Poetry

“Cures for the 1918 Flu,” by Kathryn Pratt Russell

Aug 20th, 2020 | By

Open the farmhouse windows in December. Pack the patient in ice. All nurses must wear fur coats.

Crank start the car. Get some medicine, any medicine, from the general store.

If the mother can’t breastfeed, give the baby coffee with sugar.



“Rated R,” by Chester Onion

Aug 20th, 2020 | By

Talking to you is like being
 trapped



Two Poems by Carla Sarett

Aug 20th, 2020 | By

In Vero Beach, the old gigolos wear plaid and khakis,
they drive SUVS, they recycle,
they say thank you and please,
really they are such nice guys
until the scam’s done.



“The Raving,” by Mary Cresswell

Apr 20th, 2020 | By

I let my midnight dreams explore
what I had never dared before–

some fowl what I did see before
reclining quaint as once of yore.



“Titillation,” by James W. Reynolds

Apr 20th, 2020 | By

This is a poem about my nipples.
I call it “Titillation” because that’s a pun
and people pretending to be poets
use puns as the illiterati use memes:
to prove how clever we are.
So prepare to be impressed.