ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume II Issue IX
 
CoverforIssue15



The Cover Photo/Art:

by Rebecca Anne Banks










 
“dark cloud sky

the trees green in sorrows wind

the Summer storm sky

odd, the silence of spaces

somewhere amongst the poppies

she sits,

quiet the wind

quiet the red-orange jewels

against the storm sky

a place without words

she has one of those beautiful faces

forgotten by time

at a distance

she waves

any fallen angel

poets, before the world was won”










Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume II Issue IX
 
(October 2014)










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Subterranean Blue Poetry

www.subterraneanbluepoetry.com
 
© 2014











Apparition

by Lucille Barker


Though we couldn’t keep you

alive two years ago,

you pop up insistently in my dreams:

you aggravate me,

playing my conscience,

too stern and rigid,

reminiscent of bad drama.

The others don’t mention you:

they dream of gardens and steeples,

writhing serpents eating unborn children;

such regulation normal dreams.

Instead, you visit me,

judgment in your still living eyes,

admonitions to the sleeping.










Objects Flammable

by Ginna Wilkerson


At first, only the small boat was in trouble,

sparks shooting from the graceful, swan-shaped wooden neck.

Wood catches quickly, even in water.

Soon flames leaped and danced, and the long neck of the bow

twisted through the grey-blue river, inviting other ships.


They were waiting to race, a river ritual, spaced out along

the river – ready. We watched from high above the snaking

water, safe on stone and rock.

Once the touch of the swan ship came, small flames grew into

a fiery, white inferno in the blink of a human eye.


No race, no ritual, no ceremony of the water and the fishes.

Only fire and destruction, alarm – then sadness and despair.

We stood together, stock still.

Now the trees on the bank joined in, embracing the offering.

We are left alone here, unharmed, a stone goddess and her concubine.










You remind me of El Salvador

by Orlando Murcia


You remind me of El Salvador.... How the trees would sing cantos in the language of parots... They were the heart of our rain forest.. the ancestors of madre nuestra.... Like the nances.. you were the fruit of my land... You are the precious dirt that no one ever speaks of but me.... You are the clock of lightning striking the appearence in the skies... the city of Santa Ana.. the emblem of my pride.... You are a symbol like my people of Pipil... You are a precious diamond and a jewel.... Tu eres el Volcan Izalco.. The light house of the Pacific... You are the Coatepeque Caldera of lakes... tropical and beautiful.. breath taking in view.... The Ocelot of softness.. endangered.. The Torogaz.. bright and royal.... Like El Salvador, your fingers are the smallest in all of Central America... but you are still a country... and there is nothing small about that....










I love staring at Luna....

by Orlando Murcia


The way she lays her head against the navel of the Northern bright sceneary....
The way she... Curls.. Below the dark in season....
This reminded me of you...
how you would lay your head upon my sand to rest... as you would.. hear the oceanic sound of sea shell breath.. upon your ear
Whispering soothing sails to get you home... into the shore of morning










La Santisima Muerte

by Marie Lecrivain


On the night of Dia De Los Muertos

Santa Muerte appears on Olvera Street.

The crowds part in Her presence,

solicitous and reverent, and

a court of white-faced devotees

follow in Her wake, hands

extended for benediction

of bone against flesh.

Her delicate feet brush

against trails of marigolds

strewn in loving tribute

to that long ago time

when She could walk

among the living

without the presence

of the Cross and the Fire.


As Santa Muerte walks Olvera Street,

husbands cleve to wives,

with nine levels of devotion,

and these women smile

as their wombs warm

to the promise of new life

kindled by fear of annihilation.

Her bald grin shocks crying babies

into silence...

as they stare

– wide-eyed and unbelieving -

in karmic recognition of First Mother

who sang paper-dry lullabies

and cradled each of them

in Her dusty arms

as She guided their souls

from old engines into new;

and a host of silver strings

within tiny hearts thrum with longing.


Santa Muerte lingers among ofrendas

that decorate the plaza,

her white cerements glowing blue

from the neon splendor

of downtown lights

that deepen the depth

of Her sightless orbs

as She dances with the calacas

in time to snapping fingers

and pan pipes that weave

rhythms and ribbons of time

to bind the past to the present

to the future to this moment,

and with one last silent laugh,

She disappears into the night.











 
Featured Poet: William Shakespeare

SONNET 116

by

William Shakespeare



Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

   If this be error and upon me proved,

   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.











 
Missed Connections

Craigslist Montreal – Missed Connections – February 20th, 2014 - Anonymous

my little pony...? - w4m (westmount)

MylittleponyPhoto


i love you i love you i loe you i love you i love you i love you im in love with you i love you i love you i love to love you i love you my beloved i love you i love you i love you i am doing the love to you

(hi..)

(N.B.: “so soon after February 14th and drinking songs” – note from the editor)











 
Book Reviews



Harlequins and Angels, a study in New Age Poetry.


Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Harlequins and Angels

Author: Rebecca Anne Banks

Publisher: Tea at Tympani Lane Records

Date of Publication: 2014

Page Count: (176)


Harlequins and Angels is a new and evolving event in New Age Poetry written by Rebecca Anne Banks. Poet Banks has published 23 books of poetry, has been published numerous times online and has had poetry from this book featured in The Inspired Heart, Edition #3 by MCI Writer’s House and in the online poetry journal Subterranean Blue Poetry.

The New Age poetry, a mix of symbolist and imagist form, the grand image metaphors, sometimes illogical and truncated with a pared in style, often with a respect and worship of nature/Romance illuminates the violence of the post-modern world in juxtaposition with creationist mythologies.

“bootleg Ronnie, my bones are strife

Steiglietz

the aftermath of swinging gods

the red waterfalls

fade to black

all paying customers

have left the theater

I look for ballet slippers

one in every colour

hang them from telephone wires

dragon monkies eat blueberries

the sun swallows the darkness

my last Empress.”

The poetry is an exciting exploration of the morphing language and plays with new word synergies, as if the Poet is attempting to reclaim lost spaces and creating new language, new mythologies. Often there are new words in the work, some based in French or other languages, some simply pulled from the sky in a freedom of creationist thought. Each word is carefully considered, pared in and juxtaposed as if in the discovery of a new and old wisdom way inspired by the Spirit. Words like a lost or expectant lover fill the empty page, recreate the dream of romance inside an ancient storm rhetoric as if breaking stones.

“o’ Lakshmee – cord of Dymphna

the howl of the wolf

arrows of fish

some beautiful gillette

anyone truly free, is guilty of suspicion

spinning sun wheels, in conch shells

I am a lighthouse

I am a lighthouse

blindfolded standing on a table

bleating, f, f, f . . . “

and,

“the ghosts of Leoni

merci Brignabone

some beautiful ballerina

the Spirit Catcher on the bed is wrong

Americ Vespuce

and apricot soup

the beautiful one

midge marconi

eyes of kohl

veiled nights

of ameabone and catoncs

rent rate.”

A study in violence, hidden/overt, the violence of conflict in intimate relationships, the violence of hidden agendas, the violence of silence. With the wars in Afghanistan, the Middle East, the disjointed reflected adjunct of the death of innocents in collective dark karma, reflects back and out, the meshed images bordering on Dada, as if an effort in self-annihilation, the violence in the crucible is presented in poetry. The inane war economy, the wars, the violence reflected back in a collective guilt that rages through the Artist.

(Driving people out into the streets crying for forgiveness in the rediscovery of love and the Holy Spirit. The cursehold America/geopolitics is out of control, people’s love lives may be lost or misconstrued, there is carnage by the roadside, rape, addictions, suicide, murder. In the time when the word love included the word sex this was an understanding of peace, when the word love became separated from the word sex, sex became disembodied and this became war. In the last hours we are praying for the violence to end, we, the Women’s Collective have declared Montreal a curse free zone. The disembodied soul, some members of the patriarchy refuse to acknowledge we the people as rights and freedoms, as faces and bodies and souls sancrosanct under God. A society that does not understand or follow Signs from God is doomed.)

“the Alex P. Rathbone showhorse

kelvecchios kelvecchi

the sinking eye of pandemonium

it’s odd how people become forgotten

how memories age

grow round with time

but there are no marks on her body

some are in the hallway

one or two behind the coach

some videotaped their own arrival

(a trend encouraged by Hollywood)

and who is laughing

at the funeral

someone is taking notes.”

This poetry is reminiscent of the truncated thought-speak of T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, the out of place, out of time violence of ended beginnings and war. Although not a long poem, these poems exist as if photos of heat, violence and memory, a song of peace playing in the background of the shattered night. And in the New World, the jagged edges of sunlight, something like love plays into a black and blue chorus …

“and winter sits in

settles with a vengeance

cold, the last look of love

except in the colour blue

and his dance is the dance

sweet that calico moon

sings into sweet

treasure heart one,

in the flower of the night.”

Harlequins and Angels, is an evolution from Poet Banks usual poetic climes and presents the blue and the still in the tradition of the great Symbolist and Imagist Poets, giving birth to The New Age.

Available @ Amazon.ca.











“ … and white butterfly in sunshine “


 
For Blue

by

Rebecca Anne Banks



and he walks out of the night

(he is day wind night)

it is rain and Summer rain

my sunny kimono

beauty and sweet

awake, awake the morning stars

the incredible manx tree

mosie cattata

no shadows under the stairs.

- from The Underground Blue











 
Biography

Rebecca Anne Banks lives in Montreal. She is the Artist/CEO at Tea at Tympani Lane Records (www.tympanilanerecords.com)and the Book Reviewer at The Book Reviewer (www.thebookreviewer.ca).

Lucile Barker is a Toronto poet, writer and activist. Since 1994, she has been the co-ordinator of the Joy of Writing, a weekly poetry and fiction workshop at the Ralph Thornton Centre. Recent poetry and prose publications include poems in The Big Scarborough Art Book, Linden Avenue, Decades Review, and Killer Whale. Her poetry has appeared on posters and in the 2013 Digging to the Roots Calendar. Her recent fiction has been published in The Quotable, Memewar, Mixitini Matrix and Green Briar Review. Upcoming work will be appearing in Paper Plates, Mixitini Matrix, Subterranean Blue Review, Commonline Review, The Art of Being Human, and Black Cat Lit. It Matters blog radio recently broadcast her story “My Stinky Valentine.”

Marie Lecrivain is the editor of poeticdiversity: the litzine of Los Angeles, a photographer, and a writer-in-residence at her apartment. She's been published in various journals, and her avocations include alchemy, fibre art, collecting various versions of Bronte novels, and long walks through the streets of Los Angeles.

Orlando Murcia is an Author, writer and Poet from Los Angeles California. His main focus is to write about Love and Beauty. Though his words may at times be sensual and mesmeric through romantic lines as in his book of poems, The Beauty Of All Around. He is known more for his Romantic flow more than anything, but packs even a heavier blow with his "Truth" about his life and past as a youth. He was Born in Santa Ana El Salvador during the time where the Guerrilla warfare was still going on.

William Shakespeare is a British poet and playwright born in Stratford-upon-Avon, believed to be one of the greatest writers of all time. He is the third child born to John Shakespeare, a merchant and Mary Arden who is local gentry. He married Anne Hathaway (26 years) when he was 18 years old and had 3 children. There is no record of his education nor of the 7 years after he left his wife. He eventually arrived in London, joined the Lord Chamberlain’s Men Company, theatrical players where he is believed to have penned numerous plays and poems. Most noteworthy are the Sonnets, Hamlet, Romeo and Juliette, The Merchant of Venice, MacBeth, Othello, King Lear, A Midsummer’s Night Dream, As You Like It, amongst others.

Ginna Wilkerson completed a Ph.D. in Creative Writing at University of Aberdeen in 2013, also the year of publication of her first poetry collection, Odd Remains. Her photographs have been displayed in both Scotland and the US. This summer, Ginna has been in residency at Can Serrat Artist’s Residence in El Bruc, Spain. Currently, she teaches at Ringling College of Art and Design.