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Red Flag is so much more than just postcards!

We also publish digitally via the Poetry Express. This format gives us the freedom to publish work that may not fit on a postcard but still needs to be shared with the world.

On this page, you will find all of our past Poetry Express poems with information about their authors. If you like these poems and want to get even more poetry delivered directly to your mailbox, head over to our subscribe page and check out all the great releases in our store!

2/8/2024 Comments

Ellen June Wright: "At the Dodge Poetry Festival, Waterloo Village, c. 1994"

At the Dodge Poetry Festival, Waterloo Village, c. 1994

More than two decades now, I stepped out of
               the rain and into the cabin in Waterloo

and passed the crowd and speaker following
               my instinct to be warm and dry and found

behind a pony wall a bench, a hearth, and logs
               aflame. And there in front of the fire,


I heard a man begin to speak.
               His voice was seasoned with the accent

of the Southwest. I fell into the arms of a phantom
               who spoke of learning to read behind bars,

of trying to hold on to love with the only thing he had--
               his words. He spoke of gangs and other worlds

I had never known. He drew me to him,
               and whenever I open his books, I hear his downy

voice again asking me to remember the fire
               and the crackling logs, remember the need for warmth,

remember how sweet it was to fall by fire's light.


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Ellen June Wright’s poetry was most recently published in (or is forthcoming in) Plume, Tar River, Missouri Review, Verse Daily, Gulf Stream, Solstice, Louisiana Literature, Leon Literary Review, North American Review, Prelude, Gulf Coast and is forthcoming in the Cimarron Review. Her work was selected as The Missouri Review’s Poem of the Week for their website. She was featured in the article, Exceptional Prose Poetry From Around the Web: June 2021 by Jose Hernandez Diaz and she has received Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. She also hosts a weekly poetry workshop on Zoom for Black poets. Ellen can be found on Twitter and Instagram @EllenJuneWrites. 
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10/16/2023 Comments

Deryck N. Robertson: "Scraps"

Scraps
 
Torn pages from a blue Hilroy coil notebook
Litter the dusty corners of my mind.

Crumpled paper tumbleweeds blow
Through my consciousness
Every now and then.

A scent
A melody
Words scribbled neatly on a lined page.

Your name.

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Deryck N. Robertson lives and creates in Peterborough/Nogojiwanong, Ontario, where he is an elementary educator. Work has appeared with The Minison Project, Orchard Lea Press, Loft Books, and forthcoming with Vital Minutiae Quarterly. His first chapbook, All We Remember, was realeased by Alien Buddha Press in 2021. He is the EIC of Paddler Press and has a couple of songs on Spotify. When not writing, he can usually be found drinking maple roast coffee around a campfire or in the stern of his canoe in Algonquin Park. You can find him online @Canoe_Ideas, @PaddlerPress, and deryck.ca.
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7/10/2023 Comments

Ron McFarland: "Arachnophilia"

Arachnophilia
 
Miss Muffett, my wife opines, was no fool,
and if, as some scientists now say,
spiders dream, their much-loved nightmares
surely would frighten Georgia away.
 
Last night I dabbed pricey Clobetasol
to nine bites about her body: lower back,
inside left elbow, nape of her sweet neck,
six tiny blisters on her right forearm,
 
perhaps the sequential nips of a single
irked arachnid in search of some more suitable
nourishment—a common housefly, moth, or bee.
Why do they find Georgia so delectable?
 
Both of us had spent the past four days
scraping and painting our resurrected deck,
nurturing dreams of evening parties, wine,
soft music, occasionally enlightened talk,
 
not dreaming of whatever dark hunger drives
some spiders to dream of juicy human flesh.
And why, if these noiseless, patient spiders must
feast at times on the human beast, why not on me?

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Ron McFarland lives & writes in Moscow, Idaho. He's an emeritus professor of English at the University of Idaho, where he taught nearly 50 years. He also served a 2-year term as the state's first writer-in-residence in the mid 1980s. His most recent books are Professor McFarland in Reel Time: Poems & Prose of an Angler (2020) and Gary Soto: A Career in Poetry and Prose (2022).
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5/11/2023 Comments

Christy Wise: "A Biologist in Bliss"

A Biologist in Bliss
​
I met a plant biologist in Bliss, 
Idaho at the Cloud Nine Café. He cruised
the West in a rusty Chevy pickup. 
 
He subsisted in Bliss longer than wished. 
Truck’s transmission, trashed,
biologist, short on cash. 
 
Strange name for a town, he sniffed. 
Maybe then, it was blissful, I said.
I doubt it, he dissed. 
 
We kissed a bit; danced around 
a romance. I was passing through. 
 
Spent a couple days up to my chin 
in steaming water, then blitzed 
out of Bliss. 
 
I want to believe biologist 
broke free, found 
Rapture in Indiana. ​

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Christy Wise is a poet, essayist and author. Her chapbook, Tangible Terrain, will be published in March 2024. Her poem, Tony’s Cocoon, was a finalist in the 2022 Julia Darling Memorial Poetry Prize sponsored by Kallisto Gaia Press. A fourth-generation Californian, Christy is most at home walking along the Pacific Ocean or hiking in Desolation Wilderness. Stay connected with Christy’s work at www.christywise.com.
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4/5/2023 Comments

L Favicchia: "I never said my fingers weren't brittle"

I never said my fingers weren't brittle

coal-crusted and clasped to collar bone
smudged black and holy, or flaking
on the floor where my uncertain hem
sweeps ashes under itself as it holds onto
what it’s picked up before: old crimson leaves,
fishing wire, monkey paws already used,
beard stubble, buttons and thread, portraits
of people I don’t know, cranberries fresh
from the bog—my gilded lion-pawed feet
somewhere under there too, treading
bare or paw-footed, who can tell anymore?
This brittleness I carry as porcelain,
kiln-fired, spun for a long time, each
thumb-print still visible, no maker’s mark,
I hold it out in front of me on fine bone
china—an offering, though my tired quill-plucked
arms will only try so many times, 
will only wait so long—Earl Grey
cools off eventually and all that remains
is cold and bitter, florals 
that must be drunk warm.


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L Favicchia is a PhD candidate in creative writing at the University of Kansas. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in North American Review, Post Road, and Gulf Stream, among others. Their debut collection of poetry is forthcoming from Main Street Rag, and more information can be found at lfavicchia.com.
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7/19/2022 Comments

Jared Pearce: "She's grateful her neighbor's worse"

​She’s grateful her neighbor’s worse.
 
She was selling her
gold, her retirement
silver, to cash in
a car for her new job,
 
folding hotel towels.
Her divorce made her
weep, caught knowing
right and loneliness.
 
Without sleep
aids and only internet
men, she keeps
 
hovering for God
to swoop in, put
her feet to bed.

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Jared Pearce's books are Down Their Spears (Cyberwit, 2021) and The Annotated Murder of One (Aubade, 2018). Further: https://jaredpearcepoetry.weebly.com.
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4/26/2022 Comments

Laurie Held: "Questioning the Armadillo"

Questioning the Armadillo

​Houston July 1980
Humidity: 78%
Boyfriend: Studying to become a priest. 
Job: Telemarketing home repairs aka talking to lonely old folks 
and selling cowboy boots
Mother: 24-hr job running preschools


MTV debuts
Did video kill the radio star?

Weekend in Dallas, cleanest city in America
Do they scrub the buildings daily?


bright Yellow roses
red white and orange Zinnias
Pink Gerber daises
Blooming in the  Botanical garden
It’s just a diversion.


Revelations at the Jung institute
Who was I in a previous life?


Day trip to Refugio with my cousin
Mom’s boyfriend driving the van in the sideways soaker
Should you drive days after a circumcision?
Changing the station to hear Jefferson Starship Miracles
Already wanting another shower


Why does the armadillo cross the road?
Skidding off the road to avoid him
they sure as shoo fly  pie love highway 180
And legs up means they’re sleeping or dead


Curious mammal
Hard shelled for protection
Tiny beak like face
Shelled spine
Bird like paws
As common in Texas as a rooster in the hen house.

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Laurie S. Held is a lifelong writer and poet with an extensive background in advertising, marketing and website creation. In addition to online courses at Olli UC Berkeley, Laurie has participated in writing workshops through Stockton University, Sedona Writers Workshops, and the Santa Barbara writer's conference. She is the proud mom of two Berkeley Bears and a Corgi, and loves travel and new adventures. 
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4/1/2022 Comments

Larry Blazek: "In the Park"

IN THE PARK
 
several young ladies
carry a large cardboard
shipping container to
a lightly wooded area
they choose a flat
grassy clearing
they disassemble the box
creating a surface
on which to exercise
dance and otherwise
cavort
they laugh

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Larry Blazek lives in a tiny cottage on the side of a remote hill. He plays  his old guitar, gardens, and builds things. He has been published in Westerly, Channel Magazine, Shanghai Literary Review, and Sins of Coffee.
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8/23/2021 Comments

Sorry for the Delay

Much like everything in our lives lately, Red Flag's Poetry Express has experienced some delays. We, the editors, want to apologize for this and ensure you we want to continue publishing great poetry through this division of the Red Flag Poetry project. You can expect new Poetry Express poems following the conclusion of our next Fall open reading period. We can't wait!
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3/15/2021 Comments

Jordan Tyler Temchack: "regenerate"

regenerate
 
I want to grow antlers 
to lose in combat  learn patience 
and humility  attempt androgyny
like those boxes of memories
in the attic covered in decades 
of dust and bat guano  I need to clean
my ears  study the q-tip 
decide if there’s anything worth saving 
or if there’s only trashy thoughts 
repressed into wax-like sap
lacking maple’s sweetness  I want
to identify trees by the accents
of their whispers  know intimacy
like salamanders swim 
with new limbs or rainbow trout
taste shadows  crayfish don’t care
what you call them so long as 
they’re allowed to live purely 

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Jordan Tyler Temchack is a poet, folksinger, and illustrator. He lives with his wife and dogs in Central Pennsylvania, where they garden and wander around the Allegheny Mountains. His work can be found at Prime Number Magazine, Red Flag Poetry, Passengers Journal, and his website: https://jordantylertemchack.wordpress.com
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