ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume III Issue II

The Cover Art/Photo:


by Ginna Wilkerson

“into the quietude

the first winter snow falls . . .

thoughts on a winter morning

snowing like bear

and lonely men

on a lonely highway

(she’s just a girl)

how do you apologize

to the Spirit

for killing something beautiful

blood on the stone

(an angel in the snow)

kiss the ground

(don’t stop the dancer

playing with moonbeams)

and the day

wears a winter coat

o’ Maroc

the grey sky,

watching a slow train north”

Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume III Issue II
(February 2015)

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2015

Main St.

by Felino A. Soriano

To unfasten the grammar of the cultivated corner. Pigeon, person
clump of nuance. Nobody listens like the ambulance’s yawl.
Follow. Fallow decisions lose direction, purpose cannot flex
against noon’s vertical emblem. Miracles slide positions. Offset
range, onset rage. No one explicates a paradox; half-wing, whole-
loss paradigm, these visitors walk using foreheads as gauge—
their faces, fractioned, pivots of absent intention.

Eyes’ intervals

by Felino A. Soriano

When I am listening, my good eye is at attention. To say, placement and palm-
full of theories. The other is walking to choose a flower for my wife, and this
listening is imperative in another formulation. Both, though separated, ejected
homonyms. This morning, both were folded. Interior pleasure. Light hadn’t a
body yet, hadn’t a species to have man misname, misinterpret. When climbing,
light gradates, inspires syncopated crows to open into breath.

Image or mirage concealment

by Felino A. Soriano

Remaining, as does the quiet. Hunger. What shifts
into vocabulary of hanker. To prove circles create
recreated methods to instill secrets. During many
mornings I softened my feet prior to their breathing,
sang into distance to prelude the body’s subsequent
alteration. Fever. My hands are connected wings
waving rhythms to my prior mistakes. Awoke. Or,
these orphaned interiors cannot speak, cannot
segregate to reform music into hallowed spectrums
of hardcover text.


by Felino A. Soriano

Threaded calm. Holding. Concise, the body neither bends nor believes.
Revelation freedom, the name I’ve given to this moment means dissolve.

Featured Poet: Virginia Woolf

To the Lighthouse:

Time Passes: #7


Virginia Woolf

“Night after night, summer and winter, the torment of storms, the arrow-like stillness of fine weather, held their court without interference. Listening (had there been anyone to listen) from the upper rooms of the empty house only gigantic chaos streaked with lightning could have been heard tumbling and tossing, as the winds and waves disported themselves like the amorphous bulks of leviathans whose brows are pierced by no light of reason, and mounted one on top of another, and lunged and plunged in the darkness or the daylight (for night and day, month and year ran shapelessly together) in idiot games, until it seemed as if the universe were battling and tumbling, in brute confusion and wanton lust aimlessly by itself.

In spring the garden urns, casually filled with wind-blown plants, were gay as ever. Violets came and daffodils. But the stillness and the brightness of the day were as strange as the chaos and tumult of night, with the trees standing there, and the flowers standing there, looking before them, looking up, yet beholding nothing, eyeless, and so terrible.”

Missed Connections

Craigslist – Missed Connections – January 4th, 2014 – “m”

no name no.15

laying on un sheeted mattresses,
in the middle of a sunny day.
driving in cars
and hitting each other over - frozen to the bone with fear
picnic table tops and tents
hands, fondly lingering
the ache's preceding the I don't know and I don't knows
I'll always return here for you

(N.B.: “no name, no name, no name” – note from the editor)

Book Reviews

The Inspired Heart Exclusive Anthology: Poets and Poetry from 2014, a photo in time.

Byline: Reprint from The Book Reviewer

Title of Book: The Inspired Heart Exclusive: Edition 4

Author: Zo-Alonzo Gross, Kay Kinghammer, Michael Ellis, Gina Nemo, Wilika Asimont, Emily Bilman,
Patricia Ross, Katherine L. Gordon, Mahasty Eslahy, Natalie Dixon, Dana Chambers, Loloi Speaks,
Bruce Kauffman, Robert Gibbons, Ishmael Street, Melinda Cochrane.

Publisher: MCI Writer’s House

Date of Publication: 2014

Page Count: 167

“that which fires the heart,
fires the soul”

Another fantastical offering from MCI Writer’s House, an international poetry anthology, The Inspired Heart Exclusive, Edition 4 in the Inspired Heart series. MCI Writer’s House is a New Age Canadian publishing company run by Melinda Cochrane (Poet, Writer, Editor, Radio Host, Teacher, Mentor, Publisher), that specializes in mentoring its authors.

An international mix of Poets, African Americans, Indian peoples, Americans, Canadians, India, Iran, Switzerland; a glorious taste of poetry, most poets with books for further delving, bathing in the new synergies of words. The lines that strike a chord, the image that comforts the minds eye, drawing you into the Poets experience, a dance with life. All the different voices raising their hands, a bridge across the water for change and peace in a new day. The themes of love, struggle, suffering, survival, spirituality, loneliness, freedom, art, nature, the dialectic between men and women, shine, illuminate and underline the state of existence in a violent world.

The three features include Zo-Alonzo Gross, Kay Kinghammer and Michael Miller, established American poets in their own voices. Zo-Alonzo Gross, hip-hop and smooth rhythm poetry from Pennsylvania, USA – an original style that uses icons, numbers and capitalization for emphasis making the poem a feast for the senses.

“A Deeper Reason 4 The Day...

There is a Deeper Reason why,
in private,
many people's tears flow-
A Deeper Reason why,
through the years,
they refuse 2 let them show-.
There is A Deeper Reason why,
many with abundance R unwilling 2 give-+
A Deeper Reason why,
many whom R alive R 2 afraid 2 live-+.
Verily I Say...
There is A Deeper Reason why,
someone prays with all of their might ^
this same reason keeps them awake,
in the annals of night^
but without faith they stayeth in darkness,
O' So depraved of Light^.
I again say 2 Thee/
There is A Deeper Reason that saith,
2 set our inner captives free/
Woe 2 those with wounded blind eyeZ,
as this truth they can not see/
4 u may run away as the gypsy doeZ,
but from UR Essence Thou Shalt Not Flee/.
But Alas,
4 So Duly I Do Say{-
the old & foolish shall surely perish
& in their prideful-foolery decay{-.
4 There is A Deeper Reason why,
many a dream goeZ astray{-
A Deeper Reason 4 ur existence,
A Deeper Reason 4 The Day{-}.

Kay Kinghammer from Seattle, Washington born from the Baby Boom Generation and the conflicted state of personal relations in war horse America. A feminist Beat Poet in the truth of poetryspeak:

“A Day in the Life of the Poet

She is
Mourning in the morning,
Sad at six,
Sorrowful at seven,
Elegiac at eight,
Nostalgic at nine,
Troubled at ten,
Morose at midmorning,
Edgy at eleven,
Numb at noon,
Obsessive at one,
Tense at two,
Terrified at three,
Angry in the afternoon,
Furious at four,
Fevered at five,
Sanctimonious at six,
Sardonic at seven,
Teary in the twilight,
Eager at eight,
Nervous at nine,
Tender at ten,
Earthy and easy at eleven,
Aware and awake and alone at midnight,
Naked in the night.”

Michael Ellis from the City of Angels, California, fully formed in a brilliant Beat/rap style here, crafts time-honoured tributes to Maya Angelou and Gwendolyn Brooks.

“Between Gwen And Me

(Excerpts from four letters
From a Pulitzer prize winning poet)
June 1996 - December 1997

I was close to thirty and wanted to die
She was near eighty and wanted to live
I had nothing to lose. She had everything to give.
“I’m looking for my unemployment check, Mr.
Can you check in your bag again?”
Sorry, Sir. All I got is this letter from Chicago,
From some woman named Gwen.
“That can’t buy food and diapers.
Where is that supposed to spend?”
And those same hands that wrote Annie Allen and
Bean Eaters
Were now writing me
Same mind that won a Pulitzer, reading my poetry.
"No way! This just can’t be.”
You’re still young. You have plenty of time to master
your craft.
If I had opened my window, I would have heard
those Dead Poets laugh.

August 9, 1996

I sent her Birth O' The Blues, expecting an A.
She sent it back and gave me a C.
Mailman says, Sir, Gwen sent you another letter.
“How dare she tell me my rhymes are off and that I
can do better!”

January 17, 1997

Gwen writes, Thanks for letting me read your work.
I reply, I read your Guide for Young Writers all the
way through.
Now I know how to use Metaphors and similes,
thanks to you
So if you’ll excuse me Gwen,
I got more dying to do.
Sincerely, Michael. Thank You.

December 24, 1997

My eyesight is failing and I don’t know how much
longer I’ll live.
I reply, “You can’t die Gwen, You’re a Pulitzer prize
Poets are supposed to die at a hundred and two.
I’m supposed to be at the checkout desk before you.
And besides, Gwen, I need you.”
My life can be cut short at any time.
A three page letter and not one mention of
a metaphor, verse or rhyme.
I’m sorry, I can’t help you,
But I’m almost out of time.
She wrote of Langston Hughes
Of hard work, and paying dues
And there were personal things she told me
That I will keep until I’m ninety-three
Matters to be kept private
Between Gwen and me.

Three years later, God took those beautiful hands.
"When you’re eighty, you’ll understand. Keep A

The beautiful imagery in the New Age poetry of Wilika Asimont as if painting pictures with descriptions of nature, weaving feminine essence in the Beat tradition.


we think we have time
before the gate is shut
to escape these pink walls
but what of the ghosts
clinging to lacey curtains
lost dreams on silky pillows
a breath of fresh air
soon to arrive
staleness hovers
shutters swing open
waiting hope
fragrance seeps
listening to heavy rain
to make a sea
of tempest and gale
the dark lagoon
has its memories too
fodder to be tilled, turned over
deep the abyss peers
the maiden’s call
seasoned moon’s rays shine
pearls strung, the web is woven
from oyster’s shell
casting to the wind
no time to lose
this endless drift
in a place, no time stands still”

The New Age Celtic blues rhythm poetry of Melinda Cochrane, the iconic passion and the undertoad of love N.A. An image of a beautiful woman in a darkened bar writing poetry with the rain falling in sepia greys into the long night. The sonance and blues of Crazy Train, the magic.

Also with the Beat/rap musings on love by Gina Nemo. Emily Bilman writes Eros, An Allegory, enigmatic, using nature imagery in the study of evil. The new word synergies by Katherine L. Gordon in Far from Grounded. The love poetry of Patricia Ross, holding her dream close, the torture of dark thoughts in What If. The Iranian Poet, Mahasty Eslahy who explores new boundaries as an immigrant to Ireland, in the tradition of Hafiz and Rumi. The Hip Hop/Beat style of Natalie Dixon infused with revelations of the Holy Spirit. The rhythmic chants of Loloi Speaks writing of the Holy Spirit. Dana Chambers writing on the nature of love. The Zen musings and nature imagery of Bruce Kauffman. The words in birth by Robert Gibbons, the rhythm and lilt of A Child in the Sun. The Beat/rap reflections on love by American poet Ishmael Street.

A study in the New Age Beat Poetry tradition, weaving stories of triumph and celebration in the new arts culture society. The Inspired Heart Exclusive: Edition 4 a photo in time, the song of international poets and their poetry from the year 2014, sweet, sweet offerings from MCI Writer’s House.

Available @ MCI Writer’s House and Amazon.ca.


Cursed Objects: exciting experimental New Age Poetry from Jason Christie and above/ground press.

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Cursed Objects

Author: Jason Christie

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2014

Page Count: 20

"You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star."
- Freidrich Nietzsche (Philosopher)

A study in New Age contemporary Canadian poetry by poet Jason Christie. A man of letters, with an M.A. in English literature from the University of Calgary, he is also a poetry editor and visual artist. His Chapbook – Government was nominated for the bp Nichol Chapbook Award 2014. He has written three books of poetry, iRobot, Canada Post, Unknown Actor and has been published three times by above/ground press.

The Chapbook of poetry begins: “We cannot stand in full daylight / and see the objects in the dark.” – Lucretius, Book IV of De Rerum Natura. An opening, This Writer feels a haunted beginning. In the poetry is the staccato delivery of The Beat Poets, as the new synergies in word juxtapositions create enlightenment from mystery and excitement in the New Age written word. As if the words are cast upon the waters, perhaps in augery like casting runes, perhaps in the sheer celebration of creation as the pen once again, finds the page.


wall and holes
towers or falls
stretches or drops
or holes and wall

the face at the hedge
an hedge precedes
the fence between
everything and
  nothing that waits
a cold technology
ancient, unmoving

the leaves fall
will fall
have fell
the leaves
will fall
have fallen
they fell

A crafted rialto of word construction, borrows from the symbolists and truncated stream of consciousness, an experimental intrigue in New Age poetry. The poetry constructions paint a picture, illogical, tracings of designs, a reflection of the war culture N.A. As if playing with Dada, the arts movement formed after World War I where everything was nonsensical.

from “Ring

. . . Garbage circle flex

Target invest clutch

Wait alphabet spin

Team split whimper

Rock partner tree

Splurge crack bluff

Ton wrangle flap

Date phone more

Moral shirt map

Awkward nail card

Circle tone month

Money guy tinge

Million bone hollow

Acquire platter splat”

Illustrating fluxuating style with truncated thoughts, a lack of capitalization, an introduction of capitalization, a minimum of punctuation. The poetry is and it is fantastical, Cursed Objects by Jason Christie.

Available @ above/ground press.

“the night,

in the winter tree

by dark wind sky ..”

and moonlight


Rebecca Anne Banks

the unfinished sleep of dreams

a place of Summer

in winter

the speak of flowers

the Lord of Thunder

o’ sweet rain

roll the nightfire

my garden walks

by moonlight, still

the trees weep into the river,

still, the water speaks by dark

and moonlight, still

you hold my hand,

still, I kiss your mouth,

the flowers jewel in the moonlight

the nightsky

by moonlight.

but it is winter,

the cold wind is in the trees

my uncombed hair falls long

against my shift

somewhere in my thoughts you dance

though you are away

as this poem writes

I love you,

long into the night.


Rebecca Anne Banks lives in Montreal. She is the author of 23 books of poetry, a family cookbook, a book of children's stories and a primer on discernment in marriage all available on 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).

Jason Christie lives in Ottawa. He is a poet, visual artist, and has been a poetry editor for dANDelion, existere, Filling Station, Open Letter, Yard, running the micropress - yardpress. He has published three books of poetry, iRobot, Canada Post, Unknown Actor and three Chapbooks with above/ground press. The Chapbook Government was nominated for the 2014 bp Nichol Chapbook Award.

Felino A. Soriano is a member of The Southern Collective Experience. His writing finds foundation in created coöccurrences, predicated on his strong connection to various idioms of jazz music. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Anthology, with his most recent poetry collection being Of isolated limning (Fowlpox Press, 2014). Links to his published and forthcoming poems, books, interviews, images, etc. can be found at  www.felinoasoriano.info.

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.

Virginia Woolf is the English Modernist writer in the Bloomsbury Group of London, England. Her parents were Sir Leslie Stephen (Author, Critic, Historian and Mountaineer) and her mother Julia Prinsep Duckworth Stephen (Model, Wife and Mother) in a combined household of children from three marriages. She married the writer Leonard Woolf and had a torrid love affair with writer Vita Sackville- West, living a life with severe bouts of manic depression ending her life at the age of 59. She is best known for the novels A Room of One's Own, Orlando, To the Lighthouse, Mrs. Dalloway amongst others.