Pushing The Envelope: Issue Two
New Year, New Desires,
New Adventures With Writing
1/18/10
There is nothing more important to us then:
OUR FANS AND WRITERS
New York, Oregon, DC, California, Florida, Nevada, Georgia, Washington, New Jersey, Ireland, Italy, Halifax NS, and Claymont De....and others
“Fasten Your Seat Belts It’s Going To Be A Bumpy Read”
The Late, Great: Bette Davis "Yes even she is a fan from the great beyond"
Featuring Such Great Works As:
The Prey Becomes The Wolf
Shakespeare’s Sonnet 23 And A Response By
Roxanne Hoffman
Me
Whitman
The Fetish
Emmett Till
The Law Of The Lawn
My Imaginary Girlfriend
The Group Poem
And Many More!
Letter From The Editors
Happy New Year! This is our second issue, and there were some who said this would never last. We are growing more everyday. We have a Facebook page, and finally a Website: http://ptealiterarymagazine.blogspot.com. We are loving every minute of this great undertaking. We took what we learned from the first issue, and made this issue bigger and better. We have even become a bit more computer savvy along the way. This time around has been a little less stressful, and we enjoy what we do very much, and can’t wait to work with our fellow writers in the third issue. We already have some very talented writers lined up.
We are very proud of all the writers in issue two. We have some old favorites, and a lot of new writers to enjoy. Returning authors include: Roxanne Hoffman, Myself, Brian, Danny Garcia, Adam Henry Carriere, and Patricia Carragon. We also have some wonderful and very talented new comers to our pages. Donnie Gatto, Gina Delorenzo, Paul A. Toth, Fiorella Arrunategui, Bonnie Martha Moret, Maria Chisolm just to name a few. Also we have some art work in this issue. Some of it was include by the author of the pieces, and Anti social submitted two pieces: “Burlesque,” and “The Vapors.” We also put together a group poem which is truly terrific, and there were about ten poets who helped make it a true beauty. All who grace the pages of issue two made this a wonderful experience, and a beautiful issue.
There was no theme for this issue, but we felt that one emerged as the submissions came in. This issue seemed to deal with love or desire for the most part. Although there are some works that just stood on their own. One of the best examples of desire is the story by Gina Delorenzo: “The Fetish.” This story blew us away. It has a great twist in it. That you have to read to find out what it is. It is truly worth the wait. There are two poems that come to mind that best represent love, and they are: “John’s Balcony”, and Roxanne Hoffman’s “Listen.” Each and every piece in this issue is great, and will make you feel. I hope you like it as much as we liked putting it together.
So sit back and relax. Get a cup of coco, wrap yourself up in a warm blanket, and enjoy!
xoxox Kevin And Brian :)
Gender Fuck
I am a gender bender
A boy/girl not belonging
to all boy or all girl
somewhere in-between
I wear a tux
on New Year’s eve
shiny red bow tie
I tell my barber: cut my
hair like a guy’s – please
I sometimes get called: “Sir”
and I LOVE IT
I am a gender bender
bending rules of gender
a boy/girl not belonging
but somewhere in-between
I wear boxers under my
fly-button 501 jeans
I’ll go to a dance
in a shirt and tie
I’ll use the men’s room
and never wait on line
I am a gender bender
a boy/girl not belonging
somewhere in-between
I hide my breast under
flannel shirts in the winter
when I look in the mirror
I see Antonio Banderas
macho guys stare at me
with looks that could kill
WHY DO THEY HATE ME
BECAUSE
I am a gender bender
bender rules of gender
a boy/girl not belonging
somewhere in-between
FUCKING GENDER
EVERY CHANCE I GET!
~Donnie Gatto~
The Prey Becomes The Wolf
Drowning in an ocean of words...
All of them are meaningless coming from the mouth of a meaningless person with the soul of a rabid wolf:
starving for food, taking as he pleases and never giving back to his pack...
But sooner or later, the lone wolf will realize he has nothing to offer but his petty words and actions...
He will shed all he had and soon will be found naked, drenched in his own blood...
The once destroyer of hearts and lyrics will be killed by his own reflection...
And once more he returns to the young maiden whose heart he has crushed, begging for another chance written between the lines.
She shunned him, never forgetting the wound still screaming for her life back...
The maiden looked to the window at another world while his became a downward spiral, a mere nightmare of the world he once loved but took for granted.
The alienation was his demise and now is left bleeding...
spelling out for help with the bloody lies he once embraced...
He ate himself slowly, his eyes came first for he was blinded by the pain he brought and lives that were lost by his disguise.
"Will I ever forget?" The maiden asked her wounded reflection, a dark haired creature of four paws and a tail.
"I do not know, little one. Only time will heal the repeated whips and cuts wrapped around my body. My world has been shattered but my will is still strong for another has taught me that no one is worth blood spilled...no
one is worth my tears," The creature spoke.
The pieces were placed back together but for how long will they hold?
Another wolf has come but this time to love the maiden the way she was meant to be love but the maiden stands
guard of her soul,
frightened by the warmth of the silver eyed figure.
She screamed, shaking in fear, bloody tears rolling down her olive sun kissed cheeks.
He held her close, embracing her, kissing her, wishing to erase the life she once knew but never regretted.
The Maiden stopped, and looked at her protector...
Time has stopped and the broken pieces were made whole in that one moon filled night.
The Maiden was now a woman; wise, beautiful, graceful and scarred,
just like how the creature of her reflection appeared but this time...the mysterious feline was now her.
~Fiorella Arrunategui~
Today I opened a can of whole, stewed tomatoes and thought about the grandma I barely knew. The reflection came when I found myself instinctively knowing to cut the tomatoes into bits while still in the can. Two knives crisscrossing inside the aluminum is so much easier than trying to break them up in the stewpot. As I used the technique, which was actually shown to me by my own mother as shown to her, I began to wonder what simple, but wonderfully sage short cuts like this one I had missed.
Grandma Blanche died when I was 3 and she was 52. It was an agonizing process I am told - and even have a few vague memories of hospital beds and a portable toilet. Her brand of brain tumor was so mysterious and insidious, that the cure is no closer now than it was in 1970. My mother told me that the moment she slipped away, she was at her bedside. An annoying sound that she could not quite place filled the air. It was a bit like a siren and continued for a while until she realized it was her own primal grief being released into the room.
This afternoon, as I made chili for my own family, I thought about her. My memories were like petticoats swishing around a corner before you can grasp them - as incomplete as any small child’s recollections. This particular practical kitchen advice rang so true to her character as I knew it, I strained to think of more. Growing up, my parents had shared many stories about her, which generally elicited chuckles. She was a difficult personality who once told my father he shouldn’t marry my mother because she was a “know it all”. Mom knew he was special when he responded, “then we are perfect together because I actually DO know everything.”
I understood her to be uniquely intelligent and inclined to write about everything. She was an outspoken follower of local politics in the 40’s and 50’s when it was not considered ladylike for a woman to be so opinionated. My grandfather was a man who never got in her way, nor shared any of her passions. He was a loving, hard-working man who wore rose-colored glasses. They lived in a then remote area (which is now the town of Darien ), which also afforded little outlet for intellectual stimulation.
As I grew up without direct influence from this woman, I experienced an adversarial relationship with my own mother. The world was a much more sophisticated place, but a woman could still feel trapped intellectually – and in her kitchen for that matter. My mother was strong and smart and living an updated version of her mother before her.
It’s as though I can palpate my grandmother, the way skilled hands can feel deeper muscles through more superficial ones, just by knowing my mother. All of this came to me over a can of tomatoes. Much like the ones Grandma used to give us, rinsed out, with a bucket full of snow from outside so we could play at her feet on the kitchen floor.
She’s a right to arms –
That Spanish guitar body –
with bows and arches cast
In gleaming precision.
He’s reaching to strum
and drum pulse approaches music.
In the stillness against her
Fearless neck,
a trebly song is born.
The End
~Jean Sotos~
Dearest-
1.
Its always a whole lot of rainbows
A whole lot of sunshine
After we’ve been away from one another
Many days and nights of summer rains
Thunderous lighting rods pierce your love squeezes my heart
Begging so I give it
Warm days and nights full of humility your touch you whisper
Your mine, I’ll never never never let you go
Fall leaves paint every color every emotion it exposes my fear my trust
Our bodies swim in green yellow rivers full of love it rushes us up stream
Out into the ocean where this love swims for its life
Winter comes in with a cold breath breathing in my ear
Down the back of my neck my body shakes you lay your storm over me
And I don’t know I don’t know how to know how to think
What to believe, there is no clue no sound
Tomorrow tomorrow is so far away
~Ice~
Innocent Little Girl
Innocent Little Girl
So naive and so young
Didn't know her misery had begun
When a stranger changed her life one day
While he thought, 'well, this is going to be fun'
Innocent Little Girl
So sweet but so stupid
Met a boy as naive and young as she
But little did she know
A demon in disguise was he
Innocent Little Girl
So pure but inexperienced
What she wanted was love
What he wanted was fun
And before she knew it
The Deed was done
Innocent Little Girl
So broken and hurt
Suddenly saw her heart in the dirt
Where the boy had left it for all to see
She wanted to be loved but didn't know her soul was the fee
Innocent Little Girl
So angry and full of hate
She went out to find him and end his fate
Bound, gagged and tied up real good
Was thrown in the basement without water or food
I screamed,
Innocent Little Girl
Have you lost your head?!
By early morning's light, he will surely be dead!
She smiled quite wide as she look to the floor
"I guess I'm not that innocent anymore."
~Fiorella Arrunategui~
WHITMAN
Good Old Walt Whitman,
He Brought Oranges
To The Freshly Bleeding Boys
Just Off The Battlefields
Of Northern Virginia.
He Put Cold Washclothes
On Their Foreheads,
And Listened Endlessly,
To Their Stories
Of Mother And-
The Corn Coming In
(this while the sepsis and gangrene set in)
Yup,
Good Old Whitman,
He Was Always Holding
America's Hand.
He Saw It All;
From California,
To Alaska,
To The Man
On the Moon,
His Poetry Had Us,
In It's Wide Open Arms
Now, It's A Truism,
That The Undeserved
Are Overly Rewarded
In This Life
(with the converse holding naturally)
So, It's No Wonder,
That Walter Passed Away
All By Himself,
In A little Room,
Of Camden, New Jersey.
There Was No Nice Husband There,
To Hold His Hand
When His Breath Went
Out On The Wind
Good Old Walt Whitman,
We Wish He Was Here To Thank
In The Flesh,
~Dan Gross~
MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIEND
1
I wake up to the sound of her
getting ready to go to work
in the walk-in closet.
I step in and grab her waist,
pull her closer to me, and kiss her,
long and deep, good morning.
She knows it’s turning me on
to feel her belt rubbing against
my waist. She takes her hand
and slides up my shirt to feel my breasts.
Her mouth begins to explore my body.
First, a taste of my ample breasts
as they heave up and down,
in rhythm to her mouth.
My nipples are sensitive
and I love when she tongues them.
She moves down my body,
kissing my stomach. It tickles.
Then she goes down to my pulsating pussy,
aching to be licked and eaten.
She plugs her tongue deep inside of me.
My back arches. I grab the door,
lean back, and moan loud in pleasure.
When I’m done, she picks a pink tie,
kisses me, and heads out saying
she’ll be home early tonight.
I go back to bed.
2
She wakes up thinking she is her own boss.
She decides not to go to work today.
She kisses me, wakes me up, and says
I’m sexy beyond belief. She loves the way
I ooze sexuality with every breath.
She loves that my mouth will swallow
whatever she gives it. We take a shower.
She’s looking in her side of the closet,
thinking aloud. She doesn’t need all
her fifty three neckties… would I be happy
bounded and gagged with all of them?
She will of course leave all my holes
nice and… vulnerable.
3
She walks in and sees me dressed as instructed.
Short skirt, thigh highs, and sheer button blouse.
I have my hands on the counter, back to her,
and my back is arched. I’m showing off my ass.
She stands close behind me, pacing around, taking it all in.
I turn to look. She orders me to keep my eyes ahead
and arch that back. Her instructions come with a sharp,
firm smack on my ass. I let out a short gasp, then focus,
arching and stretching my body for her.
She keeps her hand on my ass, caressing it,
pulls back and gives it slow steady smacks,
resting her hand on it and shaking it.
I anticipate her rhythm, start breathing heavily,
and rear back for the next slap. I try not to moan.
As she lifts my skirt, I look over my shoulder. For the first time,
we look each other in the eye, both inspired by what we see.
She tells me that I do not have permission to look at her
and gives my bare ass a hard smack. I smile and look forward.
She says maybe I need help in not looking.
She reaches into her treasure drawer. I grow nervous and fidgety.
She puts a hand on my shoulder, tells me to relax, blindfolds me.
Now hold that ass out and enjoy it slut. She takes time working my ass over.
Nice long spanking, first with hand, then with belt.
When I’m nice and bright red, she spreads my cheeks
and guides her hand down, rubbing my now soaking wet pussy.
She works it over, fingers it, sucks it,
plays with my asshole at the same time.
I’m begging for it. She forces me to my knees
and fucks my throat. She calls me nasty names.
Then takes out the rope.
~Maria Lapachet~
Candy Land
Tangy peppermint on the tongue
A new born babies
Day is done
Reinforced tress in the forest
Timber no more
He will follow you to the
Ends of the earth
He will make you laugh
Cinnamon sticks come alive
Gingerbread no longer comforts
For fantasy
Has become reality
He has the golden ticket
He’s not afraid to us it
Or taste the new beginning.
~Kevin Michael Wehle~
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