace my body allows,without needing to justify it.And this townwith its noise and quiet corners,its imperfections and familiar streetskeeps making room for people like me.Not because we are exceptional.But because we are part of it.More from Macy Williams ↓ @macywilliams05 on Instagram 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

  3. 2D AGO

    Still, something by Aditya Gupta | One Poem Only

    A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. Still, something Aditya Gupta I stopped praying long ago. The gods grew tired of my voice, or maybe I just grew tired of asking for things that never came. My wallet’s thin, my dreams thinner a handful of words no one cared to read. Even my parents’ eyeslook at me like unfinished work,a draft they wish they could rewrite.And love,she always leavesbefore the song begins.I’ve learned the sound of silencethat follows a “maybe next time.”But sometimes,in the middle of all that noise,a small thought humsthat maybe I’m still herefor a reason I don’t yet know.Maybe the words I failed to write are still forming inside me.Maybe faithis not about believing in God,but believingthat the broken can still be beautiful.And maybe one day,someone will see menot as a failure,but as a boy who kept tryingto love the worldeven when it forgot his name.More from Aditya Gupta ↓ @serenadeinsilhouettes on Instagram 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.

    2 min
  4. The House with My Name Carved Into Its Teeth by Tess Ezzy | Wednesday Double Feature | One Poem Only

    3D AGO

    The House with My Name Carved Into Its Teeth by Tess Ezzy | Wednesday Double Feature | One Poem Only

    Wednesdays on One Poem Only are a double feature: one poem here on the podcast, and one more by the same poet shared on Instagram. The House with My Name Carved Into Its TeethTess EzzyExecutive dysfunctionis a kind of hauntingbut not the pretty kind,not the candlelit ghost girlfloating through the hallway.No.This thing is a beastwith my name carvedinto its teeth.Every morning I waketo a body that forgets me.A body that misplaces its own pulse.A body that drops intentionlike a strip of clothingbefore the lover even arrives.My hands—god, my hands—they go spectral on me.I reach for the taskand the task slips throughlike a secret I’m not trusted with.I reach for the dayand the day folds shutlike a trapdoorand I fall through myselfagainagainagain.People sayJust start.As if I am not wrestling a monsterin the foyer of my own life.As if the staircaseis not rearranging itselfthe moment I look away.As if time hasn’t been taunting melike a cruel exwho knows exactlywhere my soft skin lives.My to-do listis a f****d-up funhouse mirror.Every item shows methe version of meI should have been by now.I stare at her—mouth full of apology,spine full of fire—and I want herjust onceto step out of the mirrorand stop pretendingshe’s possible.I lose hours like loversI was too wild to keep.I lose whole afternoonsthe way some peoplelose religion.Sudden.Violent.A kind of holy grief.And yes—there is shame.The thick, wet kind.The kind that grows mouldif you don’t drag it out into the sunand scream at ituntil it dissolves.But don’t mistake me.I am not asking for rescue.I am not writing a tender poemabout learning to love myselfin a haunted house.I am telling youI am renovating this bitch.With my bare handsand my broken rhythmsand my stubborn, feral...

    4 min

  5. 4D AGO

    Museum of Mourning by Maria Corcoran | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. Museum of Mourning Maria Corcoran This poem was first published in the Raven Review. Ocean of silent, aching desiresDrowned before even taking formGuiltless, carried to the pyreSnuffed and swallowed, not yet bornO lulling waves of strangled dreams,Why do you refuse to die?Trying even now to be heard, be seenFrom below the depths wherein you lieWith your unclosing eyes full of blame,Every gurgled breath you heave,Ties me a knot borne of your painYou wish to take me as you leaveYou, every dream never dared dreamtA drop in this vast cemeteryYour revenge is your lamentA cruel memoir of what I’ve buriedSharp-edged guilt, bleeding griefYour torment is mine to keepUnintended sweet deceitMy regrets are your motifsIs this your oath,Either drive me madOr kill us both?Perhaps it is a fitting end,Succumbing to these rooted woundsThat I will, you will never mendTurning inside out, self-exhumedQuiet rage, quiet tormentUndeclared indictmentPunishment for what I’ve done–A dictated requisite crime--To be forever on the run,For a choice that wasn’t mineMore from Maria Corcoran ↓ @_mariacorcoran on Instagram@mariacorcoran on SubstackMaria is looking for authors and poets that write and appreciate Gothic literature. If you happen to be a poet who writes rhyming/structured poetry, she would like to connect for potential writing collabs and community building. 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

  6. 5D AGO

    Human Nature by Lynn L. | 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 NatureLynn L.My fingertips feel the texture of a rose petal,Silken, yes, but silken with the hush of something already dying.Soft as sin, velvet against the finger,A whisper that resists and surrenders all at once.Cool at first, like a lover’s indifference,Then quick to the warmth beneath the weight of touch.More from Lynn L. ↓ Her website: www.lbachman.com@authorlynnl on InstagramHer book, Saint Woman, 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.

    1 min
  7. Writing Love Poems to the NASA Artist’s Concept by Maggie Devers & Weekly Poetry Recap | One Poem More

    6D AGO

    Writing Love Poems to the NASA Artist’s Concept 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 poemsEvery Cell Misses You by Dolon PramanikButterflied, oh by Yonsiri RojasYou’ll Hear Music by Chandra Tyler MountainPatience by Ayesha KhalidLost Bond by Pinky Faith OkaforLove Song by Dorothy Parker Plus one new one to carry us into the week ahead Writing Love Poems to the NASA Artist’s ConceptMaggie DeversHow small we are,How infinitesimally small,And yet I am hereWriting this down so you may read it10 years from now, or a hundred,Or never.Is never the same as zero?What if every breath is a big bangThe end of one universeAnd the beginning of another?Galaxies live in your voiceEchoing through the walls, off the wallsIn the space between your ribsI hear youI see youOnceTwiceForeverAnd it’s never enough.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...

    9 min

  8. FEB 14

    Love Song by Dorothy Parker | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. Love Song Dorothy Parker My own dear love, he is strong and boldAnd he cares not what comes after.His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,And his eyes are lit with laughter.He is jubilant as a flag unfurled—Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.My own dear love, he is all my world,—And I wish I’d never met him.My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,And a wild young wood-thing bore him!The ways are fair to his roaming feet,And the skies are sunlit for him.As sharply sweet to my heart he seemsAs the fragrance of acacia.My own dear love, he is all my dreams,—And I wish he were in Asia.My love runs by like a day in June,And he makes no friends of sorrows.He’ll tread his galloping rigadoonIn the pathway of the morrows.He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,Nor could storm or wind uproot him.My own dear love, he is all my heart,—And I wish somebody’d shoot him.More from Dorothy Parker ↓ This poem is from Dorothy Parker's collection, Enough Rope, published in 1926. 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.

    2 min
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Ratings & Reviews

5
out of 5
3 Ratings

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.

Information

  • Creator
    Maggie Devers
  • Years Active
    2025 - 2026
  • Episodes
    301
  • Rating
    Explicit
  • Copyright
    © Maggie Devers
  • Show Website
    One Poem Only
  • Provider
    Maggie Devers