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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.
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when we fall Paper Trail Poetry when we fall we give back to the soil that nurtured us. seasonally, we are compost, yes, but life-giving nonetheless. when we fall our roots are ruptured; we are bare. decay tightens its cold, rotten grasp, but hope shall not be choked out. when we fall the way forward is paved with opportunity so make room for grace…
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Send us a text This week on Irritable Dad Syndrome, we dive deep into the post-Thanksgiving haze as Crickett and Tabbs share their holiday tales, including a pumpkin pie debacle that will leave you in stitches! From the chaos of Costco to the joy of family gatherings, hear all about the ups and downs of their festive experiences. But wait, there's …
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Momma Said Be Nice Chris Kads This poem was originally published in Blood+Honey Lit mag and is being republished with SHINE International Poetry Series. You don’t expect to serve mashed potatoes and steak for breakfast. Don’t expect to find urine in a tub or to have sympathy for the assaulter who pissed in it. I’ve learned to let expectations fly l…
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Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Dec 1 - Timeline by Quinn Holm @quinnholm.muse and @gratusgarden on Instagram. Quinn Holm on Substack. Dec 2 - my throat makes by atm.itm @atm.itm on Instagram. @atmitm on Substack. They are co-founder of studio somnus: a creative project agency. Dec 3 - “as t…
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Hearthside Dorothy Parker Half across the world from me Lie the lands I'll never see- I, whose longing lives and dies Where a ship has sailed away; I, that never close my eyes But to look upon Cathay. Things I may not know nor tell Wait, where older waters swell; Ways that flowered at Sappho's tread, Winds that sighed in Homer's strings, Vibrant wi…
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“I dreamt I was in Paris” Jen Booton I dreamt I was in Paris scents of coffee and absinthe wafting as olfactory wind chimes typewriters snug on Boulevard Montparnasse tables peppered with burgeoning authors lost among their own generation but destined to be famous for centuries. Drunk on wine, cigarettes and delusion sturdy as centenarian tree root…
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“My poetry has big bones” Bex My poetry has big bones And big ideas too She wears vintage lace And she remembers every time she was slipped on... Poetry smokes green in the grass with her lover and dissects the sun for she remembers its inception. Poetry says - "I’m with you in this life and the next, I will eat every piece of you whole, wiping up …
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“as the ground begins to frost” esso as the ground begins to frost we snuggle in heavier cloth to live out shortbread days laden in chocolate, lavender & cedar-smoke hugging hooded hours to soothe broken & healing layers warm our hands by the fire —holding safe— as a crackling back-up singer burgeons creases intersecting steely gaze & the blue-flam…
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my throat makes atm.itm corridors into cloth carries shimmering light i have forgotten how fabric can be light as light stitches from hands i have not met rest lightly on my shoulder it is the words hard to say that stick to my mind it is your words that do not know how to die make me sing out wretched and loud i strain them against the current cur…
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Send us a text We totally forgot to wish everybody a Happy Thanksgiving last week and spent the majority of this episode apologizing for it. Plus, decorating for Christmas, a disappointing visit to Costco and you won't believe the treasure Darin found inside the discount vinyl rack! Oh, the humanity, this is a great episode! #THANKSGIVING #WKRP #PI…
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Timeline Quinn Holm I wrote Spring in Winter I wrote Winter in Summer and Fall somewhere in between the changing weather The nature in me has its own seasons I’m not afraid of being forgotten for my being needs no outside opinions Things used-to-be and mistaken no longer have a place in my present Long gone was their influence on my emotions I’m no…
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Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Nov 24 - Moonborn by Aura Guerra-Artola @g.a.aura on Instagram. Her book, How to Live with a Cat on Your Chest and a Whale in Your Heart, is out now. Nov 25 - Winter nights, burning cinder. by Sierra sylvie @the_fire_ave on Instagram. Nov 26 - My Son in the Se…
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How Clear She Shines Emily Brontë How clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whispering me, "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! These throbbing temples softly kiss; And bend my lonely couch above, And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. The world is going; dark w…
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Stuck in the Blue Tushil Jariwala i remember that weekend — the lilac sky, how i smiled at the stars while learning goodbye. i gave you my laughter, my voice, my youth, and you gave me silence, disguised as truth. i thought we were different — the kind that last, but some fairytales burn out too fast. you called it timing, i called it fate, you cal…
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Canvas of Uncertainty Asiyah Yusuf We all wonder what the future holds A blank canvas waiting, like an unwritten scroll. Brushstrokes of imagination begin to unfold, As hearts find solace in stories yet untold. In the darkness of uncertainty, a light flickers bright, Guiding us gently, where shadows take flight. With each step we take, the canvas s…
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My Son in the Sea Lisa Zerkle Somehow he knows he can breathe in both water and air. See how he grows piscine, dull on land, iridescent in the deep. Delicate flesh of my blood and my bone. How many bodies can this world hold? Men want to examine where exactly skin meets scale. You can’t have it both ways, choose: man or fish? Not a man, say the men…
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Winter nights, burning cinder. Sierra sylvie As I lie here with eyes that , Glint while the cinder burns each memory softly. As I lie here with those eyes that , Soar across every memory longing to be embraced. As I lie here with a body , Longing to be worshipped As I lie here with the body , Of rusted skin from the torrent of tears . As I lie here…
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Send us a text This week we discuss how to become an ordained minister, what's appropriate to wear to a bris and the greatest television show of all time.... Miami Vice. Plus, find out what Darin's wife did that seriously crossed the line in their marriage! After you listen to this episode you'll be saying "DERP!" #MIAMIVICE #RUNNINGMAN #LATESHOW #…
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Moonborn Aura Guerra-Artola I am the Moon’s daughter. Forever shifting rooms within the skin I call home. My light has crossed the tides, so have my shadows. I leave pieces— memory like bark, fallen between full and hollow. I lay in the hands of the earth what in mine has completed its cycle— in case she wills that it might bloom anew for someone e…
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Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Nov 17 - The Anatomy of a Queer Body by Gokul Prabhu @iamameme_gp on Instagram and @gokulprabhu1 on Substack. Nov 18 - Raindrops by Kunjal Saraswat @_heart_cuddles_ on Instagram. Nov 19 - A Boy Moose Ate My Tulips by Erynne DeVore @poemsprayersandswears on Ins…
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Fernando Keana Aguila Labra 2011. Fernando was where we danced with our heels above the sand. A sixteen hour flight with jet lag as we licked the 6am sun. This is where it rises. Where he rises. Six hours before the mysterious Fernando. An hour acquainted with Fernando. Your chin raised, proudly. I did not understand it then, nor did I care. There …
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Ode to the Familiar Strangers Yara Tawk Like a wave crashing down on shore to then melt back into the ocean, I wonder if I too must break to recollect myself in my mother's embrace. Do droplets of rain miss being a wave? Will I ever miss being her child? Where does an unstoppable river go once every ocean has run dry? And what of the lake with no m…
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Loneliness is a strange dopamine Dipanwita Dey Loneliness is a strange dopamine. Slowly, steadily, it consumes existence. Under its spell, it traps, strangulates, murders, and extinguishes. The desperate try to defeat it, unleashing the invisible chain around the collarbones. Feels like a gravitational force, pushing into the darkness of the unseen…
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A Boy Moose Ate My Tulips Erynne DeVore i discovered marbles and obsidian buried in my garden next to the worms after a moose ate my tulips “of course it was a boy moose,” someone joked with me i tried not to wake my daughters scaring him away they woke anyways irony is never lost on poets my daughters have ears and eyes and hearts of their own the…
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Raindrops Kunjal Saraswat Raindrops shine under warm lights. I notice it for the first time As I sit here— Two hours deep Into this night With the rain. Well, not just the rain. It brings its companions: Thunder, Lightning, Showers, And storms. Tonight, it’s a stormy rain. The wind is wild, And the glass of my balcony shutters Shudders under its we…
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Send us a text For the first time ever, Darin got a wicked cramp while recording the podcast. Find out if Mike rubbed his leg to help Darin with the pain. Plus, Mike Chisholm of The Letterman Podcast returns to the show! We talk a LOT about moose, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Nine Inch Nails and more. Special shout out to Walter Kim! ANPODCAST #…
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The Anatomy of a Queer Body Gokul Prabhu This poem first appeared In Plainspeak. Please tread gently. This poem has potentially disturbing content. I see death, perched at my window. Sometimes, they even sit on the edge of the bed. Death is my friend now! I am often tempted to draw them into a kiss. They no longer hold a scythe, and are no longer d…
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Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Nov 10 - Signs by Defne Kartal @defnewrites on Instagram Nov 11 - Sometimes I feel like writing by Junaid Ali Akbar @the.misfitpoet on Instagram. Nov 12 - "this is not a poem (exactly)" by Tess Ezzy. @themoodyproject_ on Instagram. Poetess Press on Substack. Y…
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"A lousy sunday afternoon when" Aliya Narghese A lousy sunday afternoon when The world had gone, for a momentary slumber Her world fell forever quiet beneath the burning timber An unwelcome call, a cacophony of cries Looks of pity, soulless sympathy Life that was laid gently into her hands Now a burden far heavy to carry They called her brave, call…
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The Altar I Didn’t Know I was Building Elle Zaspel There’s a small bowl on the bookshelf, not meant for anything in particular. But in it: a cicada shell, a rock from a Hamptons beach, a blurry photo propped up beside them. Things I kept without knowing why. Things I wasn’t ready to throw away. Cicadas remind me of him— loud among friends, a little…
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In Another Lifetime Edyth Grace To an old friend, wherever you are....... In another lifetime, Where the skies are plastered With soft pinks and blues and golden hues And the grass, softer than your skin I once caressed. In another lifetime, where the air hums the lyrics of the song, we would've remembered And your fingers would've fit mine like th…
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"this is not a poem (exactly)" Tess Ezzy this is not a poem (exactly) but a leaf-fall of words unclaimed— (dear dirt) how softly you listen and when wind folds the gumtrees into parentheses (yes) what survives is breath— a syntax of birds unsinging • meanwhile: Calla walks thru rain’s lowercase and writes a cloud into her pocket (a sentence of dew)…
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Sometimes I feel like writing Junaid Ali Akbar Sometimes I feel like writing... Writing words that could shake the earth, But how foolish of me to think, That ink could stop the bloodshed. Sometimes I feel like writing... When I see the corpses of children, Hanging from the rubble, Their bodies too small for the weight of this world, Crushed by the…
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Send us a text Hang on to your wigs and keys, this episode goes off the rails in all the right ways! We had a guest bail on us last minute, Darin's neighbor thinks he's all that because he owns a lot of aluminum foil, and Charmin has the perfect product for people too lazy to change the toilet paper roll. #NOBODYWANTSTHIS #LETTERMANPODCAST #RUSH #S…
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Signs Defne Kartal I don’t believe in signs but I do I beg for them daily, and when they arrive - A postcard, a dog, a friend, a group of musicians, a Canadian - i don’t do what I think they’re telling me to what are signs for? I don’t believe and I don’t know, I don’t know, so I don’t believe Instead, I conjure up an image of you Walking away thro…
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Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Nov 3 - Naked by Danielle Martin @cosquelle.mind on Instagram. DanielleM on Facebook. Her book, Kissing Shadows: Caribbean Love Poems, is out now. Nov 4 - Poetry Reading by Maggie Devers Nov 5 - Her Absence by Katrina Kaye @poetkatrinakaye on Instagram. You ca…
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A poem inspired by Emily Dickinson Dear death How can I stay when you, more than life, make me feel seen? They call you cruel, but I have seen the gentleness in your cruelty— the mercy in your ending, the way you unburden bones and hush the screaming thoughts no one else could hear. What if the ones who scream are not cruel, but trying to anchor me…
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Nightmares are dreams too Dimple Dinesh Lokhande In the midnight sky, as breeze passes by, In our sleep, we tend to fly, To a place where dreams seem to lie. Dreams whisper on clouds in silver light, We see in shining armor a knight, Who wields his sword and provides justice to what's right. Dreams are a picture of the future, some blurred, some cl…
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you wrote anyway Abhilasha Ghosh july 25th, 2025 you were told writing was a man’s terrain— ink too heavy, thought too sharp for your soft hands. so you wrote anyway. you became george eliot when mary ann wouldn’t be taken seriously. they admired your mind but never called it yours. you were the brontë sisters, signing as currer, ellis, and acton b…
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Her Absence Katrina Kaye I do not regret the days I spent loving you in her absence. I do not regret your tempered touches as you searched for her skin under my scales or the way your eyes reflected her sharp chin and freckled chest when they fell on my frame. I do not regret the fleeting space we created, morning gestures in the folds of sheet and…
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Poetry Reading Maggie Devers After Chelsie Diane This is a remembering When we come together And read our truth. We have been doing this forever. They have tried to stop us— Burnt us alive, tied rocks to our ankles and threw us in the river, locked us in cages. So many cages. But we didn't stop. We can never stop, We are right where we are. The aud…
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Send us a text Darin almost had a scare in the air! Find out what went wrong that caused him to spend 10 hours at the airport. Mike wants to stop people from doing stupid shit. Hear his detailed plan Plus the Johnny Carson centennial exhibit, unusual elevator encounters, rude waiters and the mystery of the missing microphone. We told our families t…
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Naked Danielle Martin Naked in the truth that she is alone she hugs herself tightly and succeeds in creating the illusion of wellness. Damp eyes close as jaded lips conjure up wide smiles. Damn! Her mind begins to do its own thing again. Briefly, she forgets, as she floats on a magic carpet of memories, smiling, as death did not steal everything af…
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Here’s your recap of this week’s poems plus one new poem to carry us into the week ahead. Oct 27 - i don't remember being small by Momena Khan @still.in.my.d4afts_ on Instagram. Oct 28 - What Are We by Laker Patience @laker.p_poet on Instagram. Her poetry anthology, Echoes of Colour, will be out soon. Oct 29 - Green Soup by Tabitha Dial @TabithaDia…
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I would peel pomegranates for you— Not just slice them open, but gently with my fingers stained red— I would learn its anatomy, the way they bruise and break if held too harshly, the way they hold memories in every seed. I would sit at the table, a bowl between us as I unraveled the fruit slowly— almost reverently. I’d gather the delicate pieces an…
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Coffin monologue: The non-rhyming rant poem Manasvita Sukthankar I love myself, but which one? Can I love the person that most hate? Does she deserve the ache in her chest? It feels like being trapped in a coffin alive, like death is leaning by the doorframe. If so, I'd like it to carry me home, and leave me on my bedroom floor to stay. Maybe I fee…
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The Spider Philippe Blenkiron "Is God a Spider?" I asked, "constantly weaving electron threads into spiraling elemental webs? His iron will, spun with a silk of liquid steel, torn by the slightest of whims? His tenacious tapestry resewn, a glistening embroidery of frosted jewelled fibrils?" "God scares me," you said, "In the corner of the room, obs…
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Green Soup Tabitha Dial (Halloween Night 2020) From a quiet keeping-space, I promise my motherghost to create meals and music. Even if from dry bones and tangled memories, my vow as I unstem kale and spinach, add it to the copperlined pot with green onion, cilantro, yukon golds and snap peas. Remember when I made your favorite soup last year? I car…
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What Are We Laker Patience What are we? is there even a we, or is it possibly just a you and a me, a concoction of delusion, desire, mismatched expectations with no actual communication. What are we? what is this? Because my soul can't keep skinny dipping in the misread signals of others, it can't! My heart can't keep bungee jumping off of platform…
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Send us a text On this episode, Mike's gas grill might have supernatural powers! Darin reveals his all time celebrity crush. And, we discuss the truth about Corn Flakes. Find out what they have to do with your intense, sexual urges. That's right... we said it. If you'd like to listen to uncensored segments of this podcast, go to our website and bec…
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