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One Poem Only

One Poem Only

Auteur(s): 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. I’m Maggie Devers, and each day I’ll read you one poem—nothing more, nothing less. No analysis, no noise—just a little space to listen. Come back tomorrow. The curtain rises again. https://rembrandtscure.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast (rembrandtscure.substack.com)Maggie Devers
Épisodes
  • Sunday Recap & Theory by Maggie Devers

    Sunday Recap & Theory by Maggie Devers
    Sep 21 2025
    Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead.Sep 15 - First Person Account of a Seed by Vinita Agrawal @vinitaagrawal18 on Instagram. Her book Eartha is out now.Sep 16 - the listener by Laura Theis @wodehouse_and_i on Instagram. Her book, Introduction to Cloud Care, is available now. Her children’s poetry book, Poems from a Witch’s Pocket, is also available now.Sep 17 - I am the dove by GiGi @thegigirising on Instagram. Her books, The Scorpio Rising, and The Marilyn Rising: Letters to Marilyn, are available now. Her third book, The California Rising: Poems from San Francisco & LA, will be published March 20, 2026Sep 18 - Sometimes by Hania Anwar @wanderings.in.words on Instagram. @BeeInMyBonnet on Substack.Sep 19 - When I fall asleep by Jessica Lyon-Wall @thetrinitypoet on Instagram. Her book, Bones, is out now.Sep 20 - A Pocketful of Joy by Mishty Singh @mishty_22writes on Instagram.Sep 21 - Theory Maggie DeversThe bees dive back in the poolEven though they can’t swim.Something to do with their polarityOf navigation or death wish. I’ve not yet decidedWhich story to believe So I’ll move between the two As suits what I seek that day—Alignment or death. Perhaps They are not so far off.We seek extremes
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    9 min
  • the listener by Laura Theis

    the listener by Laura Theis
    Sep 16 2025
    the listener Laura Theis her magic was so gentle you may not have known itfor a spell
    the way she was able to listen so openlythat we were each coaxed into speaking our language
    the fiddle began to talk of the willow tree it had beenhow it had feasted on light and liquid
    how it had swayed and creaked in the wind like a door to another realm
    the piano confessed how its beauty was forged from the killing of a playful giant who had loved his life of mischief and joy
    while the rain outside sang along in the dangerous language of watera complicated grammar of clouds and dropletsstillness and rush
    even the silence afterwards surprised itselffor the first timein the mirror of her quiet attention
    and bowed like a secret wordthat had suddenly understood its own significance

    More from Laura ↓

    • @wodehouse_and_i on Instagram
    • Her book, Introduction to Cloud Care, is available now
    • Her children’s poetry book, Poems from a Witch’s Pocket, is available now

    Submissions are currently closed. Keep an ear on the podcast to know when the next window will open. Join the mailing list to be the first to know ⬇️

    🖋️ Read My Newsletter: Free Flow 🖋️
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    2 min
  • First Person Account of a Seed by Vinita Agrawal

    First Person Account of a Seed by Vinita Agrawal
    Sep 15 2025
    First Person Account of a Seed by Vinita Agrawal All night, the face of awning greenhovers above me, its branches carved partlywith the grimace of my own imagination.The sacred wounds of treesleaves me trembling in my own hands.
    This is the first lesson, though it comesfrom no sage, no guide, but myself:that if I must shatter, let it be outward,like a burst of light, leaves, flowers, fruits—not this inward scoping and scraping of darkness.
    In the afternoon, a Laburnum, goldenand thick as a second sun, spills over myshoulders while I am bent over in contemplation,oblivious to the miracle of the universearriving blindingly through the window.
    The yellow blooms are the second lesson,both an elegy and an anthem, my true trophy.I must remember them—for memory is the only permanenceon the tarmac of sprouting.
    Germinating is not a cage, I don’t squirmor shrink to break open my coat, nor my vestof testa and tegmen. To pullulate,is to swim through an ocean of moist soil,air, sunlight. Then, thrust out a radicle.
    The annunciation of flowers, until coloursjostle with colours, is speech, if onlyit could be understood. I dream of a thousandforests in my frantic hunger to wrestle withas many shadows as there are beams of light.
    To exist without a map, is the third lesson—to speak and not be heard, to have my ribsache with greed for verdancy, to lose friendsto the whirl of winds, to vanish for no reason,to stay unbroken, even in the breaking.

    More from Vinita ↓

    • @vinitaagrawal18 on Instagram
    • Her book Eartha is out now

    Submissions are currently closed. Keep an ear on the podcast to know when the next window will open. Join the mailing list to be the first to know ⬇️

    🖋️ Read My Newsletter: Free Flow 🖋️
    Voir plus Voir moins
    3 min
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