Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 06/02/23

Misericordia. Monday blue lightning flash on the freckled limbs of the
sycamore tree. The silver kicking colt in the breech position. Ryukyu
dye patterns in the indigo skies of her eyes. The axial tilt of a
mother’s loneliness. Raisins up both nostrils. Monday airborne rubber
elephants. Samadhi of giants beckoning. Brown bones of saints.
Learning to ignore all random effects. Monday Monday Monday.

back-to-back life sentences

flossing the bars

grass characters in the wind

(earthquake) Jiang Qing let her green canaries out of their cage. No
Murasaki grass to land on. To communicate across centuries and
imaginary biological divides, I’ll need a Goliath-sized block of
Carrara marble. The odds-on favorite 9 foot one (according to the
Masoretic text): all this before we can talk about how slingshot-David
kayoed him. THIS IS YOUR LIFE, and all the way from Clifton Heights,
Fast Eddie gallops naked at night, straitjackets marry soggy bones,
and always there is the embezzlement of space-time. The sponsors
insist on sacred OMISSIONS of uncomfortable history. Ralph Edwards
isn’t telling. All of us coming from somewhere else, powered by Madame
Mitochondria. I only want to endure the Roman sulfur mines of Sicily
like Anthony Quinn in Barabbas or sit with Legerkvist in the Swedish
sun. Do they have the symbol for MAYBE painted on the walls of the
Lascaux Cave? Maybe a cat on a window sill.

nose in a new Saturday morning sneaker

boiling tar, mustard and chlorine

I didn’t cross the Delaware, I guzzled it

It was a staring contest with a Damson flower. A smudge of coffee
grounds on one knuckle. Heavy metals. Maybe the lasered ablation of
memory. The $64,000 Question. Teilhard de Chardin dressed as a dusty,
excavating basketball coach. Alphabetical mnemonic devices recalling
the Suez Canal, but where, I interrupted, and when, were the gondolas
of Mars? Moving at secret tachyon speeds. I went back, back to what
never and always happened. The Titanic didn’t sink. The bullet never
left the chamber. The wart wasn’t on the chin. I made my confirmation.
The price tag peeled from my heel. My sister danced in uniform on
American Bandstand. Mom dated Buddy Greco. We landed on the butter
islands of dad’s oyster stew. He crunched Trenton Crackers and
devoured the salt-water bivalves of perfect balance. And did he not
explain the Golgi apparatus to his flat-in-the-back illiterate boys?

Duh! caused Biblical hemorrhaging in the last row

only to be enveloped by the flowing blue stingrays

of holy myroblytes

©2023 Patrick Sweeney All rights reserved.

Patrick Sweeney

Patrick Sweeney is a writer of short form poetry, who delights in jotting down the insignificant thoughts and images that constitute the lowly, livelong day.

CMP Featured Writers, June 2023

Invasion of the June beetles!! Opened the door last night and they were all over the place, clinging to the screen; crawling on the porch rail; flying around the light. Crazy how they show up right on time seemingly out of nowhere every year. I’ve seen a few here and there over the past week or so, but last night, they were having a party on the porch! Nature is a trip.

Below you’ll find the June featured writers. I’m always open for submissions! If you’d like to send some work, email 1-3 poems to with a bio and author photo.

Cajun Mutt Press has released five books so far in 2023! Shooting Myself in the Dark by Carrie Magness Radna, After the Fall by William Teets, Holding the Door for Barbarians by Mark Berriman, Tales From The Rotten Land by Efe Tusder, and our latest release was destructive paradox slips on banana peel by Joshua Martin. You can find them and a list of all other CMP titles by following this link:

Keep your eyes peeled for Written Under Duress by John Tustin on June 13th!! I reworked the cover, so I’ll have a new cover reveal for y’all over the weekend and more details about the book as well.

Stay tuned for updates, and keep kicking ass out there! My biggest joy is helping people get their words out to the world. Cajun Mutt Press wouldn’t exist without writers & readers.

Love Y’all, Write On,

CMP Featured Writers, June 2023

3 Semagrams
by Patrick Sweeney

The first thing I learned from boxing
by Matt Borczon

by Bradford Middleton

by Jacob R. Moses

by C. Cimmone

Meditātiōnēs ēvellentia mala
by Douglas Colston

The Radar
by Allan Lake

by Shane Allison

by Jacklyn Henry

Master Or Servant
by Lynn White

by Damon Hubbs

Midlife and Exit Seeking
by David Alec Knight

by Jasna Gulic

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/31/23

Sticking It to the Man

“This thing couldn’t have fallen apart faster if you’d bought it at Ikea.”
– Mick Herron, Slow Horses

An intransitive verb meaning an act
of civil disobedience to protest 
the capitalist establishment:
Chris, Ken and I decided
to “stick it to the man.”
Also, poor college students,
we could use the extra dollar 
for more worthwhile purposes.

Not that it was a “plan,”
more like a spur-of-the-moment decision:
having drunk our cups of weak coffee
in the booth at Lum’s,
high on the joints we’d smoked earlier,
the Stones’ “Street Fighting Man”
coming tinnily out of the jukebox,
we walked out into the winter night
without paying for our purchase,
bold as banditos, feeling righteous,
a blow against the oppressors.

A block away, having already forgotten our deed,
the manager surprised us, his own righteousness 
seething like a steaming coffee urn,
suddenly looming into view,
blocking our path, threatening to call the cops.

Above all we didn’t want to cave,
but we’d been busted, for sure,
mumbled something about temporary forgetfulness,
handed over the cash,
trying to tell ourselves 
we hadn’t done something stupid.
We were just the oppressed proletariat.

©2023 Charles Rammelkamp All rights reserved.

Charles Rammelkamp

Charles Rammelkamp is Prose Editor for BrickHouse Books in Baltimore. Two full-length collections were published in 2020, Catastroika, from Apprentice House, and Ugler Lee from Kelsay Books. A poetry chapbook, Mortal Coil, has just been published by Clare Songbirds Publishing.

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/29/23

Tony Danza Sucks

I just realized
Tony Micelli from Who’s the Boss?
is just a bad Arthur Fonzarelli

Tony Danza sucks,
I think to myself.

The old Redpath sugar silo
a few streets away
sitting oddly stoic just
after midnight.

Next Table Over

I’ll have the sea fish.

Sea fish!
the woman leans in to loud whisper
after the waiter leaves.
Don’t you mean seafood?

The man says nothing
He is dressed nice enough.

You’ve been into the edibles again,
haven’t you?

the woman says accusingly.

The man stares back blankly.
Forgetting to blink.

Jesus Christ!
the woman runs her hand through her hair,
covers her face.
So embarrassing!
she hisses under her breath.

Do Not Feed the Bears

It is tough going
being a tweeker in the North.

Stoned out of your head
and staggering around the streets
at 10 in the evening.

Your judgement shot.
Running up to pet the bears
coming down the street the other way.

A momma and her two cubs.
And momma rips your face off.

The cubs get to enjoy
possibly their first meal
after a winter.

Leaving the rest
in the middle of the street
for the morning work crowd
to discover.

©2023 Ryan Quinn Flanagan All rights reserved.


Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Cajun Mutt Press, Dumpster Fire Press, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

Victory Slab was released last year by Cajun Mutt Press

Cajun Mutt Press Featured Writer 05/26/23

Blues Man

Brother Ron is a natural blues man.
He’s a whitey with a midnight soul.
His passionate guitar playin’ reflects
The hard and cold suffering of our lives.
It makes you so sad that you feel good
That things aren’t worse than they are.
Ron knows misery. Misery’s like glue.
Misery done followed him like a dog.
Can’t shake Misery. It’s always there.
Like a skinny bone-thin hungry stray.
Holler “Get!”, chase it, throw rocks.
Still misery comes back, licks your hand.
Good times are few but those you have
Lift you up and sooth the tortured heart.
Knocked down, you get up, that’s just life.
Ron plays and sings songs of harsh reality.
Some things are bad, some not so bad.
Being created equal truly stops at birth.
Life isn’t fair but learn the game and win.
Strum those strings praising your mother.
Her tender love for you is worth the song,
A song happy but sad since she’s now gone.

©2023 Daniel S.Irwin All rights reserved.

Daniel S. Irwin

Daniel S. Irwin was born, raised, and is back in town at Sparta, Illinois. His card reads: Artist, Actor, Writer, Soldier, Scholar, Priest. He has won awards for his art, acting (over 100 films and 30+ stage productions), writing (nine books and work published in over one hundred magazines and journals world-wide), retired military (Air Force and Army), graduate of Southern Illinois University/Carbondale and has attended four other universities), and is an ordained Dudeist priest with a Ph.D. in Divinity (not bad for a heathen). Once worked as a medic in an institution for the criminally insane…but didn’t notice anything strange about the inmates. Latest on-line work can be found on Horror, Sleaze, Trash Magazine and Beatnik Cowboy. He would love to move back to Europe but fears the plague.