ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume III Issue VII

The Cover Art/Photo:

by Daniel de Cullá

“ooo’, baby, baby

ooo’, baby, baby . . . “

waiting for death and spumoni ice cream

a Swanson frozen dinner alert

smack on a page

and too many rainclouds

chorus rangers

and a large 14,000 year old bone

sitting in the middle of my kitchen

expecting to be masticated.

the trouble with twosies, foosies and losies

and a peacock white sky

twin lights of Eudora

by the night hag

a junk animal mine

Lupracalia, the witches dance

(that’s a plane

not the gates of hell opening)

o’ sure,

you tell them they’re doomed

- signed considered masochist

(police line do not cross)

Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume III Issue VII
(July 2015)

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2015



Daniel de Cullá

Baby O dynamite

mistress of the Star fish

swimming in my ears

where often a Wo/Man

remains alone

long to listen

Doors singing my business daily

dead as a door nail

into all this Channel

O.O. % Ecstasy. No¡

showing me a door

opening by itself

at the End of lives forgotten

when Sun is a dog cart

botted with gay dogs

of the dooms day

sit and dreaming

of the floor of our

Nothingness sentencing:

"Bakers dozen talk

19 to the dozen".



Daniel de Cullá

We laugh at first, too

Then curse

All night hearing thrss thrss rounds

Ears to Earth

Under frosty rotating nebulae

As in War

Expecting to listen “mi arma” my mind

And “mi vida” my life


Gambler prospectus

Burro doctor horse

Trader prostitutes

Turned to dust Gioia

With opened skirt

Gathering wood in the sand of Arabs

Privileged to see

The union of Sky and Earth

As the Great Gatsby

Sitting in its living room

And playing through the night

With “The Start of Things”

By Ali Smith

Breaking up like having to lock

Someone out in the asking

And not in the answering

Of her “The Whole Story”

Because we live at the Edge

Of the rays of Moon

Bronzed with small exclamation

Of the tongue:

“Pretty good

Go on with all

It’s too immense.



Daniel de Cullá

Wiped her eyes
And walked over bedroom
A dog in the door.

Soul without Light
Staring beneath a dream
A dismal day.

Woman sent the kid
To school clapping her hands
Flowers from peasants.

The boat was simply
Little girl slapped it
Stamp postmarked.

Year pass by side
There is something I must
Licking up rope.

Featured Poet: Charles Bukowski

The Blackbirds are Rough Today


Charles Bukowski

lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.

taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.

a hanky is in order your lord your

the blackbirds are rough today
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.

and everywhere is
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:

why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
like a bad boy just out of
you tell
you who were a hero in some
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry

we might surely have some interesting
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
until we run out of stamps

don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
locks on

Missed Connections

Craigslist Montreal – Missed Connections – April 12th, 2015 - Anonymous

DanceSingFight - m4w (OKCupid)

Noticed your profile, planned on writing, but now it's gone.

Oh well, it's a long shot.

N.B.: “one day we will be free” – note from the editor

Book Review

Morning After You, exquisite love poetry born inside the Mediterranean sun.

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Morning After You

Author: Carmelo Militano

Publisher: Ekstasis Editions

Date of Publication: 2014

Page Count: 88

“We lay down and wept
And wept
For thee Zion”
- from Babylon by Don McLean

Morning After You is an exquisite work of love poetry by renowned Canadian Poet Carmelo Militano. He began his literary career as a journalist and radio host at the CBC in Winnipeg and has gone on to write some excellent Poetry and Prose, a truly great read. He has written two Poetry Chapbooks, “Ariadne’s Thread” his first book of poetry won the F.G. Bressani Award in 2004, “Feast Days” and a book of prose “The Fate of Olives”, as well as having poetry, reviews, literary interviews, and essays published in Canadian journals as well as internationally.

This love poetry is full, meanders like a river, slow and full, travels in and out of landscape, in and out of sunlight inside the Zen of the Oracle, love poetry born inside the Mediterranean sun. The extraordinary in the details of the ordinary bloom. A story of loss and love, it is as if the Poet writes while his lover is in the next room, the enigma in perfect stillness, waiting.

“Spring Rain

Books stand like sentries
refusing to smile or move
rain thin like fine thread
all afternoon.
After an hour
a car drives into a puddle on the front street
and explodes the silence.
Orange tiger lily drips like an hourglass in the garden
green grass leans perfect as light against grey sky
a bright Haiku stillness.”

Poet Militano was born in Calabria and with his family immigrated to Canada when a child. The poetry is rich with landscape images and childhood memories of the Mediterranean that infuse the Canadian landscape with fire.

“Weather Report

Your hair is like a short wide peacock’s feather
above round plump hills
looking like full heavy clouds just before it rains
or the way a ripe purple fig is round and full
before it cracks under a Mediterranean sun.

When you move your leg bend a knee
position your other leg like a careless cubist painter
the moment is like a lazy summer yawn on the porch
in the middle of a still hot afternoon lemon glasses beaded.
It is just enough to make you smile and say:
“red sky in the morning, sailor takes warning.”
Your weather reports are intuitions about my future moods.

Sometimes the poetry expresses a subtle humor as if the Poet plays with a mirror. Sometimes the poetry alludes to the hidden violence of the cultural diaspora in the West.

“There is a war on

There is always a war when poets are writing.
I have been writing for twenty-five years
I am sitting in a coffee shop right now
watch traffic
hear the hiss of an expresso machine
there is a war on
and ordinary things still happen.
Portguese men pour cement for a new street curb
a man with an orange tie and green jacket buys wine
from the liquor mart at the corner of River and Osborne
the mail is delivered garbage collected
an elderly woman takes a cab.
It starts to rain
across the street someone smokes a cigarette at the bus stop
cars drive fast past Holy Rosary Church
the girl across from me writes in her chemistry notebook
a poet writes in his diary
there is a war on
soldiers die terrorists plot
fanatics want
the ordinary unplanned arc of this day
my lack of clarity
to be direction and belief
fill the hole in my existence with the virtue of submission.

There is a grey white desert littered with black rocks
cold dark mountains in the distance
far from this café on River Avenue
on a cloudy day at the end of September
and there is a war on.”

Upon reading, and rereading, it is the love poetry that spreads itself over bare legs, like the fine velvet cloth of a ladies skirt. His style and imagery is reminiscent of the great Poet Pablo Neruda, a South American diplomat and winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature (1971).

“The Atlas

Your breasts are small round chapels
where my prayers rise and fall
on a hot celebrated cathedral afternoon
just before the bells on a camel caravan ring
to cross the flat desert of your belly
pause to smell salt
near your original connection to the sea
register a promise
to your solitary prisoner on the embankment
who now waves and stiffens
above your dew filled valley
urge the moon, stars, and sun to return
send light back out into universe
and in a single fitful blast
redraw all the maps born under your skin.”

This poetry laces the heart in the stillness of a Summer afternoon, a quiet song drifts, Morning After You by Carmelo Militano.

Available @ Amazon.ca.


Spoken Word by Magic, Strings, the audiobook by Gina Nemo.

Byline: Reprint from The Book Reviewer

Title of Book: Strings: the audiobook

Author: Gina Nemo

Narrator: Gina Nemo

Publisher: G Plan Music/G Plan Media

Date of Publication: 2014

# of Poems: 17

“It must have been moonglow
Way up in the blue ..”
- from Moonglow by Billie Holiday

Gina Nemo reads love poetry awake in this magical spoken word offering from her first book of poetry Strings. Gina Nemo is an American actress, poet, writer, singer, songwriter, musician, entertainment/marketing executive who has graced stage and screen since a child and is best known for her role in “21 Jump Street”. This Writer has reviewed the music CD’s Cicada (2014) and Plastic Wonderland (1999) as well as the books of poetry Scarlet (2014) and Strings (2013) by Gina Nemo.

The audiobook Strings is a magical voice recording of 17 poems from the poet’s first book of poetry by the same name. This offering is enchanting, presenting elements of the Gothic Revival and the New Age word. With a beautiful and clear intonation that portrays the emotion of the work, the poet and her words come alive, a gentle seduction, moonlight on a quiet winter night. The spoken word is immediate, brings the written words off the page into a magic place beyond the presentation of the book into an entire new dimension of dance. This audiorecording is so magic it makes me wonder if the true presentation of poetry is spoken word rather than book format. As in the pagan custom from the Old Agricultural Society, during the fire festivals, people reciting poetry and stories of the tribe and ancestors, oral history alive that really was performance art.

My Suitcase

. . . a one way conversation

Did you read it?

The Secret letter,

Inside my head?

It said “Dear the one,

I have got to go.”

Come closer,

Before I disappear.

I hate goodbyes,

My suitcase inside,

Has everything,

That I need,

For a long journey,

A boat, a plane,

A hovercraft perhaps?

You can see the map,

In my eyes,

My windows are shut.

The tank is full,

I am so ready!

That’s right.

I’m leaving!

What did you say?

You don’t want me to go?

Well then,

I guess I will have to play,

Just for awhile,

A little time can’t hurt,

I’m talking to myself,


I’m thinking,

A few more days perhaps?

Maybe a bit longer?

Do you really want me to

Are you sure?

O.K., I will stay,

My suitcase is still packed,

Inside my head.”

As if the poet is the wise child, presenting the entanglements of love life N.A., telling a love story, unrequited love or love that escapes, while at the same time weaving the ideal of never ending love within reach. As if she is telling an adult bedtime story, sweet and true despite the quiet and dark. The style is narrative/broken thought forms with regular rhymes at the end of lines, heralding in an evolution from the Beat Poet tradition with post-modern Hip Hop/Rap influences, painting pictures of romance, light and dark and as if through the magic of incantations a better day.

Lost on a Train

Thinking of all those years

When the distance took its toll

I could never let you go

Fate had taken control

Both stuck on our own planet

Nothing we could do

Many nights in hotels

Escaping real life with you

You were like a cool wine

I could sip you forever

We were like a volcano

That drowned out a feather

Memories are sweet

Better than regret

Making out in a graveyard

Was just a silly bet

Life throws surprises

And then takes them away

Treasures come with age

Love in this life is not a play”

Mysterious, with elements of horror/goth perhaps influenced by the works of Edgar Allen Poe amongst others, the poetry presents as a new twist on New Age Americana.


My heart weeps,

Paint the guitar with it.

Pull my strings apart,

With your gentle whispers

And your electric shivers.

As you take me down,

To silk and springs.

Touch me,

Like you tune your soul,

In that special place,

That we know so well.

Our story that was never finished,

A tale too powerful to tell.

But still we played it well.

You were my savior,

The King of eternity.

I was your queen,

For a lifetime.

But here we are again,

Hearts still aching,

For the strings to sing.

Living parallel lives,

Waiting for the perfect ending.

Falling into yet another dream,

On that dusty country road,

Paved with hope.

You my love are home,

Stay this time.

Don’t disappear,

For you have lived,

Too many lives.

Your heart is mine.

Bury the treasure map,

Time waits,

For true love.”

This Spoken Word poetry exists in the place of modern day mythology, of dark chocolate and wine, incantations to the god of love, by the goddess, Strings, the audiobook by Gina Nemo.

Available @ CD Baby.

“so quiet the winter dark

by nightsky . . . “

roses in winter


Rebecca Anne Banks

roses in winter

calling out into the night

o’ slavonica

everyone dreams of rescue

she lays curled round

her long hair falling down

her hand covers

the small cage of a bird

watching for the sun

by morning

o’ calico heart

when the rain falls – who do you call?

in the dark

the large orange flowers by moonlight

the large orange flowers

the clouds cover the moon

(the quiet one

he lives in the street

i always invite him home with me

usually he won’t come)


Rebecca Anne Banks lives in Montreal. She is the author of 25 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 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).

Charles Bukowski was born in Germany in 1920 to an American soldier and a German mother. He grew up in Los Angeles and after attending college headed to New York City to become a writer. Discouraged because he was not published, he quit writing and drank heavily for 10 years, eventually picking up the pen again. He worked many different types of blue collar jobs including truck driver, Red Cross orderly, factory worker and slaughterhouse worker. His poetry depicted violence, sexual imagery, absurdist theater and the underside of life American. He published greater than 45 books of poetry. He is best known for Pulp, Screams from the Balcony: Selected Letters 1960-1970, The Last Night of the Earth Poems amongst others.

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.

Carmelo Militano is a Poet/Writer/Journalist/Radio Host who was born in rural Calabria and immigrated to Winnipeg with his family when a child. He has worked for the CBC and had poetry, essays, literary interviews and Reviews published in both Canadian journals and internationally. He has written 2 Chapbooks, 2 full poetry books, (Ariadne’s Thread his first book of poetry won the F.G. Bressani Award in 2004) and a book of prose The Fate of Olives.

Gina Nemo is a poet, writer, producer and musician. Born in New York and raised in Los Angeles, she has been writing poetry, songs and stories since she was a child. She received an international award for her role in the hit television show “21 Jump Street” (which was presented by Bob Hope) many years ago on Canadian TV. Since the 90’s she has been singing, producing and writing music and releasing albums. She has also been producing and directing television and also writing for various print and web based media outlets.