Seasons Greetings to everyone! We promised you a sneak peek of a poem from issue two, and boy do we have a great one for you. Hope you enjoy it! Here it is:
HEAL
Little girl from Africa
Was only three years old.
Hide and seek in the sunshine,
her heart was made of gold.
She didn’t know they would come.
Little girl from Africa
was just a baby girl.
She wore pretty dainty frocks,
she chose not to have any curls.
Little girl from Africa
She always ran and played.
Smiled with her family,
beans and grain in the shade.
She didn’t know they would come.
Little girl from Africa
was seized by three men.
Each took their turn,
pushed hard inside her gem.
Little girl from Africa
Didn’t know they would come.
Soldiers used themselves and weapons,
she screamed even after they were done.
Little girl from Africa
they asked her mother
“how does your daughter feel?”
The mother replied with tears,
“she is learning on how to heal.”
~Maria Chisolm~
The issue will be out on Jan. 23 2010! Happy New Year! :)
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Editor's Choice From Issue One Of PTE :)
Pushing The Envelope
A Literary Magazine
Editor’s Choice
From Our First Issue
These Are Kevin’s Picks:
JUST WORDS
YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT
OR HOW I BECAME A WRITER by Roxanne Hoffman
As a pre-pubescent teenager still in my primitive cannibalistic period,
and only recently weaned from my left thumb,
I bit my nails, chewed my split-ends and swallowed my words.
No amount of encouragement or ridicule would make me spit them out.
The taunts of my peers:
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Here comes Marcel's retarded sister!"
"Are you a dummy? Let's find a ventriloquist."
only fueled my need to self-masticate.
Biting my lips and grinding my teeth until they bled,
led to early rumors of vampirism.
My parents, a gregarious couple of chatterboxes,
devoted to encouraging their offspring
with motivational speeches and lavish praise,
when they found themselves no longer able to distinguish my scribblings
from the food stains on the paper napkins,
allowed my older sister to explore her inner child by
filling the intermittent gaps of silence during dinner time conversation
with her imaginative interpretations of my nervous ticks, nods and blinks,
Growing weary of replacing cartons of chewed-up and discarded Monarch No. 2 pencils,
the late night emergency runs to the hospital after BIC pens exploded in my mouth(and then there was that time my stomach had to be pumped
after I swallowed wads of 3-hole college rule during a spitball fight with my sister,not to mention the paper cuts,
and the time I stabbed myself with a No. 2 pencil to prove a point.
Yep, I proved it was sharp enough!),
Mom and Dad presented me with a Smith Corona
portable typewriter for my 13th birthday.
I found the clickety-clack of the plastic keys comforting
as I pressed my face down to nuzzle them.
running my fingers along the spools of black-inked ribbon,
gently smudging my cheeks and nose with the dark viscid fluid.
I would spend many a pleasant hour tapping the metal strikers like a xylophone.
pressing my thumbs against select letters to embed them into my flesh!
Oh the magical ratchet and ring at the end of every line!
Oh the crisp velum of the Eaton's Corrasable Bond!
Perfect for folding paper fans and paper airplanes.
In my gratitude I signed up for touch typing and typed my parents a thank-you note
for my mid-term project:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Roses are red, violets blue
Now I can be read, thanks to you!
I love my new typewriter,
but No 2. pencils and BIC pens
were a better chew!
Love bites, kisses & ughs,
Roxy
This was a piece that both Brian and I wanted to pick, but I put Roxanne story on my page.
The Outer Boroughs
The Outer Boroughs
Make the Inner Ginsberg howl
An Outré Sutra.
Gentrification
Drink Colt 45,
Drive a Lexus through Bed-Stuy
And call it “slumming.”
Urayoan Noel
Again, these two piece Brian and I both liked, but I put them on my page.
Justice Isn’t Really Blind
After some long heated debates
I said to justice
I feel your passion
See where you’re coming from
Respect what you stand for
But
Being blind
Seems to stand in your way
She laughed so hard
The scales tipped
Turning the tables her way
She said she wouldn’t have it any other way
If she saw all that we saw
She’d go mad before she finished a day
Then she spoke about getting ear plugs
As she turned her back
Then walked away
Arlene Cassarino
These are Brian’s Picks:
Ballad of Chicken Shower
Water pounds with fury
Heat rises thick and warm
Washed my hair 2 or 3 times; can’t keep track, can’t keep track
‘Cause steam can’t soothe this inner storm
You lie on bed blue soft
Thoughts in sweet fantasy
Comfy grey sweatshirt caresses your skin; oh your skin
You breathe in time and wait for me
I’m a wrinkled chicken, “Bok, Bok”
O.K. this is my cue
Cannot bring myself out of this shower, shower
I’m a nervous wreck think’n ‘bout you
Finally, by the dawn’s light
Hands find hands; lips brush cheek
A soft drunken blur of sweet caresses, caresses
This is the love that we all seek
Morning brings fuzzy light
Orange juice & champagne
We giggle as we fumble into clothes, oh your clothes
Float out the door and to the train
Strangers brush by in blurs
It’s time to part my dear
I lean in, in a daze, to kiss you deep, oh so deep
Your face contorts with desperate fear
“Not here! No! Not in public!”
Your mouth twists with disgust
“This kind of love’s for the bedroom only, only
Besides it’s only childish lust.”
But I would kiss you anywhere
The street, the bus, or in Times Square
I’d hold you tight in naked light
I’d never hide. I’d shout with pride
Singing, “This is who I am and you are who I love
Glare or stare, we can rise above”
But your smile has soured
You brow is creased
Your chin turns hard,
My senses jarred
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Athena Reich
Framed Sun
Today, I decided
The sunshine has long been neglected
So I immersed myself
I wish it could fit on my shelf
I felt ice in my veins
Melt and leave me with yesterday's rain
We all have our prime time
Is being a boy with long hair a crime?
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed...
Some gay men are shallow
I guess we can misrepresent rainbows
And so I feel ugly
But there's famine amongst the pretty
Today, I failed to read
But I observed the humidity
Before fear came my way
I confronted the sunlight today...
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed.
Danny Garcia
This is yet another poem that both Brian and I really liked,
but he wanted to include it on his pages.
The Sound Of A Woman
Click heel, Click heel, on the pavement,
Such an unspoken comment,
That’s the sound of a woman coming,
Maybe she’s wearing a short skirt,
Time for you to flirt,
Or perhaps she’s wearing tight pants,
As you noticeably take a glance,
Sizing up the situation,
Promoting sexual frustration,
Your thoughts roam,
Wanting to take her home,
Hemming and hawing,
And your comments she’s ignoring,
Throwing out a lame line,
She takes the bait,
You running from base to base,
To score at the plate,
Things are lustfully heavy,
And she is ready,
Kissing and caressing,
Touching and feeling,
Bending and kneeling,
Tossing and turning,
Temperature burning,
Patterned sighs and cries,
Continual moans and groans,
In pleading tones,
Louder and louder,
Over and over,
Sudden silence takes the room,
Now she is quiet,
Now that truly is the sound of a woman cumming.
Danielle Lucania
Danielle’s poem was a poem that we both really liked, but Brian wanted it
These are our editor choice picks for this issue. We will
be back with a new issue in January 2010. We invite all
writers, and artists to submit their work. For guidelines,
to see the full magazine, or any information about:
“Pushing The Envelope” email us at:
Pushingtheenvelope09@Gmail.com
Also check us out on our facebook page.
A Literary Magazine
Editor’s Choice
From Our First Issue
These Are Kevin’s Picks:
JUST WORDS
YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT
OR HOW I BECAME A WRITER by Roxanne Hoffman
As a pre-pubescent teenager still in my primitive cannibalistic period,
and only recently weaned from my left thumb,
I bit my nails, chewed my split-ends and swallowed my words.
No amount of encouragement or ridicule would make me spit them out.
The taunts of my peers:
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Here comes Marcel's retarded sister!"
"Are you a dummy? Let's find a ventriloquist."
only fueled my need to self-masticate.
Biting my lips and grinding my teeth until they bled,
led to early rumors of vampirism.
My parents, a gregarious couple of chatterboxes,
devoted to encouraging their offspring
with motivational speeches and lavish praise,
when they found themselves no longer able to distinguish my scribblings
from the food stains on the paper napkins,
allowed my older sister to explore her inner child by
filling the intermittent gaps of silence during dinner time conversation
with her imaginative interpretations of my nervous ticks, nods and blinks,
Growing weary of replacing cartons of chewed-up and discarded Monarch No. 2 pencils,
the late night emergency runs to the hospital after BIC pens exploded in my mouth(and then there was that time my stomach had to be pumped
after I swallowed wads of 3-hole college rule during a spitball fight with my sister,not to mention the paper cuts,
and the time I stabbed myself with a No. 2 pencil to prove a point.
Yep, I proved it was sharp enough!),
Mom and Dad presented me with a Smith Corona
portable typewriter for my 13th birthday.
I found the clickety-clack of the plastic keys comforting
as I pressed my face down to nuzzle them.
running my fingers along the spools of black-inked ribbon,
gently smudging my cheeks and nose with the dark viscid fluid.
I would spend many a pleasant hour tapping the metal strikers like a xylophone.
pressing my thumbs against select letters to embed them into my flesh!
Oh the magical ratchet and ring at the end of every line!
Oh the crisp velum of the Eaton's Corrasable Bond!
Perfect for folding paper fans and paper airplanes.
In my gratitude I signed up for touch typing and typed my parents a thank-you note
for my mid-term project:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Roses are red, violets blue
Now I can be read, thanks to you!
I love my new typewriter,
but No 2. pencils and BIC pens
were a better chew!
Love bites, kisses & ughs,
Roxy
This was a piece that both Brian and I wanted to pick, but I put Roxanne story on my page.
The Outer Boroughs
The Outer Boroughs
Make the Inner Ginsberg howl
An Outré Sutra.
Gentrification
Drink Colt 45,
Drive a Lexus through Bed-Stuy
And call it “slumming.”
Urayoan Noel
Again, these two piece Brian and I both liked, but I put them on my page.
Justice Isn’t Really Blind
After some long heated debates
I said to justice
I feel your passion
See where you’re coming from
Respect what you stand for
But
Being blind
Seems to stand in your way
She laughed so hard
The scales tipped
Turning the tables her way
She said she wouldn’t have it any other way
If she saw all that we saw
She’d go mad before she finished a day
Then she spoke about getting ear plugs
As she turned her back
Then walked away
Arlene Cassarino
These are Brian’s Picks:
Ballad of Chicken Shower
Water pounds with fury
Heat rises thick and warm
Washed my hair 2 or 3 times; can’t keep track, can’t keep track
‘Cause steam can’t soothe this inner storm
You lie on bed blue soft
Thoughts in sweet fantasy
Comfy grey sweatshirt caresses your skin; oh your skin
You breathe in time and wait for me
I’m a wrinkled chicken, “Bok, Bok”
O.K. this is my cue
Cannot bring myself out of this shower, shower
I’m a nervous wreck think’n ‘bout you
Finally, by the dawn’s light
Hands find hands; lips brush cheek
A soft drunken blur of sweet caresses, caresses
This is the love that we all seek
Morning brings fuzzy light
Orange juice & champagne
We giggle as we fumble into clothes, oh your clothes
Float out the door and to the train
Strangers brush by in blurs
It’s time to part my dear
I lean in, in a daze, to kiss you deep, oh so deep
Your face contorts with desperate fear
“Not here! No! Not in public!”
Your mouth twists with disgust
“This kind of love’s for the bedroom only, only
Besides it’s only childish lust.”
But I would kiss you anywhere
The street, the bus, or in Times Square
I’d hold you tight in naked light
I’d never hide. I’d shout with pride
Singing, “This is who I am and you are who I love
Glare or stare, we can rise above”
But your smile has soured
You brow is creased
Your chin turns hard,
My senses jarred
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Athena Reich
Framed Sun
Today, I decided
The sunshine has long been neglected
So I immersed myself
I wish it could fit on my shelf
I felt ice in my veins
Melt and leave me with yesterday's rain
We all have our prime time
Is being a boy with long hair a crime?
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed...
Some gay men are shallow
I guess we can misrepresent rainbows
And so I feel ugly
But there's famine amongst the pretty
Today, I failed to read
But I observed the humidity
Before fear came my way
I confronted the sunlight today...
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed.
Danny Garcia
This is yet another poem that both Brian and I really liked,
but he wanted to include it on his pages.
The Sound Of A Woman
Click heel, Click heel, on the pavement,
Such an unspoken comment,
That’s the sound of a woman coming,
Maybe she’s wearing a short skirt,
Time for you to flirt,
Or perhaps she’s wearing tight pants,
As you noticeably take a glance,
Sizing up the situation,
Promoting sexual frustration,
Your thoughts roam,
Wanting to take her home,
Hemming and hawing,
And your comments she’s ignoring,
Throwing out a lame line,
She takes the bait,
You running from base to base,
To score at the plate,
Things are lustfully heavy,
And she is ready,
Kissing and caressing,
Touching and feeling,
Bending and kneeling,
Tossing and turning,
Temperature burning,
Patterned sighs and cries,
Continual moans and groans,
In pleading tones,
Louder and louder,
Over and over,
Sudden silence takes the room,
Now she is quiet,
Now that truly is the sound of a woman cumming.
Danielle Lucania
Danielle’s poem was a poem that we both really liked, but Brian wanted it
These are our editor choice picks for this issue. We will
be back with a new issue in January 2010. We invite all
writers, and artists to submit their work. For guidelines,
to see the full magazine, or any information about:
“Pushing The Envelope” email us at:
Pushingtheenvelope09@Gmail.com
Also check us out on our facebook page.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Pushing The Envelope
A Literary Magazine
An All Queer Boy Production
Issue One
09/17/09
Featuring The Work Of:
Jack Tricarico
Danielle Lucania
Urayoan Noel
Danny Garcia
Vincent Quatroche
Roxanne Hoffman
Kevin Michael Wehle
Brian Damian Sabbats
Athena Reich
V. Cordell Brown
Sarah Stapperfenne
Adam Henry Carriere
Su Polo
Mindy Matijasevic
Arlene Cassarino
Patricia Carragon
And A Few Other Fabulous Writers
Disclaimer: No one under the age of 18 should view this
magazine for it contains adult and graphic material. Our first
issue is hot, sexy, and steamy deal with it!
Letter From The Editors:
Brian and I joked about doing this for a couple of weeks in the spring. I
wanted to start a literary magazine since the end of last year. The first time
around it didn’t work out. So I kept in the back of my mind until that faithful
day, and I said to Brian” “Let’s do it!” He wanted to name it: “Pushing The
Envelope.” So we started on this journey, and what a ride it has been. Brian
said it best: “We didn’t think about it. We just did it. If we thought about it
we wouldn’t have done it.” Neither of us are computer savvy people. Brian
is a bit more then I am. I’m lucky if I can turn mine on and off, but that
changed a bit during the making of this magazine. With our labor of love we
learned a lot, cursed at our PC’s, cheered when we figured things out, and
asked for help when we needed it. In truth sometimes we looked a bit
deranged through out the process. In the end it was all worth it, for our first
issue was born.
We never thought that we would have such an amazing first issue. So
many talented writers answered our call. We thank them all so very much
for having faith in us. Without these wonderful writers we would not be able
to have made this magazine. Also we want to thank the few writers who
didn’t get published. It wasn’t for lack of talent. All the submissions were
great. Being a small magazine we couldn’t include every piece we received.
Again we thank you, and hope that you will submit in the future.
Now let’s talk about our first issue. We start off with a poem by the
amazingly talented V. Cordell Brown. We knew his poem was the perfect
poem to start with from the title alone, because our magazine is: “The Place
For Poetry.” We were lucky enough to have two songwriters submit their
songs. Those songwriters are: Athena Reich, and Danielle Tersini. We also
have some new and up and coming writers in this issue. They are Danielle
Lucania, John T. Bestecki, Sarah Stapperfenne, and Steven Monroe. We
love to publish new voices, and we wish them the best of luck. We hope that
we are the stepping stone they need to a bright writing career. This issue also
features some seasoned writers. They are Jack Tricarico, Urayoan Noel,
Vincent Quatroche, Roxanne Hoffman, Adam Henry Carriere, Su Polo,
Mindy Matijasevic, and Patricia Carragon. A lot of these poets/writers we’ve
met at The Saturn Series at The Nightingale Lounge. There are some very
talented, friendly, supportive people there. You should check it out on a
Monday night. We end out first issue with a poem called: “Justice Isn’t
Really Blind” by Arlene Cassarino. We felt it was the perfect way to end the
first issue. It’s a poem that makes you think, and a poem everyone can relate
to. Arlene’s poems are refreshing, witty, and they make you laugh. She was
a welcomed addition to our magazine.
Well now it’s your turn to read and enjoy our beautiful poetic baby. We
know that you will be delighted by all the work within. Please let us know
what you think. Questions? Suggestions? Comments? Just email us @
Pushingtheenvelope09@Gmail.com I’m sure our fellow writers would like
to hear what you think of their work, and we would also like to hear what
you think of our first issue. So sit back, relax, and enjoy. Be ready to be
inspired. Enjoy! Kevin & Brian
THE PLACE FOR POETRY.
THIS STORE IS FULL OF RHYTHM
THIS STORE IS FULL OF RHYME,
AND THE GREATEST THING ABOUT IT
IS THAT WE’RE OPEN ALL THE TIME.
WE HAVE MOONBEAMS AND DREAMS
AND MYTHS AND FOLKLORE,
WE EVEN HAVE FREE VERSE
IT’S RIGHT BY THE DOOR.
WE HAVE PROSE BY THE ROWS
AND A HAIKU THAT IS NEW,
WE EVEN HAVE FAIRYTALES
BUT ONLY A FEW.
WE HAVE CUMMINGS AND BROWNING
AND LANGSTON HUGHES,
WE EVEN HAVE FROST
IF HE’S WHAT YOU CHOOSE.
WE HAVE A LITTLE OF THIS
AND A LITTLE OF THAT,
WE EVEN HAVE
CASEY AT THE BAT.
SO THE NEXT TIME YOU ARE HUNGRY
OR PERHAPS, IN A STRANGE MOOD,
THE THOUGHT TO ALWAYS REMEMBER
IS THAT POETRY IS GOOD FOOD.
SO IF YOU’RE INTO POETRY
WE HAVE SOME OF EVERY KIND
AND THERE’S ONLY ONE REAL
HOUSE RULE:
JUST DON’T READ BETWEEN THE LINES.
V. CORDELL BROWN
Ballad of Chicken Shower
Water pounds with fury
Heat rises thick and warm
Washed my hair 2 or 3 times; can’t keep track, can’t keep track
‘Cause steam can’t soothe this inner storm
You lie on bed blue soft
Thoughts in sweet fantasy
Comfy grey sweatshirt caresses your skin; oh your skin
You breathe in time and wait for me
I’m a wrinkled chicken, “Bok, Bok”
O.K. this is my cue
Cannot bring myself out of this shower, shower
I’m a nervous wreck think’n ‘bout you
Finally, by the dawn’s light
Hands find hands; lips brush cheek
A soft drunken blur of sweet caresses, caresses
This is the love that we all seek
Morning brings fuzzy light
Orange juice & champagne
We giggle as we fumble into clothes, oh your clothes
Float out the door and to the train
Strangers brush by in blurs
It’s time to part my dear
I lean in, in a daze, to kiss you deep, oh so deep
Your face contorts with desperate fear
“Not here! No! Not in public!”
Your mouth twists with disgust
“This kind of love’s for the bedroom only, only
Besides it’s only childish lust.”
But I would kiss you anywhere
The street, the bus, or in Times Square
I’d hold you tight in naked light
I’d never hide. I’d shout with pride
Singing, “This is who I am and you are who I love
Glare or stare, we can rise above”
But your smile has soured
You brow is creased
Your chin turns hard,
My senses jarred
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Athena Reich
Ricochet
At 3am I follow a fly’s trajectory
Till it stops on a clock
Time has a watery face
I am a liquid boy
With a liquid girl
Climbing out of the water
Of our pre-pubescence
Her vagina is paraphernalia
For husband catching
I’ve been thinking of getting a sponge mattress
Because my dreams end in sand
But what shall I do about the weightless colossus
Who sits on my back
And plays with the interior intricacies
Of wrist watches. Seems like a composite image
Of every abandoned wish
That over came back to me. Meanwhile
I have post-menstrual saliva taste
Lingering around on my tongue
I reach for the mouth wash
And spit it in the sink
I remember the face
But the name draws a blank
She was confused about time
Why does it tick forward and not back?
One day it may actually happen
She thought. It’s all in the quartz
When crystallized
Prisms get terminated by pyramids
While hexagons prevail
Intrinsically life is unfair
Jack Tricarico
Manhattan Cannibal
In longing to explore
A mind was lost in thought
And neither knowing why
The hand beneath the hand
The eye beneath the eye
Without a time to pause
To look without regret
At fading roads behind
In smoke of revelation
As necessity insists
Jack Tricarico
Me and Kevin's Secret
Kevin says he wants to toboggan down a naked body
while it rains on the blue shingles of the garage.
He's fourteen, wearing jeans with no underwear.
His bare la grange feet are soaked
from the sno-cone pool left behind us.
He sees me squirm in the dark and smiles.
A monsoon of brow-beating Grandfather clouds
radar over the hallucinogenic distance,
where the sun swims in charmed shade.
Garbage-picked fans rattle in the floor way,
pressing sweat into the stuffed animals
with terror and glee
we lose our virginity upon.
Under graffiti-covered beams,
we seethe, we experiment,
hidden on the hard carpet below
our shadows.
Amid entangled sobs, we wonder
if a Tarot card will seduce the other
into coming first, or if God will bother
to keep me and Kevin's secret.
Adam Henry Carriere
Invasion
Faint footsteps forward
should not have been ignored,
He’d not let me escape the room or his mind,
not knowing what he hopes to find,
hounding and sorting through my undergarments,
Blurting insignificant compliments,
trying to deter my defense,
Mangling word usage,
Caressing the crevices of my invaded domain,
composure is what I try to maintain,
He using intellectual vocabulary,
as the ultimate foreplay,
That is as far as he’ll get in this game,
Trying to play a part in my future,
in a persistent nature,
He uttered, “I will speak to you again.”
The question is when?
Danielle Lucania
in 7th grade my best friend Barbara & i cut
classes ran from bullies picked
up guys hung out after school called each other
every evening with more to talk
& make each other laugh about &
when my stoop was full with only one seat left
we’d sit on each others lap
one day barbara told me we shouldn’t do that ‘cuz
her boyfriend said we look like lezzies.
Mindy Matijasevic
Jan. 11, 2009
Time Stitch
I see, I see, said the blind man to the deaf dog
to the assembled throng
of boys that don't belong,
of cabbages and kings
polar bears and whales
places and things
bedtime stories and kinky tales,
the midnight sun and the Mediterranean dawn
the full Biscay moon and faces long gone
museums in the morning drizzle
crashing waves on the shore,
as high as the angels in the Alps
alone at home, angry and poor;
the night train strangers under the northern lights
ill-dressed tourists and carbonated neon brights
what a sad sight
seen by eyes that don't work right
punctured by needles icy cold
to travel a broken cobblestone path, so we're told
cruising railroad stations for rented meat
fine dining and morphine cocktails trying to deny defeat
flying alone in a premier class seat
mountain air saliva he holds in his lip's heat
great towers bathed in whimsy
empty Norman beaches to every side
wandered by husbands desperate for their brides;
interstates and passports
postcards and souvenirs
laughter and bliss
people you can hardly miss
sights so beautiful you feel felt up by God
and shed an atheist's few tears;
I've been to heaven, and it's a lot like Paris.
Adam Henry Carriere
THE STEVIE CHRONICLES
When I first arrived at Adams for my sophomore year of high school, on my first
day nobody spoke to me. The next day after homeroom as we were filing out the
door, a short kid with a beautiful face and long black hair came over to me. He
smiled put out his hand and said: “hi I’m Stevie. You’re new aren’t you? Let me
show you around.” I said thanks my name is John and we shook hands and both
laughed. Then he took me to the backyard, then the roof, and a few other places
where we could smoke grass.
The next few days Stevie was like my welcome wagon. He introduced me to all
the cool kids and we became good friends. Then one day, I remembered it was cold
outside Stevie came up to me and said: “you want me to really warm you up?” And I
said: “Okay.” Then he took me to the boys bathroom and said lets go in the stall. He
had a sly expression on his face, as he opened up the stall door and said: “drop your
pants. I’m going to give you a blow job.” I was wild about the idea and quickly undid
my pants, and he said: “get up on the toilet bowl.” I climbed up and had a difficult
time getting my pants down, because I was so hard. With a little help from Stevie
they fell to my knees, and I was pearling. Then Stevie took me by the hips, and put
his mouth around my cock. It was unbelievable. This was the first time I did
anything like this with anyone. Waves of pleasure ran through my cock. His
beautiful mouth was so tight and warm. I could feel his tongue rubbing against the
head of my cock. The pleasure got greater and greater. I couldn’t hold back any
longer, and I started to come. We became the best of friends from then on. ;)
John T. Bestecki
Mango Juice
For my friend after her lover dry spell
Followed by a spell of dry lovers:
There are some things you just can’t
Know from a personal ad or chat room
I cross the street and see a man
Eating mango in the rain
His locks of hair wet and
Orange as the wild fibers of
The mango he’d just sucked
Tosses the peel in the trash can
Certainly he’d have no problem
With moisture and mess and more
Erotic than that------
He takes care of his own damn garbage
Mindy Matijasevic
Runaway Hillbilly Astronaut Bride
And another thing….
Leaving that poor girl alone.
I know exactly how she felt then
Driving in the pampers from Texas to Florida with the stun gun in her purse.
So from now on I am so through trying to be Zorro fighting somebody
With gleaming scimitar on a burning bridge.
Instead I intend to skip the desire laden incontinence of guilt
And just disappear
into the split mirrors in the Bedford Hotel.
Like so much lost European baggage
abandoned to hold court in the lobby
as we saunter past through foyer towards the elevator
holding hands and grinning in each other’s eyes
filled with a mutually shared insatiable
emotional itch.
Vincent Quatroche
The Pretender
He steps off the train,
And watches his typical vehicle
Chase its clamoring tracks into an open
Mouthed tunnel. The whistle mocks,
"I’ll be back for you tomorrow!"
He feels his pudgy wallet through his pocket
With the soft pads of his finger-tips
And watches his small shadow
Sink further and further into the bricks,
Working itself into oblivion.
He runs those same fingers
Through his hair that’s changing
To slim peach fuzz. He must return
To frozen dinners on paper plates tonight
And a morning of coffee spoons.
What will tomorrow do?
Morning will open like a hole.
And tonight? What about tonight?
Tonight will be the clock timing dinner
And ticking him to sleep in an empty bed.
So The Pretender turns and walks home.
The train departs, and at 6 am will arrive.
Life will be the same before and next-
With shined shoes, kettles, commutes,
Ringing phones, televisions, and suits.
Sarah Stappersfenne
X’d
at
birth’s
cry
death
enters,
felling
guarded
hideaways,
invading
jealously
kept
lives,
making
no
option
possible.
quiet,
relentlessly
stealth.
time’s
unwelcomed
viceroy
waits. . .
x’d,
years
zip.
Roxanne Hoffman
Condoms
I have to laugh
I just found a condom & lube
in my chest pocket
I forgot it was there
did 1 of my friends
gave it to me or
did I pick it up
at the Gay Center or
a gay bar-
I don't remember
but it doesn't matter
I never use them
I haven't had any kind of sex
or love making
Let's see
I know that it has been over
6 yearshas
it been 7 yet?
Don't get me wrong
I have a partner
a lover of a lifetime
we just don't make love
I have the passion & desire
he does not
I used to give the condoms to
a straight woman
I'm infatuated with
who I would rather use the condoms with
Oh, you thought that I was just Gay
No, I guess, you could say I'm not
Actually, the truth is that
I fall in love
with the personality
of the person
first
then I might notice
what sex they are
I have confused people
all of my life
But I have to smile
it is not hard to understand
Anyway, that woman
that I was giving
condoms to
didn't like that brand
so now I keep
finding them in my pockets,
drawers or wherever I put them
Others might say save them for a rainy day
Well, guess what?
Today is actually a rainy day
Brian Damian Sabbats 1/1/08 NYC
Searchers © 2009 Su Polo
Here is poetry. In a space, a place by itself, this lonely
poem. This lonely poem, is searching for the words, the
words to make some sense in this space.
And here is art, with all excitement and hopefulness.
Hanging on the wall, waiting for poem to come along, and
make some sense with words in this space.
Waiting for the poetry, this lonely poem to come across
this art and recognize his face, because he’s in a place
without words, a place by itself, this lonely place.
And here is beauty and hope and love. They are dancing
in a circle arm in arm, spinning and laughing. They find
the art and they find the poetry and they fill the space so it
isn’t lonely and they lift us up with art and poetry to a
place that is filled with words and images that is tempered
by beauty and hope and love.
They’ve all gone off now… in search of music.
Framed Sun
Today, I decided
The sunshine has long been neglected
So I immersed myself
I wish it could fit on my shelf
I felt ice in my veins
Melt and leave me with yesterday's rain
We all have our prime time
Is being a boy with long hair a crime?
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed...
Some gay men are shallow
I guess we can misrepresent rainbows
And so I feel ugly
But there's famine amongst the pretty
Today, I failed to read
But I observed the humidity
Before fear came my way
I confronted the sunlight today...
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed.
Danny Garcia
JUST WORDS
YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT
OR HOW I BECAME A WRITER By Roxanne Hoffman
As a pre-pubescent teenager still in my primitive cannibalistic period,
and only recently weaned from my left thumb,
I bit my nails, chewed my split-ends and swallowed my words.
No amount of encouragement or ridicule would make me spit them out.
The taunts of my peers:
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Here comes Marcel's retarded sister!"
"Are you a dummy? Let's find a ventriloquist."
only fueled my need to self-masticate.
Biting my lips and grinding my teeth until they bled,
let to early rumors of vampirism.
My parents, a gregarious couple of chatterboxes,
devoted to encouraging their offspring
with motivational speeches and lavish praise,
when they found themselves no longer able to distinguish my scribblings
from the food stains on the paper napkins,
allowed my older sister to explore her inner child by
filling the intermittent gaps of silence during dinner time conversation
with her imaginative interpretations of my nervous ticks, nods and blinks,
Growing weary of replacing cartons of chewed-up and discarded Monarch No. 2 pencils,
the late night emergency runs to the hospital after BIC pens exploded in my mouth
(and then there was that time my stomach had to be pumped
after I swallowed wads of 3-hole college rule during a spitball fight with my sister,
not to mention the paper cuts,
and the time I stabbed myself with a No. 2 pencil to prove a point.
Yep, I proved it was sharp enough!),
Mom and Dad presented me with a Smith Corona
portable typewriter for my 13th birthday.
I found the clickety-clack of the plastic keys comforting
as I pressed my face down to nuzzle them.
running my fingers along the spools of black-inked ribbon,
gently smudging my cheeks and nose with the dark viscid fluid.
I would spend many a pleasant hour tapping the metal strikers like a xylophone.
pressing my thumbs against select letters to embed them into my flesh!
Oh the magical ratchet and ring at the end of every line!
Oh the crisp velum of the Eaton's Corrasable Bond!
Perfect for folding paper fans and paper airplanes.
In my gratitude I signed up for touch typing and typed my parents a thank-you note
for my mid-term project:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Roses are red, violets blue
Now I can be read, thanks to you!
I love my new typewriter,
but No 2. pencils and BIC pens
were a better chew!
Love bites, kisses & ughs,
Roxy
Orange
Taking me over at a moment of weakness
Displaying the wounds
That were trying so desperately to heal
The ax is still there
Ready for the kill
Every moment when you’re near
The ax seems to fall deeper
Into the wounds of old
I think you know
For I saw the truth
I saw the monster that was really you
You knew I was weak
And you knew the pain
That was forever in my heart
I would have killed for you
Or given my last breath to make you happy
But instead I was the one who was killed
By your hands of hate
You murdered the love in my heart
And ripped out my soul the core of my love
I believe I was fooling myself
The pain that I felt,
I let it control me,
It blinded me
So much I couldn’t see
Just what I had to offer
Now my friend
I’m taking the ax out
And keeping it out for good
The wounds of old will heal
With a little something I call
SELF – ESTEEM!
Kevin Michael Wehle
The Outer Boroughs
The Outer Boroughs
Make the Inner Ginsberg howl
An Outré Sutra.
Gentrification
Drink Colt 45,
Drive a Lexus through Bed-Stuy
And call it “slumming.”
Urayoan Noel
C-Phone Section
There’s this plump lady
sitting behind me on the train
and she’s so upset
Her Daughter-law Marmy just
had a C-section
and Joshy her son (I gather)
didn’t call her quick enough.
evidently fell asleep
after it was all over.
So now she’s just calling everyone
she can think of…
Right now she’s talking to Kiki
and in that whiny, world weary
blubbering voice dripping
with hurt and solicitous
concern registering her
sense of indignation
and outrage over the
very idea of inconsideration
simultaneously delivered
in a repetitive loop
of script driven relief
over mother and child doing fine now.
“but the very idea of it all”
is reported in an episodic
guilt trip serial update.
And all I can hear in my head
is that quote from that half forgotten
J.D. Salinger story where a
fellow passenger on a airplane
is overheard in the next seat up
to exclaim
in what must have been
rendered in that same tone
of insufferable sob sister proclamation,
“Can you believe that the Doctors
took an entire pint of pus
out of that lovely body of hers.”
Vincent Quatroche
The Sound Of A Woman
Click heel, Click heel, on the pavement,
Such an unspoken comment,
That’s the sound of a woman coming,
Maybe she’s wearing a short skirt,
Time for you to flirt,
Or perhaps she’s wearing tight pants,
As you noticeably take a glance,
Sizing up the situation,
Promoting sexual frustration,
Your thoughts roam,
Wanting to take her home,
Hemming and hawing,
And your comments she’s ignoring,
Throwing out a lame line,
She takes the bait,
You running from base to base,
To score at the plate,
Things are lustfully heavy,
And she is ready,
Kissing and caressing,
Touching and feeling,
Bending and kneeling,
Tossing and turning,
Temperature burning,
Patterned sighs and cries,
Continual moans and groans,
In pleading tones,
Louder and louder,
Over and over,
Sudden silence takes the room,
Now she is quiet,
Now that truly is the sound of a woman cumming.
Danielle Lucania
Attack of the Killer Lesbian Vampires
On this Saturday afternoon
the theater slowly fills
with a fine collection
of killer lesbian vampires.
They saunter in solitary or in pairs
holding hands, arms draped
about each other
upon taking their seats
head on the others shoulder.
Their leader is
a striking Vampire Vixen
with smoldering dark
closely cropped tight red curls
with a knack for cabaret
from the UK takes the stage
launching demonstratively
into a self styled song book
of Lesbian Vampire Show tunes.
Her performance comes in
somewhere between Gloria Swanson
and Ethel Mermen.
All are amazed and amused
by her verse and song.
The audience receives
receives her enthusiastically.
Thunderous applause
follows her off the stage as she exits.
So
that means I’m next up.
I’m introduced.
Survey the audience.
Step out of the stoplight on the stage
and in the shadows
just to the left of enter
I read an extended
1st person perspective
POV prose piece
very luridly detailed
regarding the act of
heterosexual fellatio.
They sit and regard me.
Stunned.
With their mouths open
ajar in astonishment
fangs
glistening
listening.
After all
they all
know
I am a dead man
Soon.
Anyway.
Vincent Quatroche
THE MAN, HIS DOG AND THE SEAGULL
The man walks his dog across the Brooklyn Bridge for charity. A
seagull lands on his head. He fights to get the bird off. Other walkers
pass by – laughing. They offer no assistance. The bird plants its
tentacles deeper into his scalp. The man isn’t going to let the seagull
get away with it. Neither is the bird. It pecks non-stop like he’s fresh
fish. Its wings flap non-stop like he’s a punching bag. Eventually, the
man wins, but his dog turns on him. It bites him for being wrapped
around his legs. He topples over, almost taking his dog with him.
However, the leash gets stuck in the railing. The man’s weight snaps
the leash, causing a big splash. His dog continues to walk for charity.
The seagull flies away.
Patricia Carragon
Like A Cat
Your alcohol soaked lips
On the nape of my
Red sun kissed neck
Pulling at it
Like I’m your feline
Your moment of glory
A chance to blend in
I might come back
Because you feed me
You can’t claim me
Neither can he
I’m the one who marks his territory
I’m free to roam
The truth
You adoration
Made me feel light
Good;
That I’ve got my
Man magic back
Sad for you that
You will never feel
More then one spark.
Kevin Michael Wehle
Man Of Labels
Feelings seemed to be mutual,
Far from liberal,
He says one thing and does another,
This paradox he’ll ignore,
Leaving no title or label,
Just to equal,
Ultimate highs,
Constant lows,
Missed kisses,
Desired caresses,
Dry roses,
Empty promises,
Decorated truths,
Clouded proofs,
Miscommunications,
Wrong conclusions,
Mangled emotions,
Pointless devotions,
And all of these dreadful plurals,
Due to the man of labels.
Danielle Lucania
For Better Or For Worse
For better or for worse, we vowed to be together
For better or for worse, we would love each other like no tomorrow. Three days left to
that big exciting day of our lives.
For better or for worse, I still love you as much as before.
One day left and happier then ever, I find the love of my life cheating on me in my house.
Tell me baby was I that bad?
What did I do wrong?
Forget it you don’t owe me any explanation!
Because for better or for worse, you are gone,
And now my love I will go and do better.
Steven Monroe
I’m GAY, You’re HOT, DEAL With it!
You are HOT!
Why can’t I say that
To another man?
It indeed is a compliment
For you are beautiful
I’m not saying that I’m going to
Rip off your pants
To see what I might be working with.
No, it’s just my way of saying
That you’re cute
Just in case you didn’t know
Or needed to hear it
Because you’re having a bad day
Why can’t I say that
To another man?
Is it because I like men
And it’s not the manly thing to do?
Fuck that!
Sometimes you just need to hear it
So the next time
A sassy, fabulous, gay man
Comes up to you and says
“Nice abs”
Just smile, and say thank you!
Kevin Michael Wehle
LOVE IS LOVE
We all know Love is patient
We all know Love is kind
No one tells you Love is crazy
and can catch you from behind
They say 1 man 1 woman
It’s unnatural to love your own
But I’ve been with boys, I’ve been with girls
And Love is ruled by Love alone
Yeah, Love is ruled by Love alone
Cause Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
It’s never paint by numbers
This abstract work of art
You can only find its beauty painting with your broken heart
And if you stay wide open
To everything that it could be
It might grace you with its presence
But Love don’t make no guarantees
Yeah, Love don’t make no guarantees
Cause Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
You know it’s gonna save you
However you were made to
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is
The seed that takes root beneath the snow
Just when you’re thinking you’ll never see it grow
It only feels painful, it only seems hard
Because it’s gotta break through frozen ground to show you who you are
You know it’s gonna save you
However you were made to
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
For all you’ve gained and all you’ve lost
Love is always worth the cost, cause
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
Athena Reich/Lorraine Ferro
POLICE IN IRAQ
sung to the tune of José Feliciano Feliz Navidad”
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, patrolling the block in a state of shock!
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, under-equipped, split a walkie-talk.
I want to wish you a merry JI-had
I want to wish you the same as WE had
I want to wish you to have and BE had
from Ramadi or Najaf
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, suicide bombers, Fedayeen, and Ba’ath!
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, don’t worry, baby, Gates is on the clock!
I want to wish you a merry limb loss
I want to wish you a merry war cost
I want to wish you some no-bid contracts
So Sadr City’s sad no más
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, bring back the air raids, I hear they rock!
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, with us coalitioned this thing’s a lock!
I want to wish you an RPG toss
I want to wish you some IED sauce
I want to wish you a born-again mosque
In the image of a News Corp. cross
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, the CNN analyst wears a policy smock.
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, happy wet dreams in dry dock!
I want to wish you a merry JI-had
I want to wish you the same as WE had
I want to wish you to have and BE had
from Ramadi or Najaf
Urayoan Noel
Religion
Oh, where did our hearts go to?
Why do we feel the need to kill, to bathe in our own blood
to beat our brother?
Oh we’re all the same really when you get down to it
Why do we feel the need for hatred danger and violence?
Why, I said why do we feel so angry?
Feel the need to burn to kill our brother
Is it justice? I think not
Oh why it only constricts our soul burns a hole in our world
What happened to, I said, and you call that religion?
We can’t deny every cause has an effect
Every pause has a defect
Every lesson must be learnt
We got to wake up our souls to evolution yeah, evolution
I want to make you all listen
I want to make you all cry
Just sit up and listen
We can learn how to fly
Why, I said why do we feel so angry
Feel the need to burn to kill our brother
Is it justice? I think not
Oh why it only constricts our soul burns a hole in our world
What happened to, I said, and you call that Religion?
Why, I said why do we feel so angry
Feel the need to burn to kill our brother
Is it justice? I think not
Oh why it only constricts our soul burns a hole in our world
What happened to… Religion?
Danielle Tersini
Justice Isn’t Really Blind
After some long heated debates
I said to Justice
I feel your passion
See where you’re coming from
Respect what you stand for
But
Being blind
Seems to stand in your way
She laughed so hard
The scales tipped
Turning the table her way
As she peeked from under her blindfold
She said she wouldn’t have it any other way
If she saw all that we saw
She’d go mad before she finished a day
Then she spoke of getting ear plugs
As she turned her back
Then walked away
Arlene Cassarino
Thank You’s And Info. Page
Once again we would liked to thank all the writers. We want to
thank Roxanne Hoffman for listing us on her blog, and for
sending a few writers our way. Also we want to thank Danielle
Lucania for helping us proof read our first issue. A special
thank you goes out to Roz, and Breno for helping with our PC
problems. Also we want to thank all of you for taking the time
to read our first issue.
We have three resources for our fellow writers:
1) POETS WEAR PRADA is a small press based in Hoboken,
New Jersey devoted to introducing new authors through
limited edition, high-quality chaplets, primarily of poetry.
Check it out at http://poetswearpradanj.home.att.net
2) Lulu.com is a web site for authors to publish their books.
(poetry or prose) We know that they are good, because Kevin
published his book: “Hairless…In A World Of Big Hair.” with
them. They do excellence work, keep great records, and your
checks come on time.
3) CC&D Magazine is a wonderful press that publishes short
stories, poetry, and art work. They publish an online and
paper copy. They published two of Kevin Michael Wehle’s
poems. It’s a good press for new writers as well as already
published writers. For guidelines and/or to check them out go
to http://scars.tv
Pushing The Envelope is published quarterly. All rights of the
poetry and prose within remain with the authors. None of the
work within can be copied or reproduced without the
permission of the authors and/or editors. This magazine is
produced by All Queer Boy Productions September 2009.
Writer’s Bios.
V. Cordell Brown - Is a brilliant, and mesmerizing poet who
just had a feature at: The Saturn Series Reading. When he
reads his work he draws you into the heart of each piece. We
look forward to hearing more from him.
Athena Reich – Is a singer/songwriter with a few albums out.
Her latest is: “Little Girl Dreams.” She is currently on tour.
Check out what she is up to on her web site: AthenaReich.com.
Jack Tricarico – Is a New York City painter, poet, and t’ai chi
instructor who has been published in numerous poetry
journals and anthologies based in New York City and in
upstate New York. He has just finished his 8th chap book
entitled "EKSTASIS". You can see his art work on a global art
site on the internet. Just google: BONDAN BOWERY. Click
on artists. artists are listed alphabetically. On this site he is
listed as John, NOT JACK TRICARICO. Click on images to
enlarge.
Adam Henry Carriere - is a poet, teacher, and broadcaster.
Recent publications include The Bicycle Review, The Smoking
Book, The Mayo Review, Counterexample Poetics, Tonopath
Review, Junked (2008 Poetry Prize Finalist), Zygote in My
Coffee, Oak Bend Review. and Tattoo Highway. He publishes
Danse Macabre, Nevada’s first online literary magazine.
Mindy Matijasevic – writer, actress, and comic, won a BRIO
award (Bronx Recognizes Its Own) for poetry from the Bronx
Council on the Arts in 2001, has been published in numerous
journals, and is the author of a poetry chapbook, sounds like a
woman to me. Mindy may be contacted at:
mindyinthebronx@aol.com.
John T. Bestecki – Survived his high school days to bring us:
“The Stevie Chronicles.” Thank God he did, so we can enjoy
his experiences.
Vincent Quatroche – has been writing for over thirty years and
his fifth collection of Poetry, Prose and Short stories entitled,
The Terrible Now will be available during the Summer of 2009
through Xlibris Press. A persistently cryptic and annoying
presence on the poetry circuit in the Northeast region of the
United States attempts to silence him have been unsuccessful.
In addition, Quatroche works in the spoken word/sonic
landscape media and has released numerous projects on
tape/CD in the last two decades. A new CD entitled, Singing
Mr. Cedric has a Fall release date scheduled later in the Year.
Of course Quatroche doesn’t make a living doing any of things,
relying on being employed as a career educator at area colleges
and correctional facilities in WNY, where his students (and
inmates) find him equally persistent, cryptic and annoying.
Website for more info www.rubbereden.com
Sarah Stappersfenne – is a student at Ithaca College and a New
York Women in Communications (NYWICI) scholarship
winner. Her writing has appeared in The Houston Literary
Review, NYWICI's NEXTblog, Rosebud Magazine, The
DuPage Review and most notably, the Not a Muse Anthology.
Roxanne Hoffman –worked on Wall Street, now she answered
a patient hotline for a major New York home healthcare
provider. Her poems and stories appear on and off the net,
most recently in Amaze: The Cinquain Journal, Danse
Macabre, The Fib Review, Hospital Drive, Lucid Rythms,
MOBIUS The Poetry Magazine, Word Slaw and two
anthologies: The Bandana Republic: Literary Anthology By
Gang Members And Their Affiliates (Soft Skull Press), and
Love After 70 (Wishing Up Press). She and her husband own
the small press, POETS WEAR PRADA.
Brian Damian Sabbats – is a writer that defies definition,
because he prefers being a rainbow with his writing. From
children stories, to poetry of all kinds, to gay erotica, to a
collection of stories about sexual child abuse: "To My Son,
Love Dad," to the novel he's writing with John T. Bestecki
called "What the Mushroom Said"(a gay love story set in the
late 1960s of NYC). He prefers writing things that will hit you
in the gut & make you feel. So be warned not to expect to feel
safe & comfy. Oh, he has written insipid stuff much to he's
own dismay & he asks for your forgiveness during such
moments. We can expect him to blow up the world with his
writing as soon as he finds proofreaders & the time to write.
He's the co-editor of "Pushing The Envelope" which is a labor
of love with blood, sweat, tears & a lot of cursing. So now read
their 1st issue & feel things that you have never felt before lol.
Su Polo – is a multitalented artist. A native New Yorker, her
writing conveys unusual insights and surprises found in life's
everyday events and encounters. She is a singer/songwriter
with guitar and dulcimer, Jazz vocalist, photographer, painter
and sculptor, set designer, computer graphic artist and created
her website www.supolo.com. Her book, Turning Stones, a
collection of poems and stories is available at St. Marks Books
in NYC (and formerly at the late, great Gotham Book Mart),
and her work appears numerous times in Caprice Magazine,
the Poet to Poet magazine, Medicinal Purposes among others.
She is the founder and co-host of the Saturn Series poetry
reading in NYC and is the editor and publisher of its
periodical, Saturn. She is also the host of the Artists' Lounge,
an open mike for singer songwriters and musicians @
Nightingale Lounge. Su is also the set designer for the last 4
years of the New Years Day Poetry Extravaganza held at the
Bowery Poetry Club. She is currently working on her onewoman
show and her second book.
Danny Garcia – Has an extended body of work. He’s a writer
from California. He has five books out. “Rainbow Explodes,”
is just one of the many titles, and his new fifth book is:
“Cathartic Sight.”
Kevin Michael Wehle – Is the co-editor of: “Pushing The
Envelope.” His poems are on Poet’s Haven.com, hhtp://
Scars.tv., and Poetry.com, He has published a chapter book
called: “Hairless…In A World Of Big Hair.” You can check it
out at: Lulu.com. The poems: “Orange,” and “I’m Gay,
You’re Hot, Deal With It” are in his chapter book. He has
featured at: “The Saturn Series,” and Bengal Curry’s “The
Phoenix Series”
Urayoan Noel – is the author of the books of poetry Boringken
(Ediciones Callejon/La Tertulia, 2008) and Kool Logic/La
logica kool(Bilingual Press, 2005), both of the Year selections
by El Nuevo Dia (Puerto Rico), and released with performance
CD and DVD respectively. Originally from San Juan, PR, he
currently divides his times between the South Bronx and
upstate, and is Assistant Professor of English at the University
at Albany, SUNY.
Patricia Carragon- is a New York City poet and writer.
Her publications include Poetz.com, Rogue Scholars,
Poets Wear Prada, Best Poem, Big City Lit, CLWN WR,
Chantarelle’s Notebook, Clockwise Cat, Ditch Poetry
Magazine, Mobius Magazine, The Toronto Quarterly,
and more. She is the author of Journey to the Center
of My Mind (Rogue Scholars Press). She is a member
of Brevitas, a group dedicated to short poems.
Patricia hosts and curates the Brooklyn-based
Brownstone Poets and is the editor of the annual
anthology.
Steven Monroe – a beautiful new writer on the scene, who has
a lot to say in his writing. We are looking forward to see what
he writes next.
Danielle Tersini - Wildly passionate, firey and expressive. Dani
Tersini’s performances are about letting go, releasing energy,
breathing fire, and smoldering with her audience. Being an
innovative artist with versatility, imagination and power,
Tersini’s essence expresses an eclectic blend of sounds
reflecting the many facets of emotion stirring from within.
Boldly following her dream and escaping from England, to the
Big Apple and not knowing a single soul, Dani is now surviving
in the music capital of the world, and rocking the stages of
venues such as The Bitter End, The Sidewalk Café, Banjo
Jim’s and Caffe Vivaldi. She continues to thrive, stamping her
own individuality on her music and performance.
Arlene Cassaino – A great poet who has featured at Bengal
Curry’s Phoenix Series, and The Saturn Series. She is a poet to
watch out for.
Danielle Lucaina – Has been writing since she was eleven, but
she is fairly new to the scene. Danielle’s poetry is full of
rhythm, and soul. She is also our proof reader. This is her first
published work, and hopefully not the last.
To know more about us, to get our guidelines or to submit for
our next issue, or if you know someone who wants to receive a
copy, or submit email us @
PushingTheenvelope09@Gmail.com
A Literary Magazine
An All Queer Boy Production
Issue One
09/17/09
Featuring The Work Of:
Jack Tricarico
Danielle Lucania
Urayoan Noel
Danny Garcia
Vincent Quatroche
Roxanne Hoffman
Kevin Michael Wehle
Brian Damian Sabbats
Athena Reich
V. Cordell Brown
Sarah Stapperfenne
Adam Henry Carriere
Su Polo
Mindy Matijasevic
Arlene Cassarino
Patricia Carragon
And A Few Other Fabulous Writers
Disclaimer: No one under the age of 18 should view this
magazine for it contains adult and graphic material. Our first
issue is hot, sexy, and steamy deal with it!
Letter From The Editors:
Brian and I joked about doing this for a couple of weeks in the spring. I
wanted to start a literary magazine since the end of last year. The first time
around it didn’t work out. So I kept in the back of my mind until that faithful
day, and I said to Brian” “Let’s do it!” He wanted to name it: “Pushing The
Envelope.” So we started on this journey, and what a ride it has been. Brian
said it best: “We didn’t think about it. We just did it. If we thought about it
we wouldn’t have done it.” Neither of us are computer savvy people. Brian
is a bit more then I am. I’m lucky if I can turn mine on and off, but that
changed a bit during the making of this magazine. With our labor of love we
learned a lot, cursed at our PC’s, cheered when we figured things out, and
asked for help when we needed it. In truth sometimes we looked a bit
deranged through out the process. In the end it was all worth it, for our first
issue was born.
We never thought that we would have such an amazing first issue. So
many talented writers answered our call. We thank them all so very much
for having faith in us. Without these wonderful writers we would not be able
to have made this magazine. Also we want to thank the few writers who
didn’t get published. It wasn’t for lack of talent. All the submissions were
great. Being a small magazine we couldn’t include every piece we received.
Again we thank you, and hope that you will submit in the future.
Now let’s talk about our first issue. We start off with a poem by the
amazingly talented V. Cordell Brown. We knew his poem was the perfect
poem to start with from the title alone, because our magazine is: “The Place
For Poetry.” We were lucky enough to have two songwriters submit their
songs. Those songwriters are: Athena Reich, and Danielle Tersini. We also
have some new and up and coming writers in this issue. They are Danielle
Lucania, John T. Bestecki, Sarah Stapperfenne, and Steven Monroe. We
love to publish new voices, and we wish them the best of luck. We hope that
we are the stepping stone they need to a bright writing career. This issue also
features some seasoned writers. They are Jack Tricarico, Urayoan Noel,
Vincent Quatroche, Roxanne Hoffman, Adam Henry Carriere, Su Polo,
Mindy Matijasevic, and Patricia Carragon. A lot of these poets/writers we’ve
met at The Saturn Series at The Nightingale Lounge. There are some very
talented, friendly, supportive people there. You should check it out on a
Monday night. We end out first issue with a poem called: “Justice Isn’t
Really Blind” by Arlene Cassarino. We felt it was the perfect way to end the
first issue. It’s a poem that makes you think, and a poem everyone can relate
to. Arlene’s poems are refreshing, witty, and they make you laugh. She was
a welcomed addition to our magazine.
Well now it’s your turn to read and enjoy our beautiful poetic baby. We
know that you will be delighted by all the work within. Please let us know
what you think. Questions? Suggestions? Comments? Just email us @
Pushingtheenvelope09@Gmail.com I’m sure our fellow writers would like
to hear what you think of their work, and we would also like to hear what
you think of our first issue. So sit back, relax, and enjoy. Be ready to be
inspired. Enjoy! Kevin & Brian
THE PLACE FOR POETRY.
THIS STORE IS FULL OF RHYTHM
THIS STORE IS FULL OF RHYME,
AND THE GREATEST THING ABOUT IT
IS THAT WE’RE OPEN ALL THE TIME.
WE HAVE MOONBEAMS AND DREAMS
AND MYTHS AND FOLKLORE,
WE EVEN HAVE FREE VERSE
IT’S RIGHT BY THE DOOR.
WE HAVE PROSE BY THE ROWS
AND A HAIKU THAT IS NEW,
WE EVEN HAVE FAIRYTALES
BUT ONLY A FEW.
WE HAVE CUMMINGS AND BROWNING
AND LANGSTON HUGHES,
WE EVEN HAVE FROST
IF HE’S WHAT YOU CHOOSE.
WE HAVE A LITTLE OF THIS
AND A LITTLE OF THAT,
WE EVEN HAVE
CASEY AT THE BAT.
SO THE NEXT TIME YOU ARE HUNGRY
OR PERHAPS, IN A STRANGE MOOD,
THE THOUGHT TO ALWAYS REMEMBER
IS THAT POETRY IS GOOD FOOD.
SO IF YOU’RE INTO POETRY
WE HAVE SOME OF EVERY KIND
AND THERE’S ONLY ONE REAL
HOUSE RULE:
JUST DON’T READ BETWEEN THE LINES.
V. CORDELL BROWN
Ballad of Chicken Shower
Water pounds with fury
Heat rises thick and warm
Washed my hair 2 or 3 times; can’t keep track, can’t keep track
‘Cause steam can’t soothe this inner storm
You lie on bed blue soft
Thoughts in sweet fantasy
Comfy grey sweatshirt caresses your skin; oh your skin
You breathe in time and wait for me
I’m a wrinkled chicken, “Bok, Bok”
O.K. this is my cue
Cannot bring myself out of this shower, shower
I’m a nervous wreck think’n ‘bout you
Finally, by the dawn’s light
Hands find hands; lips brush cheek
A soft drunken blur of sweet caresses, caresses
This is the love that we all seek
Morning brings fuzzy light
Orange juice & champagne
We giggle as we fumble into clothes, oh your clothes
Float out the door and to the train
Strangers brush by in blurs
It’s time to part my dear
I lean in, in a daze, to kiss you deep, oh so deep
Your face contorts with desperate fear
“Not here! No! Not in public!”
Your mouth twists with disgust
“This kind of love’s for the bedroom only, only
Besides it’s only childish lust.”
But I would kiss you anywhere
The street, the bus, or in Times Square
I’d hold you tight in naked light
I’d never hide. I’d shout with pride
Singing, “This is who I am and you are who I love
Glare or stare, we can rise above”
But your smile has soured
You brow is creased
Your chin turns hard,
My senses jarred
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Your eyes reveal our love’s deceased.
Athena Reich
Ricochet
At 3am I follow a fly’s trajectory
Till it stops on a clock
Time has a watery face
I am a liquid boy
With a liquid girl
Climbing out of the water
Of our pre-pubescence
Her vagina is paraphernalia
For husband catching
I’ve been thinking of getting a sponge mattress
Because my dreams end in sand
But what shall I do about the weightless colossus
Who sits on my back
And plays with the interior intricacies
Of wrist watches. Seems like a composite image
Of every abandoned wish
That over came back to me. Meanwhile
I have post-menstrual saliva taste
Lingering around on my tongue
I reach for the mouth wash
And spit it in the sink
I remember the face
But the name draws a blank
She was confused about time
Why does it tick forward and not back?
One day it may actually happen
She thought. It’s all in the quartz
When crystallized
Prisms get terminated by pyramids
While hexagons prevail
Intrinsically life is unfair
Jack Tricarico
Manhattan Cannibal
In longing to explore
A mind was lost in thought
And neither knowing why
The hand beneath the hand
The eye beneath the eye
Without a time to pause
To look without regret
At fading roads behind
In smoke of revelation
As necessity insists
Jack Tricarico
Me and Kevin's Secret
Kevin says he wants to toboggan down a naked body
while it rains on the blue shingles of the garage.
He's fourteen, wearing jeans with no underwear.
His bare la grange feet are soaked
from the sno-cone pool left behind us.
He sees me squirm in the dark and smiles.
A monsoon of brow-beating Grandfather clouds
radar over the hallucinogenic distance,
where the sun swims in charmed shade.
Garbage-picked fans rattle in the floor way,
pressing sweat into the stuffed animals
with terror and glee
we lose our virginity upon.
Under graffiti-covered beams,
we seethe, we experiment,
hidden on the hard carpet below
our shadows.
Amid entangled sobs, we wonder
if a Tarot card will seduce the other
into coming first, or if God will bother
to keep me and Kevin's secret.
Adam Henry Carriere
Invasion
Faint footsteps forward
should not have been ignored,
He’d not let me escape the room or his mind,
not knowing what he hopes to find,
hounding and sorting through my undergarments,
Blurting insignificant compliments,
trying to deter my defense,
Mangling word usage,
Caressing the crevices of my invaded domain,
composure is what I try to maintain,
He using intellectual vocabulary,
as the ultimate foreplay,
That is as far as he’ll get in this game,
Trying to play a part in my future,
in a persistent nature,
He uttered, “I will speak to you again.”
The question is when?
Danielle Lucania
in 7th grade my best friend Barbara & i cut
classes ran from bullies picked
up guys hung out after school called each other
every evening with more to talk
& make each other laugh about &
when my stoop was full with only one seat left
we’d sit on each others lap
one day barbara told me we shouldn’t do that ‘cuz
her boyfriend said we look like lezzies.
Mindy Matijasevic
Jan. 11, 2009
Time Stitch
I see, I see, said the blind man to the deaf dog
to the assembled throng
of boys that don't belong,
of cabbages and kings
polar bears and whales
places and things
bedtime stories and kinky tales,
the midnight sun and the Mediterranean dawn
the full Biscay moon and faces long gone
museums in the morning drizzle
crashing waves on the shore,
as high as the angels in the Alps
alone at home, angry and poor;
the night train strangers under the northern lights
ill-dressed tourists and carbonated neon brights
what a sad sight
seen by eyes that don't work right
punctured by needles icy cold
to travel a broken cobblestone path, so we're told
cruising railroad stations for rented meat
fine dining and morphine cocktails trying to deny defeat
flying alone in a premier class seat
mountain air saliva he holds in his lip's heat
great towers bathed in whimsy
empty Norman beaches to every side
wandered by husbands desperate for their brides;
interstates and passports
postcards and souvenirs
laughter and bliss
people you can hardly miss
sights so beautiful you feel felt up by God
and shed an atheist's few tears;
I've been to heaven, and it's a lot like Paris.
Adam Henry Carriere
THE STEVIE CHRONICLES
When I first arrived at Adams for my sophomore year of high school, on my first
day nobody spoke to me. The next day after homeroom as we were filing out the
door, a short kid with a beautiful face and long black hair came over to me. He
smiled put out his hand and said: “hi I’m Stevie. You’re new aren’t you? Let me
show you around.” I said thanks my name is John and we shook hands and both
laughed. Then he took me to the backyard, then the roof, and a few other places
where we could smoke grass.
The next few days Stevie was like my welcome wagon. He introduced me to all
the cool kids and we became good friends. Then one day, I remembered it was cold
outside Stevie came up to me and said: “you want me to really warm you up?” And I
said: “Okay.” Then he took me to the boys bathroom and said lets go in the stall. He
had a sly expression on his face, as he opened up the stall door and said: “drop your
pants. I’m going to give you a blow job.” I was wild about the idea and quickly undid
my pants, and he said: “get up on the toilet bowl.” I climbed up and had a difficult
time getting my pants down, because I was so hard. With a little help from Stevie
they fell to my knees, and I was pearling. Then Stevie took me by the hips, and put
his mouth around my cock. It was unbelievable. This was the first time I did
anything like this with anyone. Waves of pleasure ran through my cock. His
beautiful mouth was so tight and warm. I could feel his tongue rubbing against the
head of my cock. The pleasure got greater and greater. I couldn’t hold back any
longer, and I started to come. We became the best of friends from then on. ;)
John T. Bestecki
Mango Juice
For my friend after her lover dry spell
Followed by a spell of dry lovers:
There are some things you just can’t
Know from a personal ad or chat room
I cross the street and see a man
Eating mango in the rain
His locks of hair wet and
Orange as the wild fibers of
The mango he’d just sucked
Tosses the peel in the trash can
Certainly he’d have no problem
With moisture and mess and more
Erotic than that------
He takes care of his own damn garbage
Mindy Matijasevic
Runaway Hillbilly Astronaut Bride
And another thing….
Leaving that poor girl alone.
I know exactly how she felt then
Driving in the pampers from Texas to Florida with the stun gun in her purse.
So from now on I am so through trying to be Zorro fighting somebody
With gleaming scimitar on a burning bridge.
Instead I intend to skip the desire laden incontinence of guilt
And just disappear
into the split mirrors in the Bedford Hotel.
Like so much lost European baggage
abandoned to hold court in the lobby
as we saunter past through foyer towards the elevator
holding hands and grinning in each other’s eyes
filled with a mutually shared insatiable
emotional itch.
Vincent Quatroche
The Pretender
He steps off the train,
And watches his typical vehicle
Chase its clamoring tracks into an open
Mouthed tunnel. The whistle mocks,
"I’ll be back for you tomorrow!"
He feels his pudgy wallet through his pocket
With the soft pads of his finger-tips
And watches his small shadow
Sink further and further into the bricks,
Working itself into oblivion.
He runs those same fingers
Through his hair that’s changing
To slim peach fuzz. He must return
To frozen dinners on paper plates tonight
And a morning of coffee spoons.
What will tomorrow do?
Morning will open like a hole.
And tonight? What about tonight?
Tonight will be the clock timing dinner
And ticking him to sleep in an empty bed.
So The Pretender turns and walks home.
The train departs, and at 6 am will arrive.
Life will be the same before and next-
With shined shoes, kettles, commutes,
Ringing phones, televisions, and suits.
Sarah Stappersfenne
X’d
at
birth’s
cry
death
enters,
felling
guarded
hideaways,
invading
jealously
kept
lives,
making
no
option
possible.
quiet,
relentlessly
stealth.
time’s
unwelcomed
viceroy
waits. . .
x’d,
years
zip.
Roxanne Hoffman
Condoms
I have to laugh
I just found a condom & lube
in my chest pocket
I forgot it was there
did 1 of my friends
gave it to me or
did I pick it up
at the Gay Center or
a gay bar-
I don't remember
but it doesn't matter
I never use them
I haven't had any kind of sex
or love making
Let's see
I know that it has been over
6 yearshas
it been 7 yet?
Don't get me wrong
I have a partner
a lover of a lifetime
we just don't make love
I have the passion & desire
he does not
I used to give the condoms to
a straight woman
I'm infatuated with
who I would rather use the condoms with
Oh, you thought that I was just Gay
No, I guess, you could say I'm not
Actually, the truth is that
I fall in love
with the personality
of the person
first
then I might notice
what sex they are
I have confused people
all of my life
But I have to smile
it is not hard to understand
Anyway, that woman
that I was giving
condoms to
didn't like that brand
so now I keep
finding them in my pockets,
drawers or wherever I put them
Others might say save them for a rainy day
Well, guess what?
Today is actually a rainy day
Brian Damian Sabbats 1/1/08 NYC
Searchers © 2009 Su Polo
Here is poetry. In a space, a place by itself, this lonely
poem. This lonely poem, is searching for the words, the
words to make some sense in this space.
And here is art, with all excitement and hopefulness.
Hanging on the wall, waiting for poem to come along, and
make some sense with words in this space.
Waiting for the poetry, this lonely poem to come across
this art and recognize his face, because he’s in a place
without words, a place by itself, this lonely place.
And here is beauty and hope and love. They are dancing
in a circle arm in arm, spinning and laughing. They find
the art and they find the poetry and they fill the space so it
isn’t lonely and they lift us up with art and poetry to a
place that is filled with words and images that is tempered
by beauty and hope and love.
They’ve all gone off now… in search of music.
Framed Sun
Today, I decided
The sunshine has long been neglected
So I immersed myself
I wish it could fit on my shelf
I felt ice in my veins
Melt and leave me with yesterday's rain
We all have our prime time
Is being a boy with long hair a crime?
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed...
Some gay men are shallow
I guess we can misrepresent rainbows
And so I feel ugly
But there's famine amongst the pretty
Today, I failed to read
But I observed the humidity
Before fear came my way
I confronted the sunlight today...
I felt the sun again
I finally stopped the rain
I found it's not the same
Wish the sun could be framed.
Danny Garcia
JUST WORDS
YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT
OR HOW I BECAME A WRITER By Roxanne Hoffman
As a pre-pubescent teenager still in my primitive cannibalistic period,
and only recently weaned from my left thumb,
I bit my nails, chewed my split-ends and swallowed my words.
No amount of encouragement or ridicule would make me spit them out.
The taunts of my peers:
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Here comes Marcel's retarded sister!"
"Are you a dummy? Let's find a ventriloquist."
only fueled my need to self-masticate.
Biting my lips and grinding my teeth until they bled,
let to early rumors of vampirism.
My parents, a gregarious couple of chatterboxes,
devoted to encouraging their offspring
with motivational speeches and lavish praise,
when they found themselves no longer able to distinguish my scribblings
from the food stains on the paper napkins,
allowed my older sister to explore her inner child by
filling the intermittent gaps of silence during dinner time conversation
with her imaginative interpretations of my nervous ticks, nods and blinks,
Growing weary of replacing cartons of chewed-up and discarded Monarch No. 2 pencils,
the late night emergency runs to the hospital after BIC pens exploded in my mouth
(and then there was that time my stomach had to be pumped
after I swallowed wads of 3-hole college rule during a spitball fight with my sister,
not to mention the paper cuts,
and the time I stabbed myself with a No. 2 pencil to prove a point.
Yep, I proved it was sharp enough!),
Mom and Dad presented me with a Smith Corona
portable typewriter for my 13th birthday.
I found the clickety-clack of the plastic keys comforting
as I pressed my face down to nuzzle them.
running my fingers along the spools of black-inked ribbon,
gently smudging my cheeks and nose with the dark viscid fluid.
I would spend many a pleasant hour tapping the metal strikers like a xylophone.
pressing my thumbs against select letters to embed them into my flesh!
Oh the magical ratchet and ring at the end of every line!
Oh the crisp velum of the Eaton's Corrasable Bond!
Perfect for folding paper fans and paper airplanes.
In my gratitude I signed up for touch typing and typed my parents a thank-you note
for my mid-term project:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Roses are red, violets blue
Now I can be read, thanks to you!
I love my new typewriter,
but No 2. pencils and BIC pens
were a better chew!
Love bites, kisses & ughs,
Roxy
Orange
Taking me over at a moment of weakness
Displaying the wounds
That were trying so desperately to heal
The ax is still there
Ready for the kill
Every moment when you’re near
The ax seems to fall deeper
Into the wounds of old
I think you know
For I saw the truth
I saw the monster that was really you
You knew I was weak
And you knew the pain
That was forever in my heart
I would have killed for you
Or given my last breath to make you happy
But instead I was the one who was killed
By your hands of hate
You murdered the love in my heart
And ripped out my soul the core of my love
I believe I was fooling myself
The pain that I felt,
I let it control me,
It blinded me
So much I couldn’t see
Just what I had to offer
Now my friend
I’m taking the ax out
And keeping it out for good
The wounds of old will heal
With a little something I call
SELF – ESTEEM!
Kevin Michael Wehle
The Outer Boroughs
The Outer Boroughs
Make the Inner Ginsberg howl
An Outré Sutra.
Gentrification
Drink Colt 45,
Drive a Lexus through Bed-Stuy
And call it “slumming.”
Urayoan Noel
C-Phone Section
There’s this plump lady
sitting behind me on the train
and she’s so upset
Her Daughter-law Marmy just
had a C-section
and Joshy her son (I gather)
didn’t call her quick enough.
evidently fell asleep
after it was all over.
So now she’s just calling everyone
she can think of…
Right now she’s talking to Kiki
and in that whiny, world weary
blubbering voice dripping
with hurt and solicitous
concern registering her
sense of indignation
and outrage over the
very idea of inconsideration
simultaneously delivered
in a repetitive loop
of script driven relief
over mother and child doing fine now.
“but the very idea of it all”
is reported in an episodic
guilt trip serial update.
And all I can hear in my head
is that quote from that half forgotten
J.D. Salinger story where a
fellow passenger on a airplane
is overheard in the next seat up
to exclaim
in what must have been
rendered in that same tone
of insufferable sob sister proclamation,
“Can you believe that the Doctors
took an entire pint of pus
out of that lovely body of hers.”
Vincent Quatroche
The Sound Of A Woman
Click heel, Click heel, on the pavement,
Such an unspoken comment,
That’s the sound of a woman coming,
Maybe she’s wearing a short skirt,
Time for you to flirt,
Or perhaps she’s wearing tight pants,
As you noticeably take a glance,
Sizing up the situation,
Promoting sexual frustration,
Your thoughts roam,
Wanting to take her home,
Hemming and hawing,
And your comments she’s ignoring,
Throwing out a lame line,
She takes the bait,
You running from base to base,
To score at the plate,
Things are lustfully heavy,
And she is ready,
Kissing and caressing,
Touching and feeling,
Bending and kneeling,
Tossing and turning,
Temperature burning,
Patterned sighs and cries,
Continual moans and groans,
In pleading tones,
Louder and louder,
Over and over,
Sudden silence takes the room,
Now she is quiet,
Now that truly is the sound of a woman cumming.
Danielle Lucania
Attack of the Killer Lesbian Vampires
On this Saturday afternoon
the theater slowly fills
with a fine collection
of killer lesbian vampires.
They saunter in solitary or in pairs
holding hands, arms draped
about each other
upon taking their seats
head on the others shoulder.
Their leader is
a striking Vampire Vixen
with smoldering dark
closely cropped tight red curls
with a knack for cabaret
from the UK takes the stage
launching demonstratively
into a self styled song book
of Lesbian Vampire Show tunes.
Her performance comes in
somewhere between Gloria Swanson
and Ethel Mermen.
All are amazed and amused
by her verse and song.
The audience receives
receives her enthusiastically.
Thunderous applause
follows her off the stage as she exits.
So
that means I’m next up.
I’m introduced.
Survey the audience.
Step out of the stoplight on the stage
and in the shadows
just to the left of enter
I read an extended
1st person perspective
POV prose piece
very luridly detailed
regarding the act of
heterosexual fellatio.
They sit and regard me.
Stunned.
With their mouths open
ajar in astonishment
fangs
glistening
listening.
After all
they all
know
I am a dead man
Soon.
Anyway.
Vincent Quatroche
THE MAN, HIS DOG AND THE SEAGULL
The man walks his dog across the Brooklyn Bridge for charity. A
seagull lands on his head. He fights to get the bird off. Other walkers
pass by – laughing. They offer no assistance. The bird plants its
tentacles deeper into his scalp. The man isn’t going to let the seagull
get away with it. Neither is the bird. It pecks non-stop like he’s fresh
fish. Its wings flap non-stop like he’s a punching bag. Eventually, the
man wins, but his dog turns on him. It bites him for being wrapped
around his legs. He topples over, almost taking his dog with him.
However, the leash gets stuck in the railing. The man’s weight snaps
the leash, causing a big splash. His dog continues to walk for charity.
The seagull flies away.
Patricia Carragon
Like A Cat
Your alcohol soaked lips
On the nape of my
Red sun kissed neck
Pulling at it
Like I’m your feline
Your moment of glory
A chance to blend in
I might come back
Because you feed me
You can’t claim me
Neither can he
I’m the one who marks his territory
I’m free to roam
The truth
You adoration
Made me feel light
Good;
That I’ve got my
Man magic back
Sad for you that
You will never feel
More then one spark.
Kevin Michael Wehle
Man Of Labels
Feelings seemed to be mutual,
Far from liberal,
He says one thing and does another,
This paradox he’ll ignore,
Leaving no title or label,
Just to equal,
Ultimate highs,
Constant lows,
Missed kisses,
Desired caresses,
Dry roses,
Empty promises,
Decorated truths,
Clouded proofs,
Miscommunications,
Wrong conclusions,
Mangled emotions,
Pointless devotions,
And all of these dreadful plurals,
Due to the man of labels.
Danielle Lucania
For Better Or For Worse
For better or for worse, we vowed to be together
For better or for worse, we would love each other like no tomorrow. Three days left to
that big exciting day of our lives.
For better or for worse, I still love you as much as before.
One day left and happier then ever, I find the love of my life cheating on me in my house.
Tell me baby was I that bad?
What did I do wrong?
Forget it you don’t owe me any explanation!
Because for better or for worse, you are gone,
And now my love I will go and do better.
Steven Monroe
I’m GAY, You’re HOT, DEAL With it!
You are HOT!
Why can’t I say that
To another man?
It indeed is a compliment
For you are beautiful
I’m not saying that I’m going to
Rip off your pants
To see what I might be working with.
No, it’s just my way of saying
That you’re cute
Just in case you didn’t know
Or needed to hear it
Because you’re having a bad day
Why can’t I say that
To another man?
Is it because I like men
And it’s not the manly thing to do?
Fuck that!
Sometimes you just need to hear it
So the next time
A sassy, fabulous, gay man
Comes up to you and says
“Nice abs”
Just smile, and say thank you!
Kevin Michael Wehle
LOVE IS LOVE
We all know Love is patient
We all know Love is kind
No one tells you Love is crazy
and can catch you from behind
They say 1 man 1 woman
It’s unnatural to love your own
But I’ve been with boys, I’ve been with girls
And Love is ruled by Love alone
Yeah, Love is ruled by Love alone
Cause Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
It’s never paint by numbers
This abstract work of art
You can only find its beauty painting with your broken heart
And if you stay wide open
To everything that it could be
It might grace you with its presence
But Love don’t make no guarantees
Yeah, Love don’t make no guarantees
Cause Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
You know it’s gonna save you
However you were made to
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is
The seed that takes root beneath the snow
Just when you’re thinking you’ll never see it grow
It only feels painful, it only seems hard
Because it’s gotta break through frozen ground to show you who you are
You know it’s gonna save you
However you were made to
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
For all you’ve gained and all you’ve lost
Love is always worth the cost, cause
Love is Love is Love is Love is Love is Love
Athena Reich/Lorraine Ferro
POLICE IN IRAQ
sung to the tune of José Feliciano Feliz Navidad”
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, patrolling the block in a state of shock!
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, under-equipped, split a walkie-talk.
I want to wish you a merry JI-had
I want to wish you the same as WE had
I want to wish you to have and BE had
from Ramadi or Najaf
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, suicide bombers, Fedayeen, and Ba’ath!
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, don’t worry, baby, Gates is on the clock!
I want to wish you a merry limb loss
I want to wish you a merry war cost
I want to wish you some no-bid contracts
So Sadr City’s sad no más
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, bring back the air raids, I hear they rock!
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, with us coalitioned this thing’s a lock!
I want to wish you an RPG toss
I want to wish you some IED sauce
I want to wish you a born-again mosque
In the image of a News Corp. cross
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, the CNN analyst wears a policy smock.
Police in Iraq! Police in Iraq!
Police in Iraq, happy wet dreams in dry dock!
I want to wish you a merry JI-had
I want to wish you the same as WE had
I want to wish you to have and BE had
from Ramadi or Najaf
Urayoan Noel
Religion
Oh, where did our hearts go to?
Why do we feel the need to kill, to bathe in our own blood
to beat our brother?
Oh we’re all the same really when you get down to it
Why do we feel the need for hatred danger and violence?
Why, I said why do we feel so angry?
Feel the need to burn to kill our brother
Is it justice? I think not
Oh why it only constricts our soul burns a hole in our world
What happened to, I said, and you call that religion?
We can’t deny every cause has an effect
Every pause has a defect
Every lesson must be learnt
We got to wake up our souls to evolution yeah, evolution
I want to make you all listen
I want to make you all cry
Just sit up and listen
We can learn how to fly
Why, I said why do we feel so angry
Feel the need to burn to kill our brother
Is it justice? I think not
Oh why it only constricts our soul burns a hole in our world
What happened to, I said, and you call that Religion?
Why, I said why do we feel so angry
Feel the need to burn to kill our brother
Is it justice? I think not
Oh why it only constricts our soul burns a hole in our world
What happened to… Religion?
Danielle Tersini
Justice Isn’t Really Blind
After some long heated debates
I said to Justice
I feel your passion
See where you’re coming from
Respect what you stand for
But
Being blind
Seems to stand in your way
She laughed so hard
The scales tipped
Turning the table her way
As she peeked from under her blindfold
She said she wouldn’t have it any other way
If she saw all that we saw
She’d go mad before she finished a day
Then she spoke of getting ear plugs
As she turned her back
Then walked away
Arlene Cassarino
Thank You’s And Info. Page
Once again we would liked to thank all the writers. We want to
thank Roxanne Hoffman for listing us on her blog, and for
sending a few writers our way. Also we want to thank Danielle
Lucania for helping us proof read our first issue. A special
thank you goes out to Roz, and Breno for helping with our PC
problems. Also we want to thank all of you for taking the time
to read our first issue.
We have three resources for our fellow writers:
1) POETS WEAR PRADA is a small press based in Hoboken,
New Jersey devoted to introducing new authors through
limited edition, high-quality chaplets, primarily of poetry.
Check it out at http://poetswearpradanj.home.att.net
2) Lulu.com is a web site for authors to publish their books.
(poetry or prose) We know that they are good, because Kevin
published his book: “Hairless…In A World Of Big Hair.” with
them. They do excellence work, keep great records, and your
checks come on time.
3) CC&D Magazine is a wonderful press that publishes short
stories, poetry, and art work. They publish an online and
paper copy. They published two of Kevin Michael Wehle’s
poems. It’s a good press for new writers as well as already
published writers. For guidelines and/or to check them out go
to http://scars.tv
Pushing The Envelope is published quarterly. All rights of the
poetry and prose within remain with the authors. None of the
work within can be copied or reproduced without the
permission of the authors and/or editors. This magazine is
produced by All Queer Boy Productions September 2009.
Writer’s Bios.
V. Cordell Brown - Is a brilliant, and mesmerizing poet who
just had a feature at: The Saturn Series Reading. When he
reads his work he draws you into the heart of each piece. We
look forward to hearing more from him.
Athena Reich – Is a singer/songwriter with a few albums out.
Her latest is: “Little Girl Dreams.” She is currently on tour.
Check out what she is up to on her web site: AthenaReich.com.
Jack Tricarico – Is a New York City painter, poet, and t’ai chi
instructor who has been published in numerous poetry
journals and anthologies based in New York City and in
upstate New York. He has just finished his 8th chap book
entitled "EKSTASIS". You can see his art work on a global art
site on the internet. Just google: BONDAN BOWERY. Click
on artists. artists are listed alphabetically. On this site he is
listed as John, NOT JACK TRICARICO. Click on images to
enlarge.
Adam Henry Carriere - is a poet, teacher, and broadcaster.
Recent publications include The Bicycle Review, The Smoking
Book, The Mayo Review, Counterexample Poetics, Tonopath
Review, Junked (2008 Poetry Prize Finalist), Zygote in My
Coffee, Oak Bend Review. and Tattoo Highway. He publishes
Danse Macabre, Nevada’s first online literary magazine.
Mindy Matijasevic – writer, actress, and comic, won a BRIO
award (Bronx Recognizes Its Own) for poetry from the Bronx
Council on the Arts in 2001, has been published in numerous
journals, and is the author of a poetry chapbook, sounds like a
woman to me. Mindy may be contacted at:
mindyinthebronx@aol.com.
John T. Bestecki – Survived his high school days to bring us:
“The Stevie Chronicles.” Thank God he did, so we can enjoy
his experiences.
Vincent Quatroche – has been writing for over thirty years and
his fifth collection of Poetry, Prose and Short stories entitled,
The Terrible Now will be available during the Summer of 2009
through Xlibris Press. A persistently cryptic and annoying
presence on the poetry circuit in the Northeast region of the
United States attempts to silence him have been unsuccessful.
In addition, Quatroche works in the spoken word/sonic
landscape media and has released numerous projects on
tape/CD in the last two decades. A new CD entitled, Singing
Mr. Cedric has a Fall release date scheduled later in the Year.
Of course Quatroche doesn’t make a living doing any of things,
relying on being employed as a career educator at area colleges
and correctional facilities in WNY, where his students (and
inmates) find him equally persistent, cryptic and annoying.
Website for more info www.rubbereden.com
Sarah Stappersfenne – is a student at Ithaca College and a New
York Women in Communications (NYWICI) scholarship
winner. Her writing has appeared in The Houston Literary
Review, NYWICI's NEXTblog, Rosebud Magazine, The
DuPage Review and most notably, the Not a Muse Anthology.
Roxanne Hoffman –worked on Wall Street, now she answered
a patient hotline for a major New York home healthcare
provider. Her poems and stories appear on and off the net,
most recently in Amaze: The Cinquain Journal, Danse
Macabre, The Fib Review, Hospital Drive, Lucid Rythms,
MOBIUS The Poetry Magazine, Word Slaw and two
anthologies: The Bandana Republic: Literary Anthology By
Gang Members And Their Affiliates (Soft Skull Press), and
Love After 70 (Wishing Up Press). She and her husband own
the small press, POETS WEAR PRADA.
Brian Damian Sabbats – is a writer that defies definition,
because he prefers being a rainbow with his writing. From
children stories, to poetry of all kinds, to gay erotica, to a
collection of stories about sexual child abuse: "To My Son,
Love Dad," to the novel he's writing with John T. Bestecki
called "What the Mushroom Said"(a gay love story set in the
late 1960s of NYC). He prefers writing things that will hit you
in the gut & make you feel. So be warned not to expect to feel
safe & comfy. Oh, he has written insipid stuff much to he's
own dismay & he asks for your forgiveness during such
moments. We can expect him to blow up the world with his
writing as soon as he finds proofreaders & the time to write.
He's the co-editor of "Pushing The Envelope" which is a labor
of love with blood, sweat, tears & a lot of cursing. So now read
their 1st issue & feel things that you have never felt before lol.
Su Polo – is a multitalented artist. A native New Yorker, her
writing conveys unusual insights and surprises found in life's
everyday events and encounters. She is a singer/songwriter
with guitar and dulcimer, Jazz vocalist, photographer, painter
and sculptor, set designer, computer graphic artist and created
her website www.supolo.com. Her book, Turning Stones, a
collection of poems and stories is available at St. Marks Books
in NYC (and formerly at the late, great Gotham Book Mart),
and her work appears numerous times in Caprice Magazine,
the Poet to Poet magazine, Medicinal Purposes among others.
She is the founder and co-host of the Saturn Series poetry
reading in NYC and is the editor and publisher of its
periodical, Saturn. She is also the host of the Artists' Lounge,
an open mike for singer songwriters and musicians @
Nightingale Lounge. Su is also the set designer for the last 4
years of the New Years Day Poetry Extravaganza held at the
Bowery Poetry Club. She is currently working on her onewoman
show and her second book.
Danny Garcia – Has an extended body of work. He’s a writer
from California. He has five books out. “Rainbow Explodes,”
is just one of the many titles, and his new fifth book is:
“Cathartic Sight.”
Kevin Michael Wehle – Is the co-editor of: “Pushing The
Envelope.” His poems are on Poet’s Haven.com, hhtp://
Scars.tv., and Poetry.com, He has published a chapter book
called: “Hairless…In A World Of Big Hair.” You can check it
out at: Lulu.com. The poems: “Orange,” and “I’m Gay,
You’re Hot, Deal With It” are in his chapter book. He has
featured at: “The Saturn Series,” and Bengal Curry’s “The
Phoenix Series”
Urayoan Noel – is the author of the books of poetry Boringken
(Ediciones Callejon/La Tertulia, 2008) and Kool Logic/La
logica kool(Bilingual Press, 2005), both of the Year selections
by El Nuevo Dia (Puerto Rico), and released with performance
CD and DVD respectively. Originally from San Juan, PR, he
currently divides his times between the South Bronx and
upstate, and is Assistant Professor of English at the University
at Albany, SUNY.
Patricia Carragon- is a New York City poet and writer.
Her publications include Poetz.com, Rogue Scholars,
Poets Wear Prada, Best Poem, Big City Lit, CLWN WR,
Chantarelle’s Notebook, Clockwise Cat, Ditch Poetry
Magazine, Mobius Magazine, The Toronto Quarterly,
and more. She is the author of Journey to the Center
of My Mind (Rogue Scholars Press). She is a member
of Brevitas, a group dedicated to short poems.
Patricia hosts and curates the Brooklyn-based
Brownstone Poets and is the editor of the annual
anthology.
Steven Monroe – a beautiful new writer on the scene, who has
a lot to say in his writing. We are looking forward to see what
he writes next.
Danielle Tersini - Wildly passionate, firey and expressive. Dani
Tersini’s performances are about letting go, releasing energy,
breathing fire, and smoldering with her audience. Being an
innovative artist with versatility, imagination and power,
Tersini’s essence expresses an eclectic blend of sounds
reflecting the many facets of emotion stirring from within.
Boldly following her dream and escaping from England, to the
Big Apple and not knowing a single soul, Dani is now surviving
in the music capital of the world, and rocking the stages of
venues such as The Bitter End, The Sidewalk Café, Banjo
Jim’s and Caffe Vivaldi. She continues to thrive, stamping her
own individuality on her music and performance.
Arlene Cassaino – A great poet who has featured at Bengal
Curry’s Phoenix Series, and The Saturn Series. She is a poet to
watch out for.
Danielle Lucaina – Has been writing since she was eleven, but
she is fairly new to the scene. Danielle’s poetry is full of
rhythm, and soul. She is also our proof reader. This is her first
published work, and hopefully not the last.
To know more about us, to get our guidelines or to submit for
our next issue, or if you know someone who wants to receive a
copy, or submit email us @
PushingTheenvelope09@Gmail.com
Guidelines For January 2010 Issue
"Pushing The Envelope" A Literary Magazine
Mission Statement: To boldly go where no magazine has gone before (sorry we watch too much Star Trek) Life as an artist is hard enough with all the rejection, so submit to our magazine, and promote the arts, and the words that make up the soundtrack to our lives. Have the chance for others to hear your voice. We want to promote all those great writers that should be in print, and are not. Especially those who "push the envelope" with their writing. We want this to be a way for all of us to come together, and have a fun experience. We will accommodate any suggestions from our writers, but please be nice, and bring no drama. We are looking for edgy, humorous, something with bite, and writing that makes a reader think. We also want to publish new an upcoming writers. All work that gets published in "PTE" will be decided by Kevin Michael Wehle, and Brian Damian Sabbats.
ALL RIGHTS WILL STAY WITH THE AUTHOR OF EACH PIECE!
Disclaimer: We don't accept work from writers under 18 for our magazine contains adult, and graphic material.
All rights reserved. This magazine, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, whether print, or electronic, without permission in writing from the publishers and/or writers.
Our Logo: An All Queer Boy Production
We accept:
Poems, short stories, songs, essays, art work
We also put out an editors choice issue. about 4-8 pages
NO PAYMENT OF ANY KIND FOR ANY OF THE ACCEPTED WORK. THIS IS FOR EXPOSURE ONLY!
We accept only email submissions. If you like to see the kind of pieces we accept we can email you a back issue of the magazine.
Submissions:
Fiction: No more then two pages. Submit 2 stories per issue
Poetry: Any form. 35 lines max. Submit 2-3 poems per issue
Songs: 35 lines max. Submit 2 songs per issue
Essays: No more then two pages
Art Work: Small pieces only please
Please include a small bio with your submission.
NO SEXIST, RACIST, ANTI-GAY, PORNOGRAPHIC, HATEFUL WORK OF ANY KIND. (Hot and steamy is ok.)
Co-Editors in chief:
Brain Damian Sabbats (Public Relations/PC Stuff)
Kevin Michael Wehle (Layout Queen)
We choose what goes in, and their decisions are final.
Second Issue: January 2010 "New Year, New Desires, New Adventures With Writing" Edition.
The last pages: Thank you and info. It's a page about books that our fellow writers published. Features that our fellow poets are doing, and other stuff like that.
We wish to invite you to submit your writing to us for our consideration for inclusion in our magazine. Also if you know of anyone who would like to submit to our poetic baby please give them our email address: Pushingtheenvelope09@gmail.com, or send them these guidelines. We look forward to reading your work, and responding to you all.
Thank you and have a great day,
KMW & Brain Damian Sabbats :0)
P.S. If you are not alreay a fan of us on facebook please do. We will have a lot of info. on there as well. :)
Reply | Reply to all | Forward | Print | Delete | Show original
Mission Statement: To boldly go where no magazine has gone before (sorry we watch too much Star Trek) Life as an artist is hard enough with all the rejection, so submit to our magazine, and promote the arts, and the words that make up the soundtrack to our lives. Have the chance for others to hear your voice. We want to promote all those great writers that should be in print, and are not. Especially those who "push the envelope" with their writing. We want this to be a way for all of us to come together, and have a fun experience. We will accommodate any suggestions from our writers, but please be nice, and bring no drama. We are looking for edgy, humorous, something with bite, and writing that makes a reader think. We also want to publish new an upcoming writers. All work that gets published in "PTE" will be decided by Kevin Michael Wehle, and Brian Damian Sabbats.
ALL RIGHTS WILL STAY WITH THE AUTHOR OF EACH PIECE!
Disclaimer: We don't accept work from writers under 18 for our magazine contains adult, and graphic material.
All rights reserved. This magazine, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, whether print, or electronic, without permission in writing from the publishers and/or writers.
Our Logo: An All Queer Boy Production
We accept:
Poems, short stories, songs, essays, art work
We also put out an editors choice issue. about 4-8 pages
NO PAYMENT OF ANY KIND FOR ANY OF THE ACCEPTED WORK. THIS IS FOR EXPOSURE ONLY!
We accept only email submissions. If you like to see the kind of pieces we accept we can email you a back issue of the magazine.
Submissions:
Fiction: No more then two pages. Submit 2 stories per issue
Poetry: Any form. 35 lines max. Submit 2-3 poems per issue
Songs: 35 lines max. Submit 2 songs per issue
Essays: No more then two pages
Art Work: Small pieces only please
Please include a small bio with your submission.
NO SEXIST, RACIST, ANTI-GAY, PORNOGRAPHIC, HATEFUL WORK OF ANY KIND. (Hot and steamy is ok.)
Co-Editors in chief:
Brain Damian Sabbats (Public Relations/PC Stuff)
Kevin Michael Wehle (Layout Queen)
We choose what goes in, and their decisions are final.
Second Issue: January 2010 "New Year, New Desires, New Adventures With Writing" Edition.
The last pages: Thank you and info. It's a page about books that our fellow writers published. Features that our fellow poets are doing, and other stuff like that.
We wish to invite you to submit your writing to us for our consideration for inclusion in our magazine. Also if you know of anyone who would like to submit to our poetic baby please give them our email address: Pushingtheenvelope09@gmail.com, or send them these guidelines. We look forward to reading your work, and responding to you all.
Thank you and have a great day,
KMW & Brain Damian Sabbats :0)
P.S. If you are not alreay a fan of us on facebook please do. We will have a lot of info. on there as well. :)
Reply | Reply to all | Forward | Print | Delete | Show original
Monday, November 23, 2009
Welcome To Our New Blog :)
Poetic Greetings,
Welcome friends, fans, and all lovers of the written word. This is a dream come true for Brian and I. We wanted to do this for a while. Some where we can post what is on our mind, and each issue. A place where we can share success stories, and important information. The first issue will be up soon. It's a real treat for us to share with you not only our work, but the work of a lot of talented poets/writers. I hope you all our also following us on Facebook. With this publication we want to bring writers and people together. Get great writing out there to the people. For now that is it. Until the next post. Love ya, Kevin and Brian :)
Welcome friends, fans, and all lovers of the written word. This is a dream come true for Brian and I. We wanted to do this for a while. Some where we can post what is on our mind, and each issue. A place where we can share success stories, and important information. The first issue will be up soon. It's a real treat for us to share with you not only our work, but the work of a lot of talented poets/writers. I hope you all our also following us on Facebook. With this publication we want to bring writers and people together. Get great writing out there to the people. For now that is it. Until the next post. Love ya, Kevin and Brian :)
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