ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume II Issue III

The Cover Photo/Art:

by Pd Lietz


“water spirits swim

of the sky

fire vermillion and blues

odd, God kiss

by down



by blue



movie sunlight

kissed for a day

my naked eye“

Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume II Issue III
(April 2014)

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2014

Thick With Eucalyptus

by Zachary Guadamour

The silver path

grained with streaks of rose-gray

the canyon walls turquoise and mauve

chocolate and lavender

the air vibrant pink

A hummingbird chases a blue jay

a tiny red ruby bullet

on the tail of a squawking jay

The birds burst the colored air

into thousands of glittering particles

The Steppes

by Zachary Guadamour

Wind dances the corn

and short bluish-grey rye

puffs pollen across the fields

forms a mist on the horizon


by Hugh Thomas

As through the curtain an unbelieved

morning shines   the beautiful

came early   not a thought in his head

to hold him back

not the almost deadly poems

not the cat with its silver glare

too cool for raspberries he sleeps

and only later the blue of the eyes

unnamed in the rose garden

what shone there

as might be held to the lips

already slightly singed

Featured Poet: Robert Frost

A Line-Storm Song

by Robert Frost

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,

The road is forlorn all day,

Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,

And the hoof-prints vanish away.

The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,

Expend their bloom in vain.

Come over the hills and far with me,

And be my love in the rain.

The birds have less to say for themselves

In the wood-world’s torn despair

Than now these numberless years the elves,

Although they are no less there:

All song of the woods is crushed like some

Wild, easily shattered rose.

Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,

Where the boughs rain when it blows.

There is the gale to urge behind

And bruit our singing down,

And the shallow waters aflutter with wind

From which to gather your gown.

What matter if we go clear to the west,

And come not through dry-shod?

For wilding brooch shall wet your breast

The rain-fresh goldenrod.

Oh, never this whelming east wind swells

But it seems like the sea’s return

To the ancient lands where it left the shells

Before the age of the fern;

And it seems like the time when after doubt

Our love came back amain.

Oh, come forth into the storm and rout

And be my love in the rain.

Missed Connections

Craigslist Montreal – Sunday, September 8th – Missed Connections - Anonymous

Me: penniless. You: pretty - m4w - 21 (Green Line Metro)

I had lost my wallet, and was telling my friend how I had to renew all of my cards. I noticed you listening in on our conversation, and I thought to myself, "God, she is beautiful." As if on cue, you chimed in, explaining how you had been in a similar situation, and offered me 5$ out of the kindness of your heart.

I was a scrub, and simply accepted your money... What I really should have done was ask for your number. So here I am, just a long haired lonely boy looking to repair this missed connection, and pay you back your 5$ with a coffee date.

Book Reviews

Previously Feared Darkness, poetry from the Canadian winter.

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Previously Feared Darkness

Author: Robert Priest

Publisher: ECW Press

Date of Publication: 2013

Page Count: 97

Previously Feared Darkness, a captivating tome of poetry from Canadian Poetry Icon Robert Priest. Robert Priest, writer of 19 books of prose, poetry, and CD's, is a children’s author and singer/songwriter, bon vivant and man about town, the modern day answer to the legacy of Canadian Poet Robert Service, poetry icon.

The Bard of Canada lives in mountains espousing the truth, inspiration and often humor, paints vignettes of the greats, John Lennon, Leonard Cohen, Milton Acorn and presenting Mr. Harper, observations of politics, poets, love, the New World and peace. As if influenced by the Counterculture Revolution of the 1960’s, flower power, free love and peace activism, the hope of this era emerges in a rambunctious, masculine, heterosexual work that is entertaining, direct connect and righteous. The Modernist influences extend to capitalization of each beginning line, a poet in step and saying his piece, “to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted.”

Nothing Came

“Nothing came

Though waiting had happened

Nothing came

On the 4 a.m. bus

Out of nowhere

We waited and we waited some more

But nothing came

Nothing came to nothing

And so we sat with that

Like arrival

Till it was a place

Or a being

In fact it was us

This locus of nothing

And it hurt like hell

Nothingness in us

Tugging at us

Wanting to be something

If we go on waiting I believe

The bus will arrive

And we will once again

Have nothing in our arms”

and the touch of Existentialism and sisyphicus all rolled into waiting at a bus stop at 4 a.m., perhaps after a party at a bar, and you know he was actually there at that bus stop, waiting.

This Writer liked the beautiful tomes on love:

From Between Your Disconnection and Mine

“you need to say “love” precisely
love, love, concision has made me strange

I cut corners in words
I should have found you by now

everything points toward you
the very land leads down

we’ll wind up in
the same gullies

no matter what
we say

we’ll be at the crest
of the same waves

still not making
eye contact

I will stand with you
at the very feet of god

and neither you nor I
will finally nod

or what?
we could break

all the great spells
of time and circumstance

with a glance”

and Minatures:

“Love is not the answer

It is the question

It is the command.”

and Micro-Poems:

“The sky is a search-engine with only one name in it: the beloved.”

This poetry has weight, it is a man’s view of life and modern life Canadian. Also, within the book of poetry are some male humor pieces, as in V – “When Churchill flashed his famous V sign/ It wasn’t for victory/ As everyone says/ It was for vagina”; from The Waistland – “And there are fat arses/ Bigger than the backs of buses/ Bursting with vile gases . . . “This is the way the world ends/ This is the way the world ends/ This is the way the world ends/ Not with a bang/ But hemorrhoids” perhaps a parody of T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland; Just a Wee Bit About Fucking and Asshole Sky.

As this Writer read this book of poetry I quietly envisioned a bar on Bay Street in Toronto in the evening peopled with the men from the newspaper, marketing and business shops all dressed in the same suit, the same shoes and all reading Robert Priest.

Near the end of the work are a series of poems with “Meme Splice” in the title with a play on two similar words, “Iron/Irony”, “Country/Cunt”, "Crisis/Christ", "Breast/Beast", "Honour/Horror" etc. an interesting concept (for Poets there is often this dichotomy in writing where 2 interchangeable words will present themselves for one spot in a line in a poem) however I found it hard to read, of the masculine and hard edges, like a bad Canadian winter where someone had died, yet I was also struck by the power of it.

The poetry is also at times political, perhaps noting the less employment of the Computerized Economy:

Definitions and Titles

"Pooration: 1. the process of making a populace poor 2. pooration to the point where cuts are made to the core essentials of life is known as core pooration.

See also: povertization and topple down economics

See also: prausterity"

As if taking the pulse of the New World, the Poet as Bard painting a postcard of now, Previously Feared Darkness by Robert Priest.

Available from Amazon.ca.


Albanian Suite, a brilliant New Age Chapbook.

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Albanian Suite

Author: Hugh Thomas

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2014

Page Count: 20

This brilliant Chapbook, Albanian Suite is the gift of Hugh Thomas. Poet Thomas lives and works in Fredericton, New Brunswick as a mathematics professor at the University of New Brunswick. He has published Franzlations, “a collection of illustrated Kafka remixes”, chapbooks and been published in various journals 1cent #404, Numero Cinq, BafterC, dig, the Dusie poetry blog amongst others.

In the Acknowledgments, he presents his work as having spun off the poems of Albanian poet Visar Zhiti amongst others, not as a strict translation, because he does not understand Albanian, but this Writer suspects in the true spirit of Albanian.

In the background, down some cobblestone street on a rainy day, Paul Simon sings, “April, Come she will” “When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;/ May, she will stay,/ Resting in my arms again.”

This Writer appreciates and revels in the thick, rich images, as if paintings of a certain noblesse oblige, the lost and present circumstance of decay of the old world Europe, in the new. The metaphors in poetry drip with love and remorse and the passage of time, as if the stone remains despite the rain. From Music I heard with you, “The choir in the clouds hums a Bach cantata/ but someone in the world is coughing/ and Bach is galloping on horseback/ gazing into his crystal of disinterest./ The fierce demons pursuing him/ now just seem wistful.”

As if the last line of defense, the poetry can be heavily laconic as in The Strange Mine of Pork Poetry – “Not enough, those phased lectures of miasma given by a mime – I plugged myelf into the electrical circuit, getting an immediate shock./ The stratagem that sold me the ruins offered drums and furniture, contact with poets leery of bestsellers, literary arms, or –sob!-restaurant meals./ We made examinations down the strange mine of pork poetry, grew wings, became curious about the flowering shrubs among the ruins of ten maps and the vaults of fish.” Also in Sappho II – “cadence address catch dreams/ pays and agree, chlorate of poems,/ empathic, the old epidemic/ things themselves”.

Tucked into the body of the work are two beautiful New Age "translations":


"After so many



by one

out come the stars

I breathe in

the chill

left me

by the sky’s



a fugitive



in an eternal


(translated from the Italian of Giuseppe Ungaretti)



"When night comes,

I stand on the steps and listen,

stars are swarming in the garden

and I stand in the dark.

Listen, a star just fell with a clang!

Don’t walk on the grass in bare feet;

my garden is full of shards."

(translated from the Swedish of Edith Sodergran)

As if one long lament on love lost, the corruption of love in post-modern times, the passage of time, the grey and violence of post-modern times, the hard technocracy, the unsatisfactory nature of postmodern poetry, perhaps how everything has grown old. As if the world has existed inside some long ago war for too long.

Key of Roses, Bruges

for maria erskine

"Demobilized pigeons throng the park

where something happened.

We wait for each other. We cross the pool,

raising barely a ripple.

Some mythological animal

-you said griffin, I said narwhal-

stopped us with an extended claw,

said something in Flemish about life and gardens.

The windows were illuminated even if we weren’t,

and there was dancing among the chimneys.

Overhead, let down on a string out of heaven,

a glockenspiel, as such a total disappointment!"

A celebration of the New Age in poetry, thick with European sensibility and the love diaspora N.A. A fantastical read of Old World Europe, Albanian Suite by Hugh Thomas.

Available at above/ground press.


vertigoheel for the dilly, a fantastical Canadian poetry read.

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: vertigoheel for the dilly

Author: Pearl Pirie

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2014

Page Count: 20

vertigoheel for the dilly is a fantastical Chapbook by Pearl Pirie that is a revelation of the Canadian fascist undertoad of the New Age. Poet Pirie has published 2 books of poetry with a third volume coming from BookThug in 2015. She lives in Ottawa and has launched chapbooks, blogs, a micro press and is a radio host, occasionally teaching poetry workshops.

As if howlin’ and howlin’ big at the moon, the enigmatic often dislocated wordscapes present a game, to see behind the curtain, what is being said, not said, what is happening, not happening, a truncated presentation, of the life and times in 21st century N.A. The seemingly disembodied thoughts brought together for a couple of lines, a free flowing Zen of creativity and landscape within very broken places.

The themes presented include ill health/growing old, the state of the ecology/the 21st century, a missing father, sex and conflicted love lives.

“polyps in the colon complement the diverticulosis./ a sort of spilled lego in the digestion.”

“Living La Vida Ibuprofen. Neutral sparrows/ are not imbued with mites.”

and the long poem goes on to mention the ecology of the oceans,

“the seas are emptying, the only choice left/ is the fish in the barrel. breed, fish, breed.”

About ¾ of the way through the long poem there is presentation of a missing father:

“the poem takes the sidewalk chalk “welcome home dad”/ powerwashes off the “wel”, or adds a chalk outline of a child.”

“in the market, rows of bouquets/ father is gone, doesn’t care which colour.”

In the background as if in dialogue with the Reader is the unfolding of a story of conflicted love perhaps the product poetry the manifestation of an underground war. It begins slowly,

"it's as romantic as the attachment of a couple's/ cuddle-bed-sores, growing into one scab."

“for all its 7,200 square kilometers it’s a small country really and time’s a bullet train across it. our time? oh, not ours.”

“look at the lupines, inhale the hummingbird. these are the panacea, the cancellation of everything short of Auschwitz.”

“‘hyperlogalia medical’. Did you mean hyperlocal paralegal? um,/ no. I mean stories overflow any social container or contentment./ only lack of mutual is pathological. otherwise, all glows.”

and like a dirge, the dance, the long poem heats up:

“frost-slapped cheeks applied via Avon, ‘talk to him’ you instructed,/ rub his hands, keep him with us. (we never had touched.)"

“sanguine sans glum, stand-up, wipe sebum, beach bum,/ I’ve been dead to you for 4 changes of addresses.”

As if drawing from the tradition of poetry influenced by war, perhaps T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland, the introspective and disconnected thoughts in vertigoheel for the dilly are a distinctly Canadian take on a Western world bound by war.

Often poems work on different levels, something about the poem, draws you in, becomes somehow about you or about anyone that reads it, it becomes about us. vertigoheel for the dilly, a very powerful read from The People’s Poet, Pearl Pirie.

Available at above/ground press.


by Rebecca Anne Banks

red and green

hella tulips

just sleep through

the candle opera

sweet lips and chalk

blue, some beautiful Listowel

odd the point of arrival

a breath

as if the clock never moved


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

Robert Frost was born in San Francisco. When he was 12 years old his father died and his family moved to Massachusetts to live with his grandparents. He married his highschool sweetheart Elinor White and they had 4 children, although 2 of them were struck with tragedy and died. Not recognized in the U.S., he moved to England where he was published, moving back to the U.S. he became a celebrated educator at several colleges. He has received over 40 honourary degrees and 4 Pulitzer Prizes.

Zachary Guadamour is one of the real assumed legal aliases of a writer who had the good fortune to study with Peter Wild, Richard Shelton and Steve Orlen. He is totally deaf in one ear and blind in the other. He lives along the US Mexican border in the militarized State of Disbelief.

Pd Lietz is an accomplished multi-genre artist and photographer specializing in digital media. She has garnered an impressive range of credit working with various publishers, authors and revels in the creative energy generated within the artistic and literary community. Lietz is known for her stylistic versatility and pristine work ethic. Her poet's heart shines through her visual interpretations of the world she sees around her. ( www.pdlietzphotography.com).

Pearl Pirie is Poet, an editor, gives poetry workshops, publishes Chapbooks and ephemera from the micropress phafours press and has been published in journals (filling station, Hava LeHaba, Branch, Truck, Peter F Yacht Club, The Puritan, Ottawater amongst others), and produced Chapbooks(Corrupt Press, obvious epiphanies press, above/ground press amongst others). She has also published books of poetry been shed bore (Chaudiere Books, 2010) Thirsts (Snare, 2011) and forthcoming is Quebec Passages (Noun Trivet Press, 2014) and pet radish, shrunken (Book Thug, 2015) and has received numerous prizes.

Robert Priest is the author of 19 books of poetry and prose and numerous CDs. His poetry platforms on the web have attracted over a hundred thousand hits. His words have been decried in the legislature (see the video at youtube/greatbigfaced), turned into a hit song, posted in the transit system, broadcast on MuchMusic, quoted by politicians, sung on Sesame Street and widely published in text books and anthologies.

Hugh Thomas “is a poet and translator living in Fredericton, where he teaches mathematics at the University of New Brunswick. His most recent chapbook, Opening the Dictionary, published by above/ground press, was shortlisted for the 2012 bpNichol chapbook award. Franzlations, a collection of illustrated Kafka remixes, created with Gary Barwin and Craig Conley, was published by New Star Books in 2011.” - from Albanian Suite at above/ground press.