Wednesday, September 30, 2009



Twila was born in the mountains of Virginia under a full moon “That’s when all the lunatics came out,” her grandmother said.


Maybe that’s why Twila set out to do things no one else could do.


Like the time she decided to roller skate to the White House and ask the President to stop all war; she made it five miles and then the sidewalk ran out . . . so she thought she’d go home and watch The Cosby show, instead.


On her fifteenth birthday she recruited six of her friends to help save the world from hunger; if they collected five hundred dollars the purchase of rice and beans could feed the impoverished.

Realizing these people would need fire and water, her plans changed to handing out bread and peanut butter where the local homeless gathered.


No one was surprised on the day after graduation—when Twila joined the Army to make new friends in Iraq .


Jeanette is a charter member of the Hampton Roads Writers.

A veteran member of many online writing sites and E-Zine’s.

Six Sentence Blog site and E-Zine. A semifinalist; in the Mixed Drinks contest and published two Six Sentence Magazines of Six Sixes and in their newly released book Volume Two.

Published on: Smith Magazine and in two of their memoir books.

Three of these books have been on the New York Times best sellers list.

Twice published on The Verb’s Chalkboard, and a Semifinalist in the Verb’s Dynamic Dialogue contest, Helium--Premier Writer Status andMarketplace Writer, Gather, Doorknobs and Body Paint, Edit Red, Pen Pricks, Thrillers Killers ‘N’ Chillers, One Sentence, Robert Swartword and Verbsap winner of the best title contest, Word Salad Haiku and poem. Pen Ten Scribes and Forthcoming: Harbinger*33.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Made in Heaven

 "C'mon, Slim, how you 'spect to git a woman 'less'n ya' c'n talk 'em up?"


"I don' got no words f'r that sort o'thing, Vern."


"Y'noe Slim, if'n yer Ma wuzn't my Pa's sister, I'd swear we wuzn't related at all!'


It seems as though Slim had been trying since puberty to get "Big Betty", the last available semblance of a woman in town, to marry him, without success, and so, had appealed to "Lil' Cuz Vern" for help.


"Now, ya' gotta' tell'er things like, 'Yer beauty cud dam' near stop the hands o' time!'"


"Don' knoe, Vern, las' time I talk' at 'er she got mad as a wildcat whut stepped on a hot poker, an' dam' near broke my arm!


You have to keep in mind that Slim was as strong as an ox and about half as smart, in words as kind as can be said, he was 'not the brightest bulb in the box'.


"Listen, ya' gotta git down'n one knee, hol' up that wooden ring ya' made, an' tell 'er wut I tol'ya to, 'n' y'll be fine.


Well, Slim met with the, ahem, "beautiful Big Betty" the very next day, and upon his return was met by Vern and a few others, a return notably marked by a blackened eye, fat lip. bloody ear, and this time a broken arm, prompting the question, "Damn Slim, wut the Hell'dya' do to 'er?"


I jus' tol' 'er wut ye said, "…that she had a face that could stop an eight day clock!", an' then the lights went out!



Jim Hunkele: From a family heritage of writers, I decided that such was not for me.  I went on my merry way, experiencing one sort of job after another.  I'd learn a job, get bored, and move on.  I've worked in the Richmond , VA foundry, operated a nuclear reactor in the North Ana plant, and everything in between.  In my late 40's, I became an Immigration Officer, where I got to interview others about their jobs.  Since, after 30 years, I'd gleaned so much from so many different positions, I felt I had finally found my niche.  While my stories relate to current life events, I plan to begin writings based on the stories I have accumulated in the Immigration Offices.  Yes, I finally have the time and inclination to write.  In God We Trust!

"They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." ~Benjamin Franklin                

Sunday, September 27, 2009


I know the capacity of my mind and the capabilities it holds and yet I, like many use this gift so vaguely and inefficiently. I am always limiting my steps towards the limited direction and hence end up admitting defeat on various grounds. Repeatedly I echo for my own belief “It takes time, and effort, and energy to excel into things, and though I am capable of diving into it and getting it done, I always stand on the shore being too scared”. I am always thinking of the "what ifs" and never thinking of what could be.

Many fantasies dwell in my mind... many hopes, many thoughts, many dreams, many aspirations... and most of the time they are never planned for action. I am too prejudiced to do that. I am always wasting time wondering what everyone else will think, and weighing the absolute nonsense of the idea of pleasing people first. In most situations I have delayed myself so terribly that my opportunity to win has been lost. Some may blame fate but I blame me; knowing that I have the power to change the course of destiny I yet continue to sit here and constantly lie to myself about my abilities and ambitions. About time I learn, you learn it too!


Thirsty Desert, a copy writer by profession, is currently enjoying all possibilities of writing via blogging at "When he kisses her, passions roar" and frequent contributions to Pen 10 and 6S


Clothes were flying from the drawer as Mama frantically searched through them in a hurry.  I could only see the rhythmic jiggle of her backside and the smoke that curled from the cigarette which dangled from her dry lips.  This was one of those teaching moments that I often heard of occurring at apron strings except what I got was a fat butt and garbled instructions.  

She squinted through the smoke as she drew on the Virginia Slim Mild and said, “Your aunties are prolly thinking they gon just come over here and take everything when Granny passes.  They aint nuthin but a bunch of vultures!”  I stood there wide-eyed watching her ransack a once elegant room full of damask and warm memories.  I had no time to indulge in the old times before being snatched back to reality with an almost harsh demand to “Hand me another bag!”

“What are vultures, mama?” I asked.  She explained in her way that they were the birds who circle a carcass waiting for deaths invitation to signal their rampage; adding with pith that my Aunties were vultures.  

I slowly handed her the bag as I thought better of asking what this mess we stood in made us.  Yes, she taught many things at her knee but the lessons I carried away were something different altogether.

Rhonda Gould Smolarek fell in love with writing when her fifth grade teacher Mrs. Joyce Pickett at Parkside Elementary School made such a fuss about a story she wrote about a squirrel in the woods.  She stuck with it as justification for all the beautiful pens available though now she mostly uses a keyboard to blend words into stories and poetry.  She just makes stuff up.  She does it mostly at and hopes you will do it, also.



We knew her long before her rich old Army daddy finagled a seat for her on one of the transports toAlpha Centauri.  A sizzling redhead with a mouth that could wilt an orbit ranger dead in his filthy-tongue tracks, Constanzia Burke gave exemplary meaning to that centuries-old admonition, “Step up to the plate.”  She feared nothing and no one.  From the time she was in grade school, high school, and then through flight school with us, Constanzia knew what she wanted and made no bones about getting it, even when it meant elbowing ribs, planting subtle but effective landmines in the path of competitors, and even resorting to that ploy, also centuries-old …sleeping with the director. 

Who knew back then New America would be planting its RedWhiteBlue on the third 
brightest star in the galaxy!  Those who had bet the proverbial “farm” on lunar expectations ended up in the poorhouse, but a man with foresight enough to tackle less popular possibilities would reap financial windfalls from exclusive claims to the mega-rich chromium mines on Alpha Centauri.  “Daddy Warbucks” Burke was that man.  

Second Wingtenants Mueller, Franklin, and I––all first trekkers with shiny medals on our uniformed chests to prove it––had landed on A. C. during the very first convoy of six ships; Burke’s daughter arrived on the second several years later.  We were not happy to see her, but we were even less happy when we discovered she had been promoted to First Wingtenant Colonel of all operations, military and civilian, the newly promoted brightest star in the western sector of the third brightest star!  

“If you think for a second I kicked ass back on Earth, you freaking dumb glass heads, wait till you see what I’m cooking up for you here on the big A.C.!”


Salvatore Buttaci’s poems, stories, articles, and letters have appeared widely in publications that includeNew York Times, U. S. A. Today, The Writer, Cats Magazine, and Christian Science Monitor. He was the recipient of the $500 Cyber-wit Poetry Award in 2007 and second-place winner in the 2008 Poetry Super Highway Contest. Buttaci has lectured on Sicilian American pride and conducted numerous poetry workshops and readings. Retired from teaching, Salvatore Buttaci lives with his wife Sharon inPrinceton, West Virginia.  He can be visited at 

His new chapbook
 Boy on a Swing and other poems is available from