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My new facebook page featuring poetry and novels and?

         Phrenology

Time passes like molasses

Until we encounter morasses

That last and like the speed

Of light, time passes and we

Wish it was like molasses again

So we wouldn’t see the lines appear

And the gray hairs that fall out exposing

Us to phrenological thinking that shows

The shapes of our heads shows our brain

Has twenty-seven parts laboring with religiosity

Combating functionality practicality utilities

And images and color of heaven and hell

Where time is never a factor and molasses

Or morasses are not feared by any of

Twenty-seven lumps that shape our heads

Our thoughts, our emotions our sense of touch

Along with the way we see the world which

Isn’t the same for you and me or any two who

Have twenty-seven lumps and bumps that

Any phrenologist can measure them to see who

                      We really are

NANOWRIMO AWARD

Winner

(No title)

All Things Must Die

You have a soul you know.

 I agree and say, I have two, not one

 and point to the bottom of my shoes.

Not those soles you fool echoes intimately inside my skull.

A fist grips my heart and the beat suddenly stops.

Now that you’re dead, you can see where your soul resides

echoes throughout my corpse with a still functioning brain.

 I know, but why do I have to go long before I want,

and when I do, where will I go?

Is there really pie in the sky?

It has been said, life is better after death, but I want to live

while I’m alive, to put ice cream on my pie and have one

more chance to have sex.

I search through all my body parts, but there is no soul

to be found. I’m a soulless man,” I cry to the skies above.

When you don’t believe in me, that’s the price you pay, the

crashing voice resonates throughout my dead body, causing it

to move.

Unfair, unfair, my lifeless form declares.

Tell me which God you are? Are you Achtland, the Celtic

Goddess of wanton love?”

Love is a word falsely attributed to me. If I loved, would your

world be such a mess?” the voice assumed I understood.

Tell me then, are you Xtabay, the Mayan Goddess of Seduction

without love in your heart?

Or are you an evil being who made me and the rest of humanity so

you’d have someone with whom to play?”

For a soulless man you should be begging for clemency instead

of questioning me.

You must be the Son of perdition,” I exclaim. The antichrist,

the deceiver, chief of demons, Beelzebub, the father of lies.

Laughter shook the entire sky and I got a preview of my soul being

carried away by birds of prey. Wait! I cry, I see my soul.

Laughter shook the sky and the Earth. Too late my boy,

it’s gone now and will never return. You’re doomed to the

bottomless pit for eternity since you didn’t know my name.

One more chance, I cry and see dark clouds fluctuating

throughout the darkening sky, merging into an image of a

terrifying old man with an unpleasant face.

The mouth made of clouds opens and releases crashing thunder

clearing all other clouds from the sky. You’ll never have another

chance, I’ll see to that, booms round the heavens.

I gather all the electro-mechanical energy within my brain’s

limbic system and send it to my amygdala to project my

thoughts onto the only cloud left in the sky, causing it to burst.

Screams fill the air as my mental powers disintegrate the God

who has made me and all others.

He should have known, because he made the rule, all things must die

****

Any one who believes in the death penalty, watch this

If this isn’t cruel and unusual punishment, I don’t know what is

Poor Butterfly

As soon as you have cum, my thoughts come around like a butterfly in a twister.

I think you’re pink and when I look again, you ain’t there. Where did you go?

Did you ever flow? Were you ever here? or near? I think so, but don’t really know,

because my thoughts come sudden and swift, and spin around like the unfortunate

butterfly that’s blown around and around in a circle, like a circus clown caught in the wind.

Will I ever know if winds are blowing from left to right or right to left?

The butterfly looks for a cure, but is like a bear lost in the woods, or like my brain,

that doesn’t know which way it’s going, up, down, or around, around, and around until,

silly as it sounds, it sails away, going the wrong way to a town that was never there.

Is it okay that only my thoughts think circular or am I dizzy enough to fly like that skimpy butterfly?

If you say so, I’ll believe I’m going the right way, toward the light, but what if I’m not, will I die?

If I do, will you tell me which way to go, up, down, or around. Should I follow the butterfly that blows

with the wind, or does it ride the wind to butterfly heaven? If so, that’s where I want to go.

You’ll never know, but I will, if I follow the Butterfly all the way.

I sure hope this AI is eventually used in courtrooms!

(No title)

DiBuduo is the author of a nonfiction book, “A Penis Manologue: One Man’s Response to the Vagina Monologues,” and two volumes of his signature “flash-fiction poetry,” as well as several collections of short stories. Cryonic Man a paranormal romance novel was published in 2015. Crime A Day was Published November of 2015, and Story Time @ The Chicagoua Cafe was published June 2016.
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase

His short fiction and poetry also appear in anthologies, online journals, and recently, in Weekend Reads, a collection appropriately subtitled “Twisted Stories, Twisted Mind!”

He also has a collaborative collection of connected fantasy stories with author Kate Robinson.
He’s putting the finishing touches on The Mountain will cover you, a novel about aliens, witches, and Gods.
Read more about DiBuduo and his interests at joedibuduo.com.


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new post for my poetry book

My fictional reading is heavily weighted toward science-fiction. I generally try to avoid poetry, but this said it was about science fiction. It wasn’t very expensive, so I thought I’d give it a shot. I’ve read some of this author’s previous work and I was able to see how the writing has matured since then. These poems are more like micro stories; flash fiction of the sci-fi genre, if you will. They read fast and are great to read for a couple of minute breaks throughout the day. Some of the poems were funny, and some were touching. Space was a huge theme (duh) and the technical jargon did not overrun or dilute the writing, IMO. It’s definitely worth checking out.

sfireader 5.0 out of 5 starsUnexpected!!!

November

Sometimes I’ll play Russian Roulette and just choose a random read since I’m such a creature of habit in my reading pickings. Out of This World Sci-Fi Poetry is what I selected. I was a bit skeptical at first because I have never been fond of poetry but since its’ content was sci-fi, I thought I’d give it a chance. I’m glad I did! I’ve never read poetry of this genre before. It is nothing like the stereo-typical poetry I was forced to read through college. I give the author a thumbs up for this one!

 

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