Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 08/03/20

Burying the losses

Misty woods of rotting leaf to soil
The haze rises visibly from the stone
A hoot owl, wise and solemn, watches over
The burial of my only friend gone home

The chill sinks deeper into the bone
Blood gone sour and flowing slow
A breath exhaled in the fog is gone
In seconds before the moonlight glow

His body was rolled into the ground
It was all that we could do but pray
The thud of the drop the only sound
At the end of this long and dreary day

©2020 John Goodie All rights reserved.


John Goodie is a recovering programmer/analyst who found an affinity for words and began writing poems and short stories, returning to college for an English Degree and Tesol certificate to teach English to refugees and immigrants of the USA and the children and people of Spain. Now he seeks his master’s degree in English with a concentration in Multicultural and Transnational Literature.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/31/20

Preacher Man

Maybe I should be a preacher man,
I know I’ve got somebody’s spirit inside me
And I’ve got the accent somewhere in my throat

I don’t need a theology, or a theodicy,
Just the appearance of something burning
Inside the testimony of my heart

Credentials? Nonsense, no need
For them to begin building up my congregation,
I’ll tell them we’re the chosen people

With three-piece finery and dark sunglasses,
Mixed in with sermons about social justice,
I’ll get the loyalty of left and right

Some may say I’ll resemble someone
Else who tried the same shtick some years ago,
The mad man of Guyana, Jim Jones

That’s preposterous, there’s differences,
We must take into account, Jim Jones was evil
And he had no mustache

©2020 Ben Nardolilli All rights reserved.

new pic

Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at and is trying to publish a novel.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/29/20

First Time In Detox

My first time in detox,
the fear of stopping
drinking was worse
than the actual
stopping. At least
while you’re still in
detox, when they’re
filling you up with
diazepam, giving
you plenty of good,
healthy food. I have
put on a stone and
a half, at least, each
time I’ve been in
there. The worst
part of it is the first
class fucking dick
heads that are in
there with you.
Although, if anything
it helps you to want
to stay clean to keep
away from that type
of filth. Dirty, scummy
bastards without a
single redeeming
quality. But, yes it’s
pretty easy when
you’re locked up in
The hard part starts
when you get out.

©2020 Ian Lewis Copestick All rights reserved.


Ian Lewis Copestick is a 47-year-old writer from Stoke on Trent England. Although he started writing poetry in 2001, he only started sending them out for publication 8 months ago. In this time he has had over 100 poems and 5 short stories published. He is featured in print anthologies by Alien Buddha Press and Horror Sleaze Trash. His first book Detritus Of The Drunken Night was published by Cajun Mutt Press on April 2, 2019.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/27/20


Iridescent silken strands
intricately woven disband
For again and again
the spider will spin
Until her web of
The deadly
trap of

©2020 Lynn Long All rights reserved.

Screenshot 2020-07-27 at 1.38.17 PM

Lynn Long
Poet, writer, dreamer
Believer in the impossible…
Residing somewhere in time

Artist at
With published pieces in the following
online publications

Published Author

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 07/24/20

Mambo’s Blues

Sad Spanish strains
Night street

All dissent quiet
Church mice sleeping
Humans creeping through
Petrified forests

Papers walk you around
Papers to walk the dog
Police looting city blocks

Wayward masks soaking
Godforsaken puddles
Gloves, skeleton mud runners

Kisses, canned peaches on
Weathered shelves
Embraces holding
Magic clock-strike twelves

Poets creak, pastors preach
The abandoned plunging
hollow promise streams

With great introspection
Masses ponder the great dissection

Easter bunnies screw in tournesol sheds
The bum rap meds, no one to touch his hand

Lab rats grin as the mother
of all vaccines warms to the
Resounding orchestral death march

We stay together Keep our love
Hide in the never heard of

Knit our threads, bake our breads
Sing our songs, read Walt all night long
Nurses, doctor helping hands
Stave off the storm with clothespins

Nature heals, as the wheels roll off the highway
Rest like tires in wilted roadside graveyards

©2020 Michael D. Amitin All rights reserved.


Poet and musician Michael D. Amitin, gravelled the roads of the American West from California- east through the smoky burgs and train depot diners of Western Colorado where he lived before moving to Paris, France.
Amitin’s poems have been published in Poetry Pacific, California Quarterly, and others.
A current collaboration with Parisian photographer Julie Peiffer has given rise to the “Riverlights” project.