One Poem Only

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.

  1. 6H AGO

    CAUTION: STUDENT DRIVER by Carly Thompson | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. CAUTION: STUDENT DRIVERCarly ThompsonI’ve jumped out of the boatthe churning water turns to smokemy mind is a black sand beachthe world is one of those where time is differentslow, fast, all at once, almost neverif a window doesn’t open, is it a wall?is it even there?the cows die all at once and we don’t ask whywe buy sheep instead, not for milk for woolit is not enough to be called sad and beautifulremarkable or terrifyingit is not enough to pick up the phoneto text back, to cry on cueI hover over that plane where one highwaymeets another, no one ever taught me to merge More from Carly Thompson ↓ @comehither_poetry on Instagram@comehither 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 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 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

    2 min

  2. 1D AGO

    To Be a Salamander by Rachel Turney | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. To Be a Salamander Rachel Turney I want to be like you. I crave your regenerative abilities.Does the heart count as a limb? If so, I could regrow thepart that is now missing, rebuild sinuous tissues andthe fat of my epicardium.I want to wallow in the petrichor and muddy places. Iwant to glide between the fallen leaves and tadpoles.My skin would breathe, my lips smell, my world wouldbe trickling water in this moss forest.I would darn socks for my four toes. One tiny bit ofwool to cover each one so that I might step with easefrom chilled rock to frozen ground as winter comes. More from Rachel Turney ↓ @turneytalks on InstagramRachel Turney on SubstackHer book, Women Making Soup Together, is out now with Vinegar Press 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. 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

    2 min

  3. 2D AGO

    Not mine anymore by Avalon | 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. 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 InstagramHer 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

    2 min

  4. 3D AGO

    Butterscotch by Amy Laessle-Morgan | One Poem Only

    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 InstagramHer 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

    3 min

  5. 4D AGO

    “God, you can keep the boys” by Peyton Michelle Bryant | One Poem Only

    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 boyswho only write sad poetryand listen to The Smiths on repeat.God, my man is a warrior.Lord knows I’ve got enough wordsto feed the both of uswhen 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 playbut neither one pulls the other off course.He knows I belong to this wild worlddoesn’t try to rope me inor 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 nameon the side of her.He builds me a set of wingsthat carries me fartherthan Icarus could ever go.He builds me a writing cabinand doesn’t get offendedwhen I’m taken by the desireto be alone for daysin my cocoon of creation.His hands are shields-his palms big enoughto hold the entirety of the Milky Wayand each one has memorizedthe blue/brown/green/red planetof my body.His fingertips brush the column of my throatand 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 heatand stillI am hungry for the meat of him.My man calls me Brilliantcalls 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 limbsblanketed by furs.I remember my nailstracing red lines down the planes of himmy hair held like a birdtender in his fist.I remember his mouthmarking each rung of my spine,his calloused handslike rocky planetsorbiting the moon of me.I remember I fell from my horse-he took an arrow to the heartand 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 blurredbetweendragonwomanand towerand I can no longer rememberwhich 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 heartonce again.I want to take his handcatch a ride to some faraway red planetwhere reincarnation is just myth-where this lifeis the only one that matters.God, call him back to mewith bone and bloodwith fire and howl-stitch soul to body once more.I will rearrange the cosmos myselfif need be.And this time, when stars alignand 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 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 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 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

    5 min

  6. 5D AGO

    Dear Personal Care Department God by Chris Kads | 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. Dear Personal Care Department GodChris KadsAfter Lancee WhetmanGod of the Personal Care Department,please grant me musk. Grant methe strength of “Steel Courage” -buffness in a bottle. Let mybody be a vessel of “dragon’s breath”and “warrior’s blood”. Allow me,like men, to be baptizedin wet swagger, to have mypreconceived softnesswash away with the scentof toughness.Bless me,with blindness in the faceof razors. Grant methe normalizationof forest-y armpitsto pair with the scent of“Sasquatch Foot”.And, please, oh holyPersonal Care Department God,revoke your commandmentsand let the avoidance of “Secret”and smoothnessnot be a sin.Amen.More from Chris Kads ↓ @chris_kads 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 sustains. Thank you for supporting the podcast. 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

    2 min

  7. 6D AGO

    Ugly Bones by Ella B. Winters | One Poem Only

    A daily reading from One Poem Only—a quiet space for a single poem, read aloud. Ugly Bones by Ella B. WintersElla B. WintersBehind the dusty radiator,green splashed like bloodspray in a B-film, from that timewhen you decidedto paint our bedroomin the middle of the night,I keep my poemshidden in a puce manila fileso unremarkable, it chameleonsinto the background, pink tongueunfurling to swallow my wordsinto the shadowy crevice.Mostly, I don’t want youto see them, as though,in the starkness of the earlyhours, when our wallsdemand another change,they might reveal my uglybones through the translucentskin. But sometimes, I forgetthey’re there, as well. Imagineleaving them behind when wemove on. Who will I be whenunsuspecting tenants pull meout word after word like a magician’sstring of endless gauzy scarves?How will they piece my naked bonestogether? What colour will theypaint the room?More from Ella B. Winters ↓ @ella.b.winters on Instagram@ellabwinters 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. 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

    2 min

  8. APR 1

    When the Moon is full by GiGi | One Poem Only

    One Poem Only is a daily ritual: one poem, center stage, just for now. When the Moon is fullGiGiWhen the Moon is Full,She never holds Me by the hand.She grabs right behind thegape of My neck anddrags 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 awakensthe aliens in outer space; now peering fromtheir spaceships.When the Moon is Full,She never glides across the sky.She anchors through the cloudsbeaming directly foreveryone 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 areMore from GiGi ↓ @thegigirising on ThreadsHer books, The Scorpio Rising and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to MarilynShe 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 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 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

    2 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.

Information

  • Creator
    Maggie Devers
  • Years Active
    2025 - 2026
  • Episodes
    352
  • Rating
    Explicit
  • Copyright
    © Maggie Devers
  • Show Website
    One Poem Only