Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 04/28/21

Omens

Sorting through an unmarried aunt’s things after she passed away, I started to see how unimportant everything is. One talkative lawyer attracted others like him. A sculptor carved the scene on a granite gravestone. Shortly afterwards, I moved to Florida to escape winter. I slippe in without the dogs going crazy. Life there felt a lot like life elsewhere – hours of boredom punctuated by moments of terror. If you listened, you could hear somber water flowing. I sat on the bed listening until my clothes were just rags.

Me and the Village

The village was built mainly of wood. It was always burning down. I hadn’t felt safe there for a long, long time. Now the landlord had sold my few sticks of furniture while I was out getting mugged. I rolled my coat into a ball just to have a place to sit. My options were pitifully limited: run, hide, or drink. I stared across the room at the empty space on the wall where a framed print (Chagall’s “The Birthday”) used to hang. The emptiness glowed in the growing gloom like a nightingale with a toothache.

Plans for Departure

This feels like the worst place one could possibly be. I’m leaving for. . . I don’t know where. Somewhere bodies behave simultaneously as particle and wave. You can come. There won’t be roads and bridges made of spider silk or lakes whose colors pulsate to the iridescent dreams of sleeping fish, but only you and me and empty space that longs to be touched.

©2021 Howie Good All rights reserved.

Howie Good

Howie Good is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including Stick Figure Opera (Cajun Mutt Press), The Death Row Shuffle (Finishing Line Press), The Trouble with Being Born (Ethel Micro Press), and Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing).

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 04/12/21

The Gargoyle Yawns

The fogwalker searches for clues in the moist darkness of early morning, the mist feels its way through empty alleys and vacant lots, cautious footsteps crackle from the gravel pathway lined with broken glass and dry leaves, evidence the Autumn Equinox has smothered the last breath of summer.

Gangways between decaying brick buildings echo from dogs sounding an alarm with menacing Baskerville howls and barks, a garden of flickering street lights blossom under the black canopy of darkness, twilight flowers reaching for a lazy moon with the dim enthusiasm of jaundice fluorescence.

The Diogenestic odyssey by the twilight straggler is an exercise clothed in failure, honesty dressed in shabby clothes is disguised as a fictitious conviction, this quality that measures the value of character is a virtue that few possess and is rarely practiced, who does this best policy of honesty benefit, is it the one divulging the truth or the recipient of honesty, the best part of this said truth are the lies.

Standing at the edge of night peering over the ledge into dawn the Gargoyle yawns.

©2021 Judge Santiago Burdon All rights reserved.

J.S.B.

On an unseasonably cool July morning in Chicago, equivalent to David Copperfield, Judge Santiago Burdon was born on a Friday. The Bronte sisters, Keats, Burns and Dickens inspired his study of English Literature. He attended Universities in the United States, London and Paris focusing his studies on Victorian novels and authors.

His short stories and poems have been featured in a variety of magazines, on-line zines and podcasts; The Remnant Leaf, Stay Weird and Keep Writing, The Dope Fiend Daily, Independent Writer’s Blog, Spillwords, The Beatnik Cowboy, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Eskimo Pie, The Stray Branch, Anti-Heroin Chic, Raven Cage, Horror Sleaze Trash, Across The Margin, The Story Pub as well as numerous Anthologies.

His book Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild Cautionary Tales was published January 2020 by HST Publishing.

His book of poems Not Real Poetry is expected to be released early 2021. He is presently engaged in finishing his novel Imitation of Myself. A non-fiction story detailing his experiences as a drug runner for a Mexican Cartel. Judge celebrated his 65th birthday last July and lives modestly in Costa Rica.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 04/05/21

Time and Life to Death

Filth, they call it ubiquitous; obnoxious, on the streets, in heaps, in lanes, scattered. Life goes daily, usually on, oblivious of filth, or death, goes on with ease. Unfettered feet, undaunted – of pilgrims, of people, with purpose, or strollers, the timeless lanes, narrow, space ample for all who come, who live and die there. Disgusting, the filth, reflected sometimes, on faces. Cow dung, house waste, refuse and grime, scattered, removed, then scattered again, repeat performance, seen and felt on skin, in nose, on feet through eyes. Yet feet go on, undaunted, eternally, as time and life run to death, from flesh to fire to ashes.

©2021 Rajnish Mishra All rights reserved.

Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India and now in exile from his city. His work originates at the point of intersection between his psyche and his city. He edits PPP Ezine and writes at https://rajnishmishravns.wordpress.com/

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 03/10/21

Happy Human

There’s always been a bit of a rift between my roommate, Jeff, and I, starting with the fact that he was an opiate Rx abuser, and I was a heroin junkie.

His parents were notable members of The Human Potential Movement during the sixties, so they love condescendingly asking in their New York Jewish accent while gazing into my Anglo-Saxon eyes with disdain, “So, C.J., are you looking forward to celebrating Christmas and Easter this year?”

It’s no surprise that Ben, Jeff’s father, went into psychology, from all the pain they endured with him.

I’m sure they dream of a transhumanism future where children’s alleles are altered to suppress suffering. Although, when my dog died, they were salivating like Pavlov and behaving like B.F. when they told my roommate that they were glad she’s gone.

Nevertheless, I text them whenever their K-9 has a substantial stomach ache.

©2021 Charles J. March III All rights reserved.

Charles J. March III is an asexual, neurodivergent Navy hospital corpsman veteran who is currently trying to live an eclectic life with an interesting array of recovering creatures in Orange County, CA. His various works have appeared in or are forthcoming from Evergreen Review, Atlas Obscura, Litro, Chicago Tribune, L.A. Times, Lalitamba, 3:AM Magazine, Ink Sweat & Tears, Fleas on the Dog, Dink Press/Problématique, Queen Mob’s Teahouse, The Recusant, Taco Bell Quarterly, Storm Cellar, Terror House Press, Harbinger Asylum, Madness Muse Press, Maudlin House, Misery Tourism, BlazeVOX, Blood Tree Literature (prize), The Babel Tower Notice Board, Bareknuckle Poet, Anti-Heroin Chic, Synchronized Chaos, The Beatnik Cowboy, Points in Case, Expat Press, Stinkwaves, Young Ravens Literary Review, The Writing Disorder, Literary Orphans, Otoliths, Oddball Magazine, et al. Links to his pieces can be found on LinkedIn and SoundCloud.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 02/22/21

Suitcase

My heart raced as I waited for you on the corner. The breeze picked up the edges of my new dress as it danced with glee. But it, as I, soon wilted under the unforgiving sun. As dark swallowed the day, I fell asleep on top of the suitcase your assistant sent.

I counted the minutes until our next meeting and again, I looked for your car to emerge from the horizon. Another night fell on your broken promise. Flowers and a familiar apology arrived a week later. The card read, “Let’s try again next year.”

Twenty-three expired birthdays have evaporated the small amount of trust I had in you. The suitcase, like my faith, was thrown into the dank corners of the attic.

You said you’d come for me. You never did.

Your new wife contacted me last week and informed me you have cancer. She said you wouldn’t make it to your next birthday. She wanted me to know how much you wanted to see me again.

I stood on the corner, waiting for the cab to take me to the airport. I looked down at the pink suitcase that will finally take its long-awaited trip.

©2021 Yong Takahashi All rights reserved.

Yong Takahashi won the Chattahoochee Valley Writers National Short Story Contest and the Writer’s Digest’s Write It Your Way Contest. She was a finalist in The Restless Books Prize for New Immigrant Writing, Southern Fried Karma Novel Contest, Gemini Magazine Short Story Contest, and Georgia Writers Association Flash Fiction Contest. She was awarded Best Pitch at the Atlanta Writers Club Conference.

The Escape to Candyland, a short story collection, was published in 2020.
To learn more about Yong, visit: yctwriter.com
All social media @yctwriter