- A Subterranean Blue Poetry Imprint -



"Tale Winds is the story of winter. This New Age Renaissance poetry work influenced by the work of Leonard Cohen and the Beat Poets is also a study in the rich Asian tradition of Haiku. An innovation of the New Age each poem begins with an Haiku and as if finishing unfinished poems the body of the poem writes. The Haiku is an English play on the Japanese tradition using the main traditional rules of Haiku as a beginning point; the naming of the season one or more kiriji a celebration of the natural landscape the short enigmatic and profound poems become introductions to larger worlds. New words pepper the poetry as if borrowing from foreign languages and the meme of foreign lands as well as the sheer joy of creation new words are plucked like stars from the sky creating a new language of hope free from oppression. A ground breaking new work from Rebecca Anne Banks".

- Subterranean Blue Poetry






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“She pressed her ear against the shell;
she wanted to hear everything
he never told her”
- from Tablets
by Dunya Mikhail

diamonds and pearls

“the winter sky heavy,

trees caught in blue

places without . . . “

so dark the sky

I could have imagined

black velvet

a diamond dinner ring

(how quick the flash of diamonds on a long day)

all on an overcast afternoon

the cast of a white rose

that haunts

prayers over flowers

skies over blue

a shadow in dreams

the gypsy girl sits under a tree

lays out the cards

divining fortunes, looks for love

but she is older

there is something missing . . .

this is something one did when young

not after the horse before the cart

not after the


maybe the forests bleed

stopped by the colour blue


the white duke . . . by boy corps,

maybe death in a foreign land

as his heart kisses the sky

pearls in season . . .

last season

the white rose, floated, bloomed in shadow

between us

caught in the shadow of the overcast sky

and silence

I watch the doorway for you

drink my coffee

the silence of the white stone god descends

in shadowland,

as some white/black iconoclast child plays the piano

the tin drum, watches

some snotnosed child

burning matches in winter

smelling only death

a dime shill

a story written by Dicken’s and a shotglass

a borrowed land that values only winning

“if we win we live”, while everyone has died,

the cult of ego values . . .


I looked for you after the gift of a thousand love songs

some cast off prisoner of war

surrounded by silence, a wire cage

a bird, that sings

after years of disallure,

his hat in hand,

smells death on the sidewalk

steps away into shadow,

some unwritten history

unwritten lifetime,

the silence

two people stare into a mirror

love of a thousand years

some giant wave of the sea

turns, on war and time again,

falls, as the snow of winter falls,

cold, she gathers the scarf around her,

wanders out

into the shadows of the street.




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