Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 10/15/21

Today I Saw My Other Self

The self
who had abandoned me
while I was trying to split
myself open
and separate
my head from my soul
because the head is smart
but the soul longs for a thing
that the head cannot provide

I wanted the sweet smelling pick tails
the shiny patent Maryjane’s
I didn’t want to walk around dirty
(meaning unwashed and unclean)
I wanted good teeth
a good guy
good job
all of this was my soul

Time blossomed
my boobs and ass
(my head remained unchanged)
while the self that I attempted so many times
to disconnect with
became a raging fire

My sad soul
meek and tired of listening
to wild rants
settled down into the dirt
that it formed from

©2021 Donna Dallas All rights reserved.

Donna Dallas

Donna Dallas studied Creative Writing and Philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to study under William Packard, founder and editor of the New York Quarterly. Lately, her work can be found in Horror Sleaze Trash, Beatnik Cowboy and Zombie Logic among many other publications. She recently published a novel, Death Sisters, with Alien Buddha Press. She also currently serves on the editorial team for Red Fez.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 10/13/21

Cold Open Window

Those invincible jackets, saviour of the universe
Cracking salted jokes on the idle, aside
The circular references catching the burn
Spoiling one’s duty through a comatose breeze
Behaving strangely on ordinary time.

Embarrassed for a spell, reaping the hurricane
Feeling entitled for want of a better stance
Being honest at a cost, secrets gone explosive
The anaesthetic of television wherever seen
Watered, left to dry, too advanced for some.

Higher hair, closer to God. Wishing to be used
The bizarre record sleeves go forth infinitely
Closer to a saviour to pick up and go.
Seated outside to scrag the multitudes medicine
Sucking carbohydrates through a napkin dearly.

The convenient public, surveying more than necessary
Given ultimate shocks catching in full view,
Burning entitlement where most gone before
Lapping up design under a broken sign
Sleeping until Christmas a favourite pastime.

Drizzled into a cul-de-sac, turned around spite,
Working into cemeteries a typical forthcoming
Never giving up on beloveds, laughed at,
Seated and entertained like always before
The glorious hypocrisy of staying sane.

©2021 Patricia Walsh All rights reserved.

Patricia Walsh

Patricia Walsh was born in the parish of Mourneabbey, in north Co Cork,and educated at University College Cork, graduating with an MA in Archaeology in 2000. Her poetry has been published in Stony Thursday; Southword; Too Well Away Journal; New Wasteland Magazine; Quail Bell Magazine; The Poetry Collective; Quiver Review; Blazevox Magazine; and The Rational Creature. She has already published a chapbook, titled Continuity Errors in 2010, and a novel, The Quest for Lost Éire, in 2014. She was the featured poet in the inaugural edition of Fishbowl Magazine, and a further novel, In The Days of Ford Cortina will be published in late 2021.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 10/11/21

Another fight in the street, who’s winning?

I slip out the side door of the bar.
Into a slurry less than grand commotion.

Having arrived mid-punch.
Missing all the silly foreplay.

Another fight in the street, who’s winning?
A raft of loudmouths gathered round.
All sold on the loud cluck.

The veiny one on steroids getting the better
of his shorter, less veiny steroid friend.

The girls on the walk screeching for fresh blood.
With their phones out so that I have to push past.

Then a fight between a couple of the girls
breaks out.

They don’t call this the entertainment district
for nothing.

©2021 Ryan Quinn Flanagan All rights reserved.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Cajun Mutt Press, Outlaw Poetry Network, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 10/08/21

HALFWAY CRAZY

She was halfway crazy
and he filled in the gaps,
being crazy the rest of the way.

They had the biggest trailer
in the trailer park –
the first one on the left –
and were rarely seen leaving the premises.
Empty beer cans littered their balding lawn
and no one dared to complain
because they knew
she was halfway crazy
and he was crazy the rest of the way.
When they first moved in
the neighbors found out
little by little
that it was best to leave them alone.

He talked to himself
and she spoke to no one but him –
doing so monotonously and endlessly.
He didn’t seem to listen;
he was listening to voices that weren’t there.
They had no kids
and no one came to visit them
but they had a cat
and when the cat died
it became just them in the trailer –
he mumbled to himself
and she never stopped
her torrent of complaints,
gossip, recitations of lists,
other things he had to hear
but to which he did not listen.

When the ambulance came
to take him to the hospital
no one knew why and no one asked her,
who stayed behind
and was rarely again seen
coming out of the trailer.
She watched the ambulance drive off
and then stood on the balding lawn
staring off at the part of the road
where the ambulance’s lights
blinked out of sight.

He never came back
and other than being seen occasionally
hobbling along with bags of groceries,
she didn’t even exist
for her neighbors in the trailer park.
She had no one to talk to anymore.
Sounds no longer came
from the biggest trailer in the park –
the first one on the left
as you come in.

It wasn’t long,
maybe a year or a year-and-a-half
since the ambulance came and left,
that no one saw or heard her at all.
It was a while before someone became emboldened
and knocked on the trailer door
of the woman now alone
and known as halfway crazy.
There was no answer.
The authorities were called
and when the police got permission
to break down the door
the stench that pushed out at them
brought them to their knees
and they had to hold back their vomit.

She was halfway crazy
and he filled in the gaps,
being crazy the rest of the way
in the biggest trailer in the trailer park –
the first one on the left as you come in
off of 707 –
and now they’ve both left for good.
No one ever spoke to them
but everyone’s noticed that they’re gone.

©2021 John Tustin All rights reserved.

John Tustin

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 10/06/21

Just Take It Easy, I’m Here To Help

Just take it easy, I’m here to help
Your eyes gifting sight, I’ll carve those out
Your cries go hoarse, and soon sound dim

Your feet that trekked, and took you far
From womb to grave, I’ll chop those off
Just take it easy, I’m here to help

And then your hands, that built that house
Through constant work, I’ll grind them down
Your pointless screams, will soon go hoarse

For that brave heart, which saw you through
Times that wore, I’ll dig that out
Just take it easy, I’m here to help

That brain of yours, that figured out
The best way forward, I’ll dice that up
Your shouts and pleas, will soon sound dim

There’s no other way, for you to ascend
Your voice now hoarse, will soon sound dim
Just take it easy, I’m here to help

©2021 Todd Sullivan All rights reserved.

Todd Sullivan

Todd Sullivan currently lives in Taipei, Taiwan, where he teaches English as a Second Language. He has had more than two dozen short stories, poems, and novelettes published across five countries. He currently has two book series through indie publishers in America. He wrote for a local web and play series in Taipei in 2020. He hosts a YouTube Channel that interviews writers across the publishing spectrum.