ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume III Issue X
 
CoverforIssue27


The Cover Art/Photo:

by Daniel de Cullá










“little girl candy art

shake the world out . . . until it is perfect

reincarnated as an albino

thin wearing foxtails

long white hair,

sitting naked on a velvet chair

then i shaved my eyebrows

the trouble with accountants is loose ends

they are playing moon music until we die –

singin’ and not singin’, not singin’, not singin’

and singin’ again”










Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume III Issue X
 
(October 2015)










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Subterranean Blue Poetry

www.subterraneanbluepoetry.com
 
© 2015










What We Do In A Week

by

Wei He


On Wednesday,
You say, the devil lives in water
I say, it’s just booze.
You say, what do you know, you don’t know a shit about Jesus
I say, I know your tears are pearls
You say, don’t talk like a hippie
So I say nothing.

On Thursday,
You melt a thousand tubes of butter at the bakery in the day
You are too tired to say anything
I work night shift alone at the slaughterhouse
I rinse pig blood off the floor with a hose
Then sit next to a lonely pig head, smoking cigarettes

On Friday,
I buy you flowers on my way home in the morning
And put them in the fridge
I think they’ll stay colorful and cool
You kiss my ears when I pretend to be asleep
You whisper, hey, let’s start over.

On Saturday
You make Potpourri with the withered petals
I say something, you laugh
Then you say something and laugh more

On Sunday
We sit on the couch, watching bits of bad romance on TV
We drink cheap soda and dream similar dreams

On Monday
I have a long day at work
Those mammals are clever enough to cry before they die
You cook mushroom for dinner
You say, it’s not bad to be vegetarian once in a while
I say, I hate all kinds of fungi
You say, don’t talk like that hippie in the park

On Tuesday
The weekend feels a year away
So I go get a dozen beers
You come home from work and say, shit
Then you open a bottle for yourself and tell me about the car accident you saw
The guy died, the woman shrieked like hell
I say,
Tomorrow morning, hangover’ll be killing us
Then we say nothing the rest of the night
We just sit there, drinking together










 
Featured Poet: Nina Simone

Blackbird

by

by Nina Simone



Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly
Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly

No place big enough for holding
All the tears you're gonna cry
Cause your mama's name was lonely
And your daddy's name was pain
And he called you little sorrow
Cus you'll never love again

Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly
Why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly


You ain't got no one to hold you
You ain't got no one to care
If you'd only understand dear
Nobody wants you anywhere

So why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly
So why you wanna fly Blackbird
You ain't ever gonna fly

You ain't got no one to hold you
You ain't got no one to care










 
Missed Connections

Craigslist Montreal – Free Stuff – Sunday, April 13th, 2014 – Anonymous

FREE HOUSE (South Shore)

FREE FARM HOUSE - BUILT 1875 1 and half story.

HousePhoto


Approximately 23" wide X 40" deep.

We need to remove our house from the land, but do not want to destroy it, if someone else would like to take it, please let us know. This old wood farm house was originally built in 1875. Many renos have been done.

-New steel roof and beams was installed (old one completely removed), back in 2007.
-FuseBox is from late 90's all flip switchs.
-relatively new hot water tank, hardly used.
-all top floor has new thermo windows, ground floor has what looks like original windows.

also include wood fireplace, antique tub, antique kitchen sink and many other odd things in the house.

The house is located 30 mins south of Montreal.

You must have the means to remove the house and bring to your own lot. This I've heard can cost from 2k to 50k depends on distance. This is a small house, so should be cheap.

SERIOUS PEOPLE ONLY, WITH MEANS of COLLECTION and transportation, I will respond to, please provide the name of the company as proof of your seriousness. Images are available to those that are.

YES, this is a FREE HOUSE.

Thank you

N.B.: “the best things in life are free, but leave me the birds and the bees” – note from the editor

“also comes with farm animals” – note from the other editor










Book Reviews



They Wouldn’t Let Me Be White, a Black Poet in America writes.


Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: They Wouldn’t Let Me Be White

Author: Michael Ellis

Publisher: Melinda Cochrane International

Date of Publication: 2015

Page Count: 50


“When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we’ll see
No I won’t be afraid, no I won’t be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me.”
- from Stand by Me by Otis Redding


Poet Michael Ellis has written a fantastical treatise on Black Culture in lyric poetry of America. He has been published in the Los Angeles Herald Examiner, Cross Currents Review, and in anthologies, Birth O’ The Blues, The Inspired Heart 2014. This is Poet Michael Ellis’ second book of poetry, the first being Goodbye Langston and is the first book This Writer has reviewed for him.

Of a quiet Summer afternoon, the music and blue skies, “Stand by me, stand by me . . . “ Poet’s souls and cultural differences, like varied bands of colour, have different rhythms and bring life, the fountainhead in celebration. Poet Ellis sees with a Poet’s eyes, despite the violence of his homelife and the violence of the history of Blacks in America, weaving a treatise in truthtelling. They Wouldn’t Let Me Be White has themes of being a father, his family, tells the story of his life and the stories of Black people in America and the violence of white/Black race relations. One of my favourite poems is written for his daughter, titled Percentage Poem.

PERCENTAGE POEM

ACCORDING TO
STATISTICS
AND UNITED PRESS

YOU AS A BLACK FEMALE
HAVE A TEN PERCENT CHANCE
OF GOING TO COLLEGE
A FIFTY PERCENT CHANCE
OF DYING FROM STRESS

THEY GIVE YOU
AN EIGHTY PERCENT CHANCE
OF HAVING THREE CHILDREN
BEFORE TWENTY-ONE

THEY EVEN TOSSED IN
A SEVENTY-FOUR PERCENT CHANCE
OF BEING A SINGLE PARENT
TO YOUR DAUGHTERS AND SONS

CNN AND FOX OFFER YOU
A FORTY-FOUR PERCENT CHANCE
OF BEING A WHORE

SO IF YOU EVER SEE
STATISTICS LIKE THESE
JUST TEAR THEM UP
SPIT ON THEM
AND IGNORE

I YOUR FATHER GIVE YOU
A ONE HUNDRED
PERCENT CHANCE
OF BEING BLACK AND BEAUTIFUL
AND AN EIGHTY
PERCENT CHANCE
OF BEING BLESSED

SO LISTEN TO DADDY
AND IGNORE THE PRESS
AND THE REST.

He writes an introduction about his life, of how he spends his entire childhood attempting to define himself in relation to the dominant white culture. Tells of being laughed at for applying to an all white Boy Scout troup. He goes on to champion the Black teenagers (Emmitt Till, Trayvon Martin and more) who have been murdered and compares it to an outbreak of gonorrhea on the Statue of Liberty. (In 2013 the homicide rate of Black male teenagers in the United States was 45 per 100,000 or 135,000 murders per year). The poetry breaks into the silence around racial discrimination and remembers the names of saints who have been lost but not forgotten. The dominant white culture is all pervasive, in mass media, television, movies, it has historically been a reflection of itself. (but becoming more diversified with the see and be seen Internet/computer phenomenon). White culture/politics can be a hard and violent place, from casting people out and cruelty to unofficial plebescites/genocide. America exists on the road, in the flight from heaven, the Holy Spirit way was largely lost. Like a safety valve that sometimes boils over, people take out their self-esteem issues and angst on “the other”, Black people being an obvious target because of their different skin colour and because they may not know the rules of the white elite. What you dwell on grows, release work, prayer, an arts calling, there are many ways to ease the universal angst. The rules of the Holy Spirit are quite simple, do not hurt each other, follow your calling for love, and follow your calling for work, anything more than this is a synthesized hell.

EGREGIOUS

What do you do
When Black folks don’t want you?
And White folks don’t need you?

Tell me what do you do
When Black folks don’t want you?
And White folks don’t need you?

Can’t find no bread or a hand to feed you

When your own Racelessness
Becomes heavy and egregious?

You go to the church at the corner
And start readin’ poems to Jesus

The poetry presents as lyrical Beat poetry, with influences of modern Hip Hop lyric/music. The synchronicity of the intentional rhyme, like rocking the cradle, weaves the light of love into the often horrific telling of Black events and history. Some of the poems suggest the magic of music in Blue. This book of poetry begins with a dedication to Langston Hughes and in the next few poems he addresses Poet Hughes and what unfolds is an imaginery conversation, a quiet humor. Like Hitchcock Presents, the words begin subtle and then grab the pit of your stomach, the edge, the horror of the violence erupts in a quiet scream, as you begin to realize the sorrow of lives lost. This is illustrated in the poem Southern Marinade. It is dedicated to Jessie Washington, and is the story of how he stood trial for the rape and murder of a white woman. The execution scene is poetry unbound, more graphic than a newsreel, the images and poetic wordplay that paints the picture in violence.

The poetry travels in momentum to the last poem, High Yellow. It is the story of a house maid who is made pregnant by her monied employer and how she gave up the child to be raised by the father.

“And that Winter lasted a Century

And Spring came bringing

Birds in a Symphony

Giving sing

And daffodils did daffodil things

And one day in particular for no reason at all

He looked at her

“Mr. Sawyer, I’m four months Pregnant Sir.””

One of my favourite poems is, Maya Angelou Poem a great tribute poem to Maya Angelou with a freedom song ending.

This poetry rises from the fires and flies into the sun as iconic Black sufferage and celebration. From the title and the subtle humour, the cadence and magic of the poetry in truthtelling, the artistry, the Poet triumphs over oppression. When This Writer came to the last poem, she scrolled down looking for more. An impressive book of poetry from Michael Ellis.

Available @ Poet Michael.








Dead Letter Office, the Anonymous Love Letter home.


Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Dead Letter Office

Author: Anonymous

Publisher: Philistine Press

Date of Publication: 2012

Page Count: 15


“somewhere my love”
- from Lara’s Theme by Maurice Jarre and Paul Francis Webster


Dead Letter Office is a suite of classic unsent love letters that the Poet has published anonymously. The quiet anarchy of anonymous, anonymous in a sea of faces, this iconoclastic troubled love affair is a voice without a face. Yet, Anonymous could be Anyone, the frustration of the perfect love affair in the violence of politics and the Western Economy. At the end of the free read at Philistine Press is a disclaimer “There is no copyright, no expectation of credit. Poetry should be free.”

At first This Writer was rather appalled that someone would write without at least claiming a “nom du plume” and had decided that if they were not going to sign their work, I was not going to Review it. However, it is such a good read, I have fallen for its charms and there is something rather heart rendering about a Poet, a love affair without a name. In troubled times it is a great gift to be able to have access to the artefacts of culture for free, those struggling, the Poets, the Artists, the Students, the lovers of poetry and gives a voice to the Poet, it is important to be read. The Internet has revolutionized the process of art so that it is immensely easier to gain an audience, like going down to the town square to read, it no longer relies on the elites opinion of who should be published.

Like the celebration of an unmarked grave the Poet is writing about a troubled love affair, either a brief entre nous or, perhaps a love affair that did not come into full fruition as if it is passed, could not be. The 15 short unsent love letters in Dead Letter Office is New Age experiential poetry in narrative that records the sights and sounds of the day with the underlying theme of some impossible love.

“Unsent letter # 13

Dear ,

I want to lie with you on a narrow bed

in a simple room; a plain white sheet,

blank walls. There’s one window; outside

a field, then woods. Your arms wrapped

lightly around me. Your blouse, sweater

and green skirt with the frayed hem hang

over the back of a rocking chair; bra and

panties on the floor at the foot of the bed.

There’s a bell, a quiet chime; it’s Sunday

morning. The slant of rain is illuminated

by the moon. We’re unafraid, marooned

as long as we choose; lost on this blue

quilted sea between dreams and sleep.


Love,”

The poetry is a beautiful, arcane presentation of short letters that begin with Dear, and end with Love, anonymous. The Nature Imagery includes the birds, the moon, the weather, the green of trees mixed with the hard imagery of Cityscape, cars, the subway, the police, the architecture.

“Unsent Letter #4

Dear ,

I think about carefully writing letters then leaving them in random places:

Dear Subway Passenger,

Dear Passer-By,

Let me tell you about my lover.

She’s beautiful in that way sadness has of rounding out edges.

She likes to go barefoot; better to feel the earth tremble, she says.

She worries about the sun when it rains,

Likes to sit in her grandmother’s chair; best seat in the house when it thunders.

She believes in long good-byes and wide-open spaces. Last thing she told me was how words

seem to come alive when written by hand.


Love,”

This love poetry is beautiful in the way all classic love poetry is beautiful. A photo in time. An inspiration, instead of the letters sent without an address to the post office, perhaps a photo and poem could be posted on milk cartons, billboards, the found letter box, at least the treatment deserving of pets and lost cats.

“somewhere my love . . . “ plays into a warm overcast evening, sweet the last days of Summer. Dead Letter Office, a brilliant song of love and anarchy at Philistine Press.

Available @ Philistine Press.











“fly me to the moon”
- from Fly Me to the Moon
by Frank Sinatra and Bart Howard


 
Happy Tuesday, Blue

by

Rebecca Anne Banks



just to let you know,

i traded in the dog for an antique dinner table

it’s coming at Sunday noon

all the news,

Happy Tuesday, Blue.


it is quiet today, Blue

i decided to not go to a poetry reading tonight,

it looks too cold out,

i will put the rest of the chicken

in a pot and make soup,

you are always welcome to come by . . .

happy, happy . . .


today, the sky is Montreal blue

i contemplated going for a coffee downtown,

but it is hard to get around in winter,

maybe tomorrow

Happy Thursday, Blue.


it is snowing quiet

the cheque arrive! big Yay!

i took the shopping cart downtown

and pick up groceries

China pears were on sale 99 cents

Gina email with more work for me

happy, happy …


it is big sunlight Saturday,

i take the Metro,

go to China Towne

talk to my friend,

pick up some pastry and seed candy

work on the magazine

so it goes . . .


the antique table arrive, big Yay!

it is big under the big window

I bake cookies

and hope to be at church

next Sunday

miss you . . .

Happy Sunday, Blue!

(I know the angels love you as much as me

so I try not to worry

for you,

je t’aime,

happy, happy Blue . . . )










 
Biography



Rebecca Anne Banks lives in Montreal. She is the author of 26 books of poetry, a family cookbook, a book of children’s stories, a book of World Peace Newsletters and a primer on marriage discernment all available at (www.amazon.ca). She is also the CEO/Artist at Tea at Tympani Lane Records (www.tympanilanerecords.com) and The Book Reviewer at The Book Reviewer (www.thebookreviewer.ca).

Daniel de Cullá (1955), is a writer, poet and photographer. He is also a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Director of the Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He’s moving between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos, Spain. Email: gallotricolor@yahoo.com.

Michael Ellis was born in East Nichols and when his mother died was sent to live in Los Angeles, California. He attended the University of Puget Sound in northwestern United States pursuing his writing career. He has been published in the Los Angeles Herald Examiner, Cross Currents Review, and in anthologies, Birth O’ The Blues, The Inspired Heart 2014. His first book of poetry is Goodbye Langston and his second book of poetry is They Wouldn't Let Me Be White.

Wei He grew up in Inner Mongolia, China and now lives in Pittsburgh, PA. She holds an MA degree in Creative Writing from Miami University of Ohio and is currently enrolled in the MFA program in Dramatic Writing at Carnegie Mellon University. Her fiction, poetry and plays in English and Chinese have been published internationally in the United States, China and Taiwan.

Nina Simone was born in North Carolina as Eunice Kathleen Wayman, taking the stage name Nina Simone and grew up poor and Black. She had a natural gift for music, singing in the church choir and learning to play the piano. She won a scholarship to Juillard School of Music, New York City to study classical piano. Eventually she ran out of financing moving to Philadelphia. Looking for a less expensive music school she was rejected by the Curtis Institute of Music because she was African American. She began playing popular music, blues and jazz in clubs in the 1950's, by the mid-1960's she was "the voice" of the civil rights movement, penning songs about Medgar Evers and Martin Luther King Jr. She traveled the world touring and releasing albums, settling in the South of France.