Busy Busy and nonsense

Been a long time since I posted. Busy Busy Busy.

Click on the titles for more information, buy links and an excerpt.

I just finished revising The Golden Palace, the sequel to Soul Retrievers. Next stop, editing and a new cover. Suggestions for cover designs welcome.

I finally got my thriller, Mapping the Glades, out. E-book only until I can get the &%^($Mapping Glades thriller cover@ formatting right for the print edition.  Available at most e-book stores.

The Tommy Case mystery, Programed for Murder is now permanently Free. Prog for Murder

The sequel, Programed for Love, is now available, also. Programmed for Love cover1

The e-book edition of Soul Retrievers , a supernatural adventure to Helland back, was freeSoul Retv corrected- small awhile ago. If you missed it you can get it from Amazon only,  at the moment.

Down Home, a 29,000 word sci-fi vampire mystery is now available. It’s related to theDown Home New cover contemporary vampire thrillers – Blood Justice and Blood on the Water – as well as the historical (1650 France) Simone Gireaux origin stories – An Accidental Vampire, New Blood and Young Blood.

A couple nonsense poems in lieu of anything clever.

For Readers —

The Cave or Damsel in Distress Cleans the Mess

A cave in an asteroid, so dark and so deep.

Perhaps an alien’s own private keep?

What sort of secrets would it have down below?

Could it be something, we don’t want to know?

Maybe a woman snatched from a ship,

While the alien snacked on the crew, smacking it’s lip.

She could be waiting, we know not where,

Floating around lonely, in that space monster’s lair.

She might be wishing that we’d stay away.

Maybe it’s only waiting, for an entree.

Then it would eat her for a great new dessert.

So much better than, dirty old dirt.

Who’s to say how it might like to behave

Down in that deep dark terrible cave.

Cold and damp with green slimy walls

And nasty little creatures that slither the halls.

Mud that babbles and bubbles and burps,

That sucks you down slow, so that it hurts.

The air is so thin that you just cannot think,

Especially because, it really does stink.

There are big rocks and little rocks and rocks and more rocks

The rocks that aren’t round are rocks that are blocks.

The plants are all scraggly and ooze yellow pus.

If we were to visit, they’d try to eat us.

The bugs are hairy and hungry and swarm in a bunch,

Just flying around waiting for somebody for lunch.

All the creatures are ugly as ugly can be

And whenever possible have blood for their tea.

There are vapors and mists and dark yellow fogs

That would make someone think of storybook bogs.

The cave is so nasty and dismal and damp,

Not even Boy Scouts would think there to camp.

If help takes to long, to the damsel’s distress.

To break the monotony, she might clean up the mess.

It would take a long time, a century or two,

By that time she’d probably be too tough stew.

It could be so nice that she’d say to her friend,

“I think my dear alien, I’ll stay till end.”

And she and her alien could cruise on through space

And together they might raise, a whole brand new race.

they might raise, a whole brand new race.

For Writers–

Ode to a Manuscript

If I should die before the return of my manuscript,

Please bring those faded pages down to my crypt.

There I’ll hold them in my cold boney fingers

And inspect the red ink that still there lingers.

Then my ghost will slip the paper so light,

Onto a publishers desk late some night.

They’ll take those crumbling pages so late

And make a million for my great grandaughter’s estate.


Author: davidburtonwriting

David Burton is an American writer living in sunny Southern California. He traveled by motorcycle through Mexico, US, Canada and Alaska. From motorcycles he turned to the ocean, building and sailing his own boats to Mexico, Tahiti, Hawaii, and through the Panama Canal to Florida. He spent a lot of time reading while on the water, so he decided to write books he would have wanted to read at sea. Having swallowed the anchor he now mops floors and collects trash for money, writes for a living, and has become a (temporarily?) unrequited sailor.

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