ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume I Issue III
 
CoverforIssue3



The Cover Photo/Art:

" Girl "

by Grace Morai
www.paintingsilove.com/artist/gracemorai












 


“girl shine

“ on the mountain

stands a lady

all she sees is silver and gold “

distant sounds

of heat and fire

I wrap myself

in your cloak

sweet art and birdsong

the Tarot of the sun“












Subterranean Blue Poetry


Volume I Issue III


 
(June 2013)




















SubterraneanBluePoetryLogo
 
Subterranean Blue Poetry

www.subterraneanbluepoetry.com
 
© 2013














across from me

by Mark Beach


the eyes i've watched age begin a story

blade and flesh

children sick and fading behind the bars and sleeping guards

they took the wind shield out of the car

over the walls edged with broken glass

down to a boat on the shore













Untitled

by Mark Beach


leaves, heavy with the tropical rain, slap against the truck windows

i shift my weight, feeling the contours of the road with my entire frame

we arrive late in the evening

we eat deep fried cassava by kerosene lamps

the next morning i awaken to my sister's screams

the bed in which we all slept, father, son and daughter, has a machete laying under

my sister is in the outhouse, chased there by the man who is prying open the door

i shout in the deepest voice a 9 year old has ever mustered, waving my found blade

silence

maybe he sees the absence of fear in my eyes

or senses my desire to open his flesh, to see and smell his blood

will it smell the same as the open throated chickens in the barn? when the heat of summer

drove the taste of iron into my tongue

he backs away slowly

crazy white boy













 
Featured Poet: Boris Pasternak


A Sultrier Dawn

by Boris Pasternak


All morning high up on the eaves

Above your window

A dove kept cooing.

Like shirtsleeves The boughs seemed frayed.

It drizzled. Clouds came low to raid

The dusty marketplace.

My anguish on a peddlar's tray

They rocked;

I was afraid.

I begged the clouds that they should stop.

It seemed that they could hear me.

Dawn was as grey as in the shrub

Grey prisoners' angry murmur.


I pleaded with them to bring near

The hour when I would hear

Tidbits of shattered songs

And your wash-basin's roar and splash

Like mountain torrents' headlong rush,

The heat of cheek and brow

On glass as hot as ice and on

The pier-glass table flow.

My plea could not be heard on high

Because the clouds

Talked much too loud

Behind their flag in powdered quiet

Wet like a heavy army coat,

Like threshed sheaves' dusty rub-a-dub

Or like a quarrel in the shrub.


I pleaded with them-

Don't torment me!

I can't sleep.

But-it was drizzling; dragging feet,

The clouds marched down the dusty street

Like recruits from the village in the morning.

They dragged themselves along

An hour or an age,

Like prisoners of war,

Or like the dying wheeze:

'Nurse please,

Some water.'














 
Missed Connections


Saturday, April 27th, 2013 – Craigslist Montreal – Missed Connections – Purgatory Guy

Sketching my Muse - m4w (Postcard from Purgatory)


I have spent the night sketching you

softly, as if your skin could burn me

or your eyes show me lost maps of the stars


I take special care with your face, the gentle

curve of your cheek, the shallows of your neck

creating a definition of beauty


for which all my words will follow, the subtle

shading of the shadows that frame your gaze

the yin and yang of my heart scratching on


the page; should I whisper? Kiss you? do I

wake you from this dream we'll share in the morn?

This momentary peace while your chest rises,


falls, suddenly sure I cannot touch you

if I want to keep this moment for just

a moment longer.


Saturday, April 24th, 2013 – Craigslist Montreal – Missed Connections - Anonymous

Postcard from Purgatory - Return To Sender - w4m (Poetry Purgatory)
 
PurgatoryGuyPhoto


I love reading the MCs but lately people some very specific culprits have been using it to work out their less-complex-than-they-think emotional issues .Hey Mr. Postman I'm sure they are about 10 000 places to post mediocre poetry online, this isn't one of them. Please spare us all and save it for your next Poetry Slam.


RE: Postcard from Purgatory - m4w (Wrong Address) ...as it turns out
But thanks for your constructive and enlightening insight. I'm sure your mother loves you, anyway
peace out!


Poetry Purgatory - w4m (Poetry Purgatory)

I wish your poetry was addressed to me you have a real gift!!!

you are talented

your secret poetry admirer

xoxoxoxo


RE: re: poetry purgatory LOL (return to sender gal) :) - w4w

Seriously????!!!! Are you freakin' kidding me? Don't hate because you might not be as GIFTED as Purgatory poster. Purgatory poster has the best posts on here, without a doubt. We all need to stop criticizing each other and start LOVING each other. Wow, what this world has come to! Your opinions are just your opinions and nothing more.

Purgatory poster - more power to you and keep on posting whatever you would like - your posts are just spectacular!!!!!!!!!!

You:
Honestly, I couldn't agree more with the 'enough already' perspective on 'mediocre poetry purgatory guy"

I honestly found the first couple of ones interesting and mysterious, but now its like overkill! I can't even get through readin them anymore I don't know if they've become mundane to me or just too 'expected', but it's becoming annoying to see the same thing on MC about a 'purgatory' and then some poetic type entries along the same predictable lines each time.

Also, I can't help but presume buddy hasn't had an actual girlfriend in his life in either a long time, or like, ever, otherwise, he would be expending his energy on his 'love', instead of raping the poetic shit out the MC section. lol

In My Humble Opinion.


RE: Here's the thing about Poetry - m4w (Memo from Purgatory)

You may not be entirely correct in your supposition about the "Missed Connections" section judging from the amount of non spam email I recieve after posting poetry here. Yes, Missed connections is a place where some people come to see if someone was checking them out in some random place, if that works for you and that's all you want that's fine. But others come here hoping someone has posted something that speaks to their hearts - maybe an old flame, maybe a regret from the recent past. Many people consider their lost loves as missed connections as well. That is what the poetry is about, and that is why people have been posting poems here - to share with people who may feel that way. I'm afraid no one has the market cornered when it comes to understanding the way that people work - and I would suggest that you show the same respect for those who feel that way as they do for all those posts about someone who probably didn't even look back at you on the street.

Aside from that, I am always quite careful to label my postings for your convenience (hence the title "Postcard from Purgatory"), so that if you aren't interested, you can skip to the next ad with certainty that you do not want to read the poem. So where exactly is your issue, something against people who like to read it?

(PS: just so everyone knows there is no one woman I'm looking for here, I don't expect to find them - but the messages I receive are an added bonus)

(PPS: I didn't write "Poetry is an expression..." a couple of lines down...I don't use MC as a meet market)


Hey Purgatory Guy - w4m

Don't feed the trolls, they're stupid enough to think they speak for everybody.

I think your poems are beautiful :)

xox


Purgatory go away

As others have already expressed, the purgatory poster should have some respect for what should be a site for actual missed connections. Save it for your slams.

On a related note, this also isn't a site for shit-talking your ex or expressing regrets or ranting about your personal issues. It's for MISSED CONNECTIONS. Is that so hard to understand?


poems - m4w - 87 (purgatory)

poetry is great if you dont like it move on and shut your mouth if you like it then kiss him he likes you too


Purgatory Begone! The Majority Rules! - w4m

I thought I was the only one sick of seeing purgatory guy posting here!!! This is the first time I am entertained by these low-level 'poetic' posts and it is only because others are finally voicing their feelings about his annoying "poems" ! hehe HALLELUJAH! And yes, I agree I agree! This is Missed Connections not Ranting About Exes and Unpublished Poet Connections! I am counting the majority here ruling to stop the purgatory madness!


re: Purgatory Go Away (Please!) - w4m

Hey Purgatory Man, which one of us girls (or guys) are you addressing with your response to the number of us that have been expressing our disdain for your ridiculous posts?! I'm sort of finding it funny that your response for all of us ones tired of your posts is that we should have respect for your posts yet you can't have respect for us expressing ourselves about it? Are you possibly, not who you pretend to be? If you were truly a real 'gentleman' as you pretend to be through your endless and badly written poems you would remain so even as us ladies express their disinterest and numerous requests for you to stop with the misplaced posts in this section instead of your passive aggressive replies on the defence. It must be tough in Purgatory. Please, go towards the light. Just go.

Just saying.


April 28, 2013 - Craigslist Montreal – Missed Connections - Anonymous

Poetry and trolls

This is not the rant and rave section. The ONE (there is only one, stop bullshitting yourself), anti-poetry poster is actually a sweaty male nerd who masturbates while typing his troll posts one-handed.

Post away Purgatory guy. I've written plenty of poetry here too in my day and 100% of the e-mails I've gotten were along the lines of how beautiful or insightful they were. I don't imagine your experience is much different.

Dear Mr. Purgatory Guy (and everyone else)

I used to read your posts voraciously. Back when you first started, I thought they were a nice change from the usual. Your pieces weren't bad, a few even tugged at my heartstrings and even brought a bit of no-really-I-was-just-cutting-onions to my eye. But perhaps you need to slow down.

I'm not a hater, nor am I a swooner. You can't own this forum. Not everything you post is your best work. (And I'm pretty certain there have been a few fakes, too.) I'm all for people posting their not-really-Missed-Connections here, so long as it fits into the general spirit of lonely hearts and emotional redemption we all seek here. However, I think you need to filter yourself a bit. I no longer read posts marked as yours. I'm tired of it, and quite a few others seem to be as well. You need to share the playground with the other kids.

How about you post your very best only, and far less frequently? That way, the people who get all misty and wait eagerly for your stuff can have theirs, while the rest of us can stop rolling our eyes as we filter through to the posts that really excite us.

I used to love MC so much. But these days it seems to be 90% Purgatory poems, 'Initials, please," and "DURRR, you're a coward, go talk to them instead!"

Y'all are boring. This is just my opinion, and haters gon' hate, but really, it seems so much more fun to read people's descriptions of attractive strangers, or heartfelt, clue-laden missives written in the lonely hours by swollen hearts still just slightly too proud to shed their anonymity. Let's keep it interesting, folks. Nobody should have a monopoly on Missed Connections.


May 5th, 2013 – Craigslist Montreal – Missed Connections - Anonymous

Presents from Purgatory . . . - w4m (Girl from Heaven Contemplating Purgatory)

I love your poetry offerings Purgatory Guy. It is always difficult being in Purgatory and the poetry is good (and could use a little surface editing). Missed Connections is a beautiful place for these offerings and in the Spirit. Please keep writing. as some girl once said "One day we'll be free and home.”














 
Book Reviews


 


The Classic Love Poetry of The Book of Blue.


by Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title: The Book of Blue

Author: Rebecca Anne Banks

Publisher: Tea at Tympani Lane Records, www.tympanilanerecords.com.

Date of Publication: 2013

Page Count: 235 pages

Available at: Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble in June 2013.



The Book of Blue is a modern day classic tome of love poetry, weaving a hidden darkness with great light in this story of the heart, the song of love. A chronology of a love affair from Summer to winter and back again, the poetry entrances and leaves you wanting more. The beginning of the book features a picture of the blue dove by Pablo Picasso, a great inspiration and artist advocate for peace, it is as if the line “Blue, you are the dove” was inspired by Picasso himself and channeled through and in collaboration with the Poet. There are 9 Books of Blue with about 10 poems per Book, the verse is encapsulated, each Book beginning and ending with the line or refrain “Blue, you are the dove.” As if the entire work is a chant, a lovesong to Blue, telling his story and the story of the love affair with the Poet. The title is reminiscent of the series of fairytales by Laing (The Book of Red, The Book of Yellow . . . ) and the poems although set in the post-modern world, have a certain ethereal light of old world magic. The nuances of landscape, time of day, season, and the imagery of the natural world are knit into a spellbinding array of poems. One of the constant images is the sky as a whole enveloping body that holds the world together, a sacred and sanctuary place – “ I long to gather you in, a place, inside the sky.” Another constant image is the color blue that also toggles to be the pronoun Blue, a person. The use of blue as the idea of deep clean water and/or some clear color of sunlight creates a sense of the space/person as sacred. There is also the modern adage of blue as “the blues”, an emotional state of depression, the state of having too many lovers – “lost inside the night blue and wandering”. The poetry is a prayer of worship, however there is a hidden dialectic of violence that like dark water winds its way through the storyline of The Book of Blue – “Blue, the road and sky your home” and “as if I could hold you” and “any peace you may find”. As if the state of this post-modern love affair exists in a place of great longing and war. Reminiscent of great love poetry, the work is riveting. As if drawing from classical works, The Book of Blue, recreates the story of love; the poetry rhymes unexpectedly and without cliché, discards most punctuation, and is a true expression of hope in a lost world, a truly unique and captivating read. As if written with The Muse of Montreal, an inculcation of the street, the music of rivers blue and sky, the wanderlust and magic of les Francais, the island people. The influences of Leonard Cohen, the pared down love of language, every word is carefully considered as if from inside a trance with elements of prophecy. It is the poetry of the Poet as Oracle. The poetry also reflects the essence of Haiku, the quiet lightening of bare bones and the unexpected. The poems dwell in the bud of romance, and linger as if the love affair never fully flowers until perhaps the Ninth Book of Blue. And the significance of the 9 Books could play on the old Number 9 refrain of the Beatles, the oxymoron of a lost and broken world destined to remain broken. The Book of Blue, the story of a deep and enduring love, the poetry timeless, something born of the true romance of the old world and a marriage made in heaven. With the last line before the refrain, “ “yours forever” and asleep . . . “ the bones of love rest, perhaps in covenant, perhaps having never been fully realized. However, in a world at war with itself, as the last husks of modernism fall away to flower into the imagine peace of the New Age, The Book of Blue is the classic story of love itself that remains. Available at Amazon.




 


The Angel: The Journey of the Oracle


by Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title: The Angel

Author: Rebecca Anne Banks

Publisher: Tea at Tympani Lane Records, www.tympanilanerecords.com.

Date of Publication: 2013

Page Count: 124 pages

Available at: Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble in June 2013.


The Angel is a work of quiet genius. This book of poetry a modern love dialectic rings of the Gothic Cathedral, the struggle of the birth into the New Age. Inspired by The Muse, the Archangel Gabriel and the angel statue “The Eye” by David Altmejd the poems write as if taking the reader on the journey of the Oracle, a dialogue of the sacred and the profane. The book of poems features a photo installation of “The Eye” angel statue by Victor Tangermann, the photographs riveting. The statue is absolutely engaging, one cannot resist the compulsion to walk around it and snap photographs. “The Eye” statue, the hollow space in the chest, the hands caressing the face, a treatise on love and as if the tattered, beautiful angel was a casualty from a war zone, artistically a marvel. The poetry is the idea of a love affair within the dialectic of the Old World, love in the time of war. As if the Poet is in dialogue with a fallen angel, possibly an archangel, The Angel, who as he travels the apocalypse becomes redeemed (whether the love affair is redeemed remains in question, possibly a testament to the tumultuous times). It is the idea of the Angel as a person of the street, “street angel heart” an object of worship “he carries the quiet as he sits by the street the Buddha one . . . “ as if everyman is an eloquent beggar before the Lord. In the backdrop of great turmoil, the setting is of a haunted inner city of decaying infrastructure and grey stone saved by images of angels, sunlight, forest, sky and rain. Borrowing from Neo-classical archetypes, the cult of nature, the idea of man as fallible and in search of God there is a reference to Hamlet by the Poet William Shakespeare. And although there is a casual rhyme schemata, occasionally you can find an original rhyming couplet at the end of a poem aka Shakespeare. There is also a passing reference to T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland (that in turn was influenced by Dante Alighieri’s Inferno) with the idea of journey through the desert/hell and a hidden dialectic of war, a battle between good and evil. As if in The Angel, there is a struggle between damnation and redemption, the fallen angel and the love affair with the Poet –“the ring of gold, blue sky cathedral in the rain.” The poem is also influenced by Biblical allusions of the New Testament and particularly Revelations. The 21st century bead drawn on style, with the short truncated lines and occasional rhyming owes itself to the influence of the Beat Poets and the post-moderns. A truly powerful book of love poems set in the times of the apocalypse calling us to a better understanding of the song of the Holy Spirit, the song of love. “The Eye” statue has one arm that is bare straifed, like a mecano, possibly alluding to the machine of the Industrial Economy. The Angel, representative of the blasphemy of the Machine Age with atomic weapons and 2 World Wars, the war economy and the violence of the heart away from the light, star-crossed lovers in exile, passing into the New Age of Imagine Peace through the magic of the Internet and the rediscovery of the tenets of the Holy Spirit, it is the rediscovery of love itself.

Available at Amazon.















 
Aphrodite’s Daughter: the history of the world Part 56

by

Rebecca Anne Banks













To the Muse













(inspired by photos of the aftermath of war torn Chechnya)













“ if you have nothing, you have this . . . “














God blows out over the world

and then breathes in

the beginning and end

all in one breath . . .


on some cold and winter Spring

the whispers, breath on Summer

soon, the warm

melts the snow

the water runs sweet

through my hands

sweet the days run.


In the memory of love

they say in Paris,

the flowers bloom in Spring.













Somewhere he waits . . .

for a sac of oranges

a kiss

the perfect kiss

under Summer skies warm . . .

you were the bells of watersong

all one Spring

we stayed in

we, the dog, you and me

all asleep

in the bed

all one night

spoons under warm.













The Lute in its case

waits by the door

an invitation to coffee

                                               1
“love is sweeter than wine”

come Roby

come Roy

               2
Molinari

and scallopini pasta

a tempest in a pot.


Alexander Gervais Montmartre

Kit Koby Creole

and mixed blessings

Alien, Alien, Alien alert

the Pining prayer

the taste of pine,

and the ground is dead.













The old war video plays

through the newsreel from Hollywood

the black ski masks

“stay out of the movie”

the silence from the next room

in grey, the static

somewhere he waits.

Sleep,

sleep

to dream the night

                                    3
the alpha and omega

into the river

of forgetfulness

in sleep we drown.













Alone,

in the dance,

she sang into the quiet:

“If I loved you perfectly

some lost and distant song

sang a perfect lovesong

past a lost and broken sky

would you still be mine?“


She covers her hair

the light

through the bride’s veil

falls over her face.


In the quiet

she dances by the window,

“leave a rose against my skin

in the morning

to remember you

until the night.”













(a red rose on a white tablecloth)

bright the oasis

three people at a table

drinking tea

in a courtyard

against the darkness,

the broken landscape

the burnt-out buildings,

the skeletons

rot in the sun

the empty faces, the quiet

looking for love

“sometimes you become used to losing things”

“there’s nothing there”


the market

the ribs on a scale

the place that does not rest.













The winter

by the river

a park bench

2 lovers sit at opposite ends

of a bench

they sit, they watch

the trees bare against the sky.

“what you cannot own”

“a heart”

“a place that does not own love, owns death”

“hearts for sale”

“someone’s waking the dead”

“love is sweet”

“death is sweeter”

still the night.













Over a blue black canister

not when people know you

                             4
and a Krushchev tailgate

the cube that keeps revolving

free basing, so her thoughts never land

                                                      5
“a mountain out of a mole hill”

they think they can irradicate her like a weed

but honey is sweeter then vinegar

and in all things love.


The sun of morning

through the knotted white sheet of window

“some 40 percent of newborns

                                                         6
had some kind of genetic defect”

“it’s very powerful to tell the truth . . . it fixes things”

hope at the end of daylight.













Just look into our eyes

you know us

the diamonds in the holes

of our shoes

the river and blue the dance

Bonne Fete

blue, blue by night

and Carnivale

on the island

by the light

and the singing goddess

where her tears fell

                                                                   7
forget-me-nots and sweet elecampane.













The large orange cat on a windowsill

behind a broken glass window

disappears under a table.


The subtle blue calm of water

we are missing

in the arms of the river,

my home

peace is like a bird

all things are given

Somewhere he waits . . .


In the memory of love

they say in Paris,

the flowers bloom in Spring.


 
Addendum


1. Bible: Song of Solomon 1:2.

2. Gustave de Molinari (1819 – 1912): a political economist and classical liberal theorist associated with French laissez-faire economists.

3. Bible: Revelation 22:13.

4. Nikita Krushchev (1894 – 1971): Russian politician and Premier of the Soviet Union from 1958 to 1964.

5. An idiom from the 16th century.

6. Caucasus Report. Preliminary Chechen Census Findings Unveiled. 2010. www.rferl.org/content/Preliminary_Chechen_Census_Findings _Unveiled/2209723.html.

7. Elecampane – a flower that sprang from where the tears of Helene of Troy fell.














 
Biography



Rebecca Anne Banks. Is at home in Montreal. CEO/Artist at Tea at Tympani Lane Records. www.tympanilanerecords.com.

Mark Beach. i was born and raised in rural ontario and spent time living in europe and west africa as a child. my first attempt poetry was rejected outright by my grade 9 english teacher. "Too dark", she whispered. i've focused more on music since then, but i've recently injured my hand quite badly, and am seeking out that stifled voice.

Grace Morai. To me art is my sanctuary, my way of connecting with myself and my creator and those who appreciate my art. It keeps me grounded. To not draw would be like not breathing. www.paintingsilove.com/artist/gracemorai.

Boris Leonidovich Pasternak. was born in Moscow into a wealthy Russian Jewish family, his father a post impressionist painter and professor, his mother a concert pianist. He is a renowned Russian Language Poet, literary translator and novelist. The Poet Pasternak was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature for the novel Dr. Zhivago. The novel was refused publication in the U.S.S.R. for not being inline with political Socialist rhetoric, he reluctantly refused the award because of the negative reaction by the state. He is best known for the books of poetry My Sister, Life, On Early Trains, Over the Barriers, Poems and the novel Dr. Zhivago.