Gene's photos 10-3-13 008Welcome to my writing blog. Here you will find my latest demented stuff as well as books, short stories, essays, and poems written and published over the past forty years. Please note that all material is        © Gene Twaronite and The Twaronite Zone. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given with specific direction to the original content.

Follow The Twaronite Zone on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TwaroniteZone?ref=hl

Poem “The Container Store” Wins Honorable Mention

My poem “The Container Store” won honorable mention in Science Fiction Poetry Association’s 2016 Poetry Contest  http://sfpoetry.com/contests/16contest.htmlTWARONITE COVER 1 (2)

The poem is part of my first book of poetry “Trash Picker on Mars,” available from my store or at Amazon.

Purchase Signed Books Through PayPal

Now you can purchase signed copies of all my booksDDN-kindlecover3-1 directly from me via PayPal – one of the safest ways to purchase online. Just email me your request or contact me at this website and I’ll send you an invoice. It’s that simple. As always, if you wish to purchase five or more copies (any combination of titles), receive a 20% discount on your order.



Signed Copies of My Books

If you wish me to sign or inscribe any of my books, you can purchase them here at my store. Please contact me at this website with any special instructions.

You will also find my other books here. Purchase five or more books in any combination of titles and receive a 20% discount. Use the contact form or call me at 602-909-5169.




The Container Store

Have you been to this store? It gave me the idea for this poem in my new book “Trash Picker on Mars” published by Aldrich Press and available on Amazon. YouTube (The Container Store)

To Procreate, or Not

The_Big_Game_of_Africa_(1910)_-_Black_&_White_RhinosA female white rhino, on average, can produce 11 offspring during her lifetime. Who knows how many more are sired by the male rhino … or Mick Jagger, for that matter. A nine-banded armadillo can produce 54, while lemmings and rabbits can produce hundreds. Spreading your genes around is the first rule of life. From an evolutionary standpoint, I’m a complete failure.

The closest I ever got to procreating was in my early twenties when the young woman I was dating and hoped to marry asked me pointblank if I wanted to have children. Yes, I told her, of course. I even convinced myself that I really did. Men will do anything to get a woman into bed.

Fortunately for both of us, she saw through me (the fact that at the time I was employed in a pet shop, dreaming about all the successful books I would write, may have also made her think twice about my future financial prospects). We went our separate ways, sparing me not only thousands of dollars on an engagement ring worthy of my potential fiancé’s expensive tastes, but the inconceivable tragedy of my becoming a parent.

Growing up, I never thought much about having kids. I just didn’t see it as a life goal, the way some people have always known that they wanted to be parents. I want exactly seven—three boys and three girls and one … well, whatever the Good Lord gives us—dealer’s choice.

Occasionally I caught myself thinking about what it might be like. Taking my little boy or girl hiking. Trying to explain the mysteries of sex or how to fry an egg. Passing on my genes and values to some little person with maybe the same blue eyes and big ears, who would for a time worship the ground I walk on and demand all my waking moments, then completely ignore me in her teens, and later call me a terrible drunken monster when she wrote her memoir at 32.

According to a 2013 Gallup poll, over half of all U.S. citizens 18 to 40 already have kids, and even the 40% who don’t still hope to have them someday. Only six percent of this group do not want to have any children, under any circumstances. Seems I’m in the minority.

But at least among the 75 million or so millennials in this country, I have company. According to a recent Cassandra report, fully a third of them do not want kids. Many see this as a deliberate lifestyle choice or not wanting to take on the significant responsibilities that go with parenting. And they don’t seem at all worried about what people will think. Gotta love those millennials.

Of course, if your spouse or significant other really wants kids, it’s hard to say no. I could very well have ended up reproducing, whether I wanted to or not, had I not had the incredible good fortune of meeting and marrying my one and only wife, Josie. She never wanted kids, either. How lucky was that!

I realize that, if every human on the planet shared my views, we would soon go extinct, which might not be a bad idea, considering how our species has totally messed up the planet. We’re not exactly the pinnacle of evolution. We’ve had long enough to change our ways. Why not put some other species, preferably with more intelligence, say ravens, elephants, or even white rhinos, in control of things? The earth would do just fine without us, as it has for billions of years.

Baby naked mole rat

Could be I’m just lacking a baby gene. While other people gush about how cute the new baby is, I’m heading for the door, especially if pictures are involved. The only thing worse than kiddie pictures are dog pictures. Let me know how the kid (or dog) turns out at 21, then we’ll talk. And face it, some babies are about as cute as a newborn naked mole rat.

I could blame my attitude on my maternal grandmother, whom I adored, having spent many idyllic early days on her farm. I remember her warning me how the world was getting worse every day and never to bring kids into this world. Of course, she could have been just tired of putting up with all her own kids’ crap—she had four—or with me, for that matter. I was always getting into trouble, shooting fish and frogs in her pond with my BB gun or cutting down trees in the woods with my ax and leaving three-foot-tall stumps (well, she did ask me to clear out some of the shrubs and trees encroaching on the field).

Not that it’s likely, but I can think of several good reasons why I shouldn’t procreate. First of all, my wife still doesn’t want to. And I doubt very much if she would approve of me spreading my seed around, even if it might potentially benefit the human gene pool. It also sounds like a lot of work, and would impinge on my afternoon naptime.

Second, if I ever did have a kid—perish the thought—I would undoubtedly be a terrible father, the kind who thinks the only good music is classic rock and embarrasses his kids by continuing to wear in public tight Rolling Stones T-shirts over his advancing pot belly.

Finally, there are plenty of people who still want to have kids, as well as plenty who have them accidentally. There are far too many of us here already, with more on the way. As I see it, I’m doing my bit for the planet. The two, four, six (hey, why not twelve, as long as we’re being hypothetical?) kids Josie and I might have had are a counterbalance to those being born. Plus I’ve kept my genes out of the gene pool, which on further reflection is probably a good thing. One Gene is quite enough.


Ten Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Buy My Poetry Book

TWARONITE COVER 1 (2)1.You’ve never heard of the author. Real poets have names like Shelley, Byron, Bysshe, or Percy Dovetonsils.

2.) You’ve always hated your sophomore English teacher.

3.) There are no gunfights, car chases, exploding cows, or sex scenes in my poems (well, maybe a little).

4.) All the really good poets are dead.

5.) Buying books means killing trees.

6.) Poems are all about romance, pain, grief, nature, and the mysteries of life and death, and you hate that stuff.

7.) You only like poems that start with “There was an old man from Nantucket.”

8.) You can never remember the difference between a simile and a metaphor, and frankly don’t give a damn.

9.) Most.of the poems are free verse, so why should you have to buy the book?

10.) Poetry is like truth, and “you can’t handle the truth!”

If you’re still determined to buy my book, visit Amazon or purchase it here  




Praise for Trash Picker on Mars

My first poetry collection has just been published by Aldrich Press (an imprint of Kelsay Books).TWARONITE COVER 1 (2)

Read an advance review: “The poems in Trash Picker on Mars, as the title suggests, range from the concrete to the abstract, from Pascal to mythology, from the homeless, represented by weeds, to a trans-gender person in a gym. What stands out in this collection is Twaronite’s attention to the details and textures of ordinary life as he presents us with reminders that the ordinary—the working man, the sleeping woman on the train, are not to be forgotten when seeking the sublime.  In “The Container Store” the poet longs for “just the right vessel/to store your thoughts/and emotions in safe/and accessible places”—a wish many of his readers will certainly share.”

Nancy Owen Nelson, PhD, author of Searching for Nannie B: Connecting Three Generations of Southern Women.

Available from my online store or at  Amazon

Working Man

With Labor Day just around the corner, I’d like to share my poem “Working Man.” Watch on youtube

It was just published by Work Literary Magazine – Working Man

You can read this and other poems in my first poetry collection Trash Picker on Mars, just published by Aldrich Press. Available at Amazon





Advance Review of Trash Picker on Mars

TWARONITE COVER 1 (2)Written with wit and compassion, Gene Twaronite’s amazing poems give readers a whole new view of many ordinary experiences of our culture. Nothing can ever be seen the same way again. A few lost keys “Scattered across the pavement/they lay, like shiny petals/plucked from their flowers” become windows into their imagined former owner’s soul. In “Mannequin,” Twaronite’s compassionate view of what was once a semi-human form now become only “eyeless sockets in an empty face–/all that remain of the life/she once possessed” and manage to suggest the way we are all seen by corporate commercial interests. With metaphors embodied in gritty, graphic images, Twaronite sometimes makes astonishing hairpin turns of meaning in his poems as he does in “Trash Picker on Mars,” where this planet seemingly “defrocked of its canals/and green men by Carl Sagan” ends up to pose a chilling potential indeed.

Susan Lang, Faculty Emeritus at Yavapai College and author of the novel The Sawtooth Complex as well as a trilogy of novels about a woman homesteading in the southwestern wilderness during the years 1929 to 1941.

My first poetry book Trash Picker on Mars, published by Kelsay Books, will be coming out in late September.