West Virginia, WV Businesses & Yellow Pages

February 16, 2015


For most writers a threshold separates the reading rooms of poetry and fiction where each group finds its reading entertainment. I include Kenneth Weene in the gifted literary company of Dickens, Browning J.D. Salinger and others who infused fiction with poetry as well as poetry with fiction. Weene magically brings down the dividing wall, expertly delivering the best of both worlds in his book Broody New Englander

His writing is seamlessly smooth, a comfort to readers who prefer the comfort of enjoyable reading to that screeching annoyance of stop and go, of skipping sentences and paragraphs in an attempt to settle back into the ride. As one reader who savors every delicious word of an excellent work,  I say no to rapid reading, delighting instead in Weene’s ability to string words and sentences together the way a master painter blends colors in highlights and shadows and shades. 

Broody New Englander contains three stories, the longest of which, and my favorite, is entitled “The Stylite.” In it we meet the protagonist Putnam Williams who reveals his life with wife Jeannine, daughter Emily, and Delia, the other woman he loves. With the pen of Weene, he does so in a stark honesty missing from too many tales today. The local color of New England authenticates the dialogue and action. Like few other stories, readers find themselves present in the lines, nodding like New Englanders, marveling at Putnam’s tale and how cleverly the author weaves into “The Stylite” excerpts of a story within a story, Brane of the Hills, Putnam’s book about the adventures of extraterrestrials.

Readers will likewise for a long time remember the other two stories in Broody New Englander. “Mothers’ Teat” expertly presents the loss of innocence and “Hansom Dove,”  one of the best horror tales I have ever read. 

Few authors can pump life into a plot so that description, dialogue, narration, and conflict provide crystal-clear images in the minds of readers. It is no wonder at all that Kenneth Weene’s books are read by those who will settle for nothing less than high-quality writing. I highly recommend Broody New Englander and all of Weene’s books.


Ken Weene’s poetry, short stories, and essays can be found in various print and electronic journals and collections. His novels, Widow’s Walk, Memoirs From the Asylum, and Tales From the Dew Drop Inne are published by All Things That Matter Press, which has also published his two electronic shorts, Two Tales of Terror and El Catrin. 

Ken co-hosts It Matters Radio an Internet show that airs live on Thursday evenings and also edits “The Write Room Blog,” an extremely successful writers’ blog.  

His newest book Broody New Englander just came out. Times to Try the Soul of Man is scheduled to be published by All Things…this year. Currently he is working on an historical fiction of the Native American experience, Red and White.

Ken’s website is 


Sal Buttaci is a retired teacher and professor whose two short-short story collections Flashing My Shorts and 200 Shorts were published by All Things That Matter Press and are available at

Sal Buttaci lives in West Virginia with his wife and forever love, Sharon.

September 8, 2014


My older sister Anna Buttaci Coppola was born September 08, 1936 and passed away of uterine cancer on October 22, 1999. Needless to say, I miss her everyday. What keeps me from the snares of constant sorrow is my belief that she is in Heaven, her reward for loving God and serving Him all her life.

These poems and pictures celebrate her life. 

First Holy Communion: 1943


I will remember you each day
In all my prayers and words I say.
Anna, how could I forget you
and all the happy times we knew?
It hurts to know you could not stay.

Those childhood years we filled with play,
The faith you had each time you prayed
And how my own faith you renewed.
  I will remember!

The time flew by-- too fast away!
And left our lives in disarray.
This much for certain will be true;
This much I swear in life I'll do:
    I will remember!

© 1999 Salvatore Buttaci

 Sal, Anna, and Joanie: Brooklyn 1948


I dreamed of you last night.
You appeared to me, young
again, healthy, and like when 
I'd tell funny jokes in the old days,
you were laughing uncontrollably.
That same laugh I heard throughout the dream; 
that laugh I remember most of 
all about you. Then I awoke
and tried so hard to hold onto 
the dream, but it flew away like
a bird homing towards its morning sky.
Dear sister, I can look up and
know you're safe up there
cradled by the night stars, my angel
walking freely  in the day clouds,
sharing laughter with the universe.

© 2000 Salvatore Buttaci

 Anna and Godmother Jennie Coppola: 1948


This morning again
I remembered you
and that same old 
something in my heart
grew weary of our separation.

It was the morning air,
the autumn breeze brushing
behind me like a passing soul
with your walk, your presence:
another day empty of you.

I remembered you 
again this morning
and your voice clear 
as rain said, brother, 
how can love ever die?

I remembered you,
prompted by this sigh,
this trembling, these tears
clouding these eyes--

I say to wherever you are
No way can love die!
then I lighten the weight
that pulls me down to sorrow
by lifting my head and smiling. 

I remember the two of us in 
a long-ago October free of grief 
and parting.  What of that day 
have I forgotten?
Which of us said what
to double us over in laughter?

© 2001 Salvatore Buttaci

 Anna and husband Ciro: 1957


in my early years
you took me under your wing
and taught me how to read

in my later years
you helped me spread my wings
and showed me how to hope

two years ago
you lay in a white nest
small, thin, featherless

before you tumbled skyward
on your last day
you said how much you loved me

© 2001 Salvatore Buttaci

 Mama and Anna at a picnic: 1995


These are the tears
Wrung from a body
Stretched on the rack
Of a torturous disease.

I saved these tears
This water that’s holy
That flowed from the eyes
Of my sister, a saint.

© 2008 Salvatore Buttaci

 Anna's seven children: Michael, Julie, Josephine, Louisa, Grace, 
 Anna Marie and Sal: 2014


My dear sister, gone from eyes yet weeping 
in this cruel decade of separation, 
still you visit my gray sleep and slay
demons with your beatific smile. 

In these slumber visitations, 
pretending sorrow never pierced my heart, 
I delight in your voice again,
clear as the memory of our 

joyful yesterdays. In sleep country, 
dying is an empty threat that leads nowhere. 
Fearlessly we two souls sit here
recalling those happy years together, 

how love is eternal––God’s sweet breath!––
Sister and brother hands clasp as one.

© 2008 Salvatore Buttaci

Salvatore Buttaci is the author of Flashing My Shorts and 200 Shorts, two short-short story collections published by All Things That Matter Press and available at He lives in West Virginia with his wife and love of his life, Sharon.