ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume IX Issue XII
CoverforIssue96


The Masthead:
“Maharishi Ashram Cottage #9”:
John Lennon and the Beatles for Christmas 2021
Photo by Dan Brook



(- The Masthead and the trailer are photos of the Ashram (India) where John Lennon, Paul McCartney
and the Beatles wrote the White Album. This was John Lennon’s house with his favourite
number 9 on the front by the door -)





Christmas 2021 with John Lennon and The Beatles


“Through the grainy magic of black and white night streets wet with rain, the club beat in Liverpool and Hamburg in the early 1960s birth The Beatles. The New Music, original, influenced by British skiffle becomes rock n’ roll, juggernauts into the public imagine. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr with primary songwriters Lennon and McCartney and a cast of Stu Sutcliffe, Pete Best (a drummer for a time), manager Brian Epstein, record producer George Martin, family, fans and girlfriends/wives. The love and peace movement flowers.”

- Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown), Give Peace A Chance, Good Day Sunshine, Mother Nature’s Son, Blackbird, I’m Looking Through You, Love Me Do, Julia, A Day In The Life, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Strawberry Fields, Penny Lane, I Me Mine, Here Comes The Sun, Across The Universe, Hey Jude, And I Love Her, I’m A Loser, A Hard Day’s Night, You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away, Ticket To Ride, Yesterday, Help!, Imagine, Let It Be, Baby It’s You, Twist and Shout, You Really Got A Hold On Me -





“o’ greening trees
roll in the spring wind
the sky, blue
the white clouds . . .”


BOOKEND CONVERSATIONS


a black bird flies, the colours, the colours the greens of trees in the blues . . . “a working class hero is something to be”* not been he who plays the guitar, he who sings, he who unmasks the machine . . . “we were only waiting for this moment to be free”** the secret garden, to be happy, the to be happy garden . . . heading up the coast to Summer towne lily hearts and rainswater roses mad patriot games the remember when movie house grief is dark like sorrow “do not make fun of things you do not understand” “I can’t say ask more questions because i cannot give answers” and she looks so dark and overcast me and the grey rabbit girl cousin “your friend is someone quite special but she may never know” rain and rain monsoon writing monsoon singing blackbird fly . . .

Blue, the colour of winter said “you are better suited to her” Montagnard replies “she has a dark secret, perhaps more than one” tempting Blue, the colour of winter with battered fish fry onion rings if you come Little Shiva Tuesday ghosts in Little Paris love is . . . love is a season storms watching a car accident sacred ritual as Satanic verses a light, a light, a light all on a casual nothing watch the sky a home for Wilde things radio on radio plays night train night sci fi weather the haunting by the blue meanies “we control the light” “we control the volume” turned up “turn the volume down” the lost butler dossier the 4 horses of the apocalypse Wagner radio outside the towne library the lost sound card, all on a casual nothing, the no one comedy store, turn the lights off . . . “now we are dead”

he, someone who loves Won Ton soup “i have a plan but you are probably not going to like it” standstill sky above earth my little gold tiara the dry bone of winter “I don’t trust people who don’t like The Beatles” playing The White album again, again cats in rafters love always knows itself missing all the perfect people in heaven warrior made warrior maid moving through sky heaven no more blue meanies 2 crows in season banshee heaven camptowne races lights out Mary, Glastonbury Abbey . . . finding lost cats a home waiting for arrivals, watching the sky . . .”



* from Blackbird (song) by The Beatles
** from Working Class Hero (song) by John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band










Subterranean Blue Poetry
 
Volume IX Issue XII
 
(Christmas 2021)










SubterraneanBluePoetryLogo
 
Subterranean Blue Poetry

www.subterraneanbluepoetry.com
 
© 2021










the truth, but only when it’s no longer enough

by John Sweet


or if the room is empty, or if it
holds the breath of uneasy ghosts
if the walls are deep blue and sunlit
we will exist here
in hopper’s silence
we will sit next to dusty windows
from some other century
a view of what, though?
not cities and not water
an expanse of manicured lawn?
yes, and then the interstate
beyond it, but empty
there’s been a tragedy
it’s the end of an age or
not quite the
beginning of the next
we are witnesses
we are in love
this, at least,
a comfort









LENNON

by Robert Priest


The sky was a blue throat with no scream
And then came Lennon raw with rage

There were no tears on earth
And Lennon was the salt and the rain

He bittered the air with his lament
And dared in the end utter hope

Then Lennon left
The songs blown from his chest

Beyond his soul
A split widening the sky

Where the world
Got bigger than the world

Could hold









where do they all come from

by D.B. Cox


He lies, face-up, on the floor of a hotel room he can’t afford.
His eyes are closed. On his chest, a closed paperback moves
slowly up & down—marking time.

The plan is clear. Everything he wants to say, reduced to a single blinding point.

A warning message to false prophets.
A technicolor caution sign to purveyors
of empty noise & meaningless bullshit.

A .38 special delivery
From a real nowhere man
To the used-up hero
who haunts Dakota halls
& hides behind elegant walls
that cannot save him
Lost to himself, hopelessly slipping
into some half-assed parody

He opens his eyes & checks his watch
Almost time to rock & roll
Lock & load
Cross the street & disappear
Into the faceless New York hum

All the lonely people where do they all come from?









Headphone living is easy with your eyes closed

by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda


I love spinning as the needle
drops my vinyl flashes back
dusty returns to the crackling
beginning 1967-1970 before
domingo desayuno with my head
phones turntables in harmony;
like tasting a mouthful of mellotron
morsels. Cherishing every guitar lick
of Lennon’s lyrical Pepper. Hearting
Ringo’s red beating drums bleeding faster;
while savoring John’s cranberry sauce
mumble always choruses my laughter.
Eternally dreaming, listening to the
color of my dreams, timelessly lost
in the sounds of 33 1/3, even before
my hunger voice could ever stutter
to talk, savoring the eggman’s
Goo goo g’joob while picturing
my eyes with tangerine trees and
marmalade skies, so I looked around
and noticed, we’re so lucky in every
way. I’ve just got to tell you, in my life —
Strawberry always feels like forever.









Madison Av

by Stan Rogal


Xmas with all its useless horror is upon us again
striped sandwich board men walk the streets of NYC
herald a new era of persecution, destruction & murder
[cue half-naked fashion models cavorting to pop sounds]

you will have unreal recollections
[……………………………………]
monger season & I can’t get it up
can’t get up for it any longer
an [m]adman is an [m]adman
[simply]
& a shit is a shit

the American plot to dominate the world thru mass culture
electric enuf to shake a descendent blue nude
from the staircase
neverminding raised on Burgundy & Bordeaux
we accustom taste to Coca-Cola™
[insert ad featuring John Lennon™ & Santa Claus™
backed by singing elves decked out in décolletage]









[& yr bird can sing]
John Lennon
— a compilation

by Stan Rogal



Entertainment critic & journalist Robert Fontenot states that the lyrics of “And Your Bird Can Sing” are among “the most speculated-upon of any Beatles’ track.” Music critic Jonathan Gould says that Lennon wrote the song about Frank Sinatra. He refers to an article by writer/journalist Gay Talese who described Sinatra as “the fully emancipated male” & repeatedly mentioned his use of the word “bird” in the piece to mean “penis.” [you say you’ve heard every sound there is & your bird can swing]. Sinatra himself said he was “tired of kid singers wearing mops of hair thick enough to hide a crate of melons” meanwhile having an assistant dedicated to maintaining his own 60 “remarkably convincing” hairpieces. Singer Marianne Faithful said the song was addressed to Mick Jagger & written about her, since she was Jagger’s girlfriend (or “bird” in English slang) at the time. [when your bird is broken, will it bring you down]. According to Rolling Stone magazine, & supported by writer Kenneth Womack, the line “you say you’ve seen seven wonders” could be a reference to a comment Paul McCartney made in 1964 when the Beatles were smoking cannabis with Bob Dylan in New York. Photographer Robert Whitaker based his photo “Birdcage” on the song’s lyrics. The cage was among the props assembled by Whitaker for the 25 March 1966 shoot featuring the Beatles in butchers’ smocks & covered in dismembered dolls & raw meat. [Paul later turned vegan: okay fellas, quite brisk, moderato, foxtrot!]. Lennon’s first wife, Cynthia, recalled that the song was inspired by her presenting him with a clockwork bird inside a gilded cage. She wound up the bird as she presented it to him so that it sang, leaving him with “an expression of sheer disbelief on his face.” According to Womack, Lennon viewed the caged imitation bird as a metaphor for his marriage & a reflection of Cynthia’s inability to understand him. They separated soon thereafter. [when your prized possessions start to bring you down]. Writer Nicholas Schaffner commented “perhaps John was still under the influence of Bob Dylan, who at the time, seemed to take pleasure in confounding dissectors of his ‘message’ with cryptic lyrics that made no sense at all.” Mojo placed the song at number 41 on its list of greatest 101 Beatles’ songs. English academic Toby Litt admired its Indian drone quality & the raga influence in the guitar melody. He identified the track as “the birth of all powerpop, from Big Star through Cheap Trick to Fountains of Wayne & the inspiration for other artists that use jangle to attack.” Steve Marinucci of Billboard described the song as “incredibly ambitious, highlighted by a superb guitar solo.” Thomas Ward of AllMusic describes the song as one of the finest on Revolver. Rob Sheffield of Rolling Stone writes that despite Lennon’s dislike of it, “And Your Bird Can Sing” is “one of the finest songs ever” describing it as “scathing … yet also empathetic & friendly.” Musician Phil Collins highlighted the song as “one of the best songs ever written & only a minute & a half long.” [you say you’ve seen seven wonders & your bird is green]. John Lennon called it “another of my throwaways … fancy paper around an empty box.” [but you don’t get me, you don’t get me, okay, okay, okay (okay, okay, okay)].










Mind guerrilla

by P. Muralidharan


Your songs for peace echoed
on the Pennine Hills, Alps, Saint Elias,
Himalayas and in the hearts of
music lovers

A warless world, an inclusive humanity,
fraternity replacing borders, reason
replacing religious fundamentalism and
hope replacing despair were your
pen’s beautiful tracks for the music

Much ahead of a virus
holding the whole humanity hostage
we had turned indifferent to
your hope
your dreams and your call
for a whole new world

Millions loved you
for your message of
love, peace and brotherhood
Alas ! Few hundred have succeeded
in dividing humanity
on race, colour and religion
playing the mind guerrilla
you cautioned us

The bullets that
scathed your mortal person
were no different
from the nails that
crucified Jesus

Our beloved Lennon Will you resurrect?










FEATURED POET: JOHN LENNON AND THE BEATLES


A SERIES OF QUOTES

by

John Lennon
Paul McCartney
George Harrison
Ringo Starr



“Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. I think we're being run by maniacs for maniacal ends and I think I’m liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That’s what’s insane about it.”
- John Lennon

“I believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I believe that what people call God is something in all of us.
I believe that what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It’s just that the translations have gone wrong.”
- John Lennon

“I’m not going to change the way I look or the way I feel to conform to anything. I’ve always been a freak. So I’ve been a freak all
my life and I have to live with that, you know. I’m one of those people.”
- John Lennon

“How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I’m facing?”
- John Lennon

“We all shine on ... like the moon and the stars and the sun ... we all shine on ... come on and on and on ...”
- John Lennon

“I’m not afraid of death because I don’t believe in it.
It’s just getting out of one car, and into another”
- John Lennon

“My role in society, or any artist’s or poet’s role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel.
Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.”
- John Lennon

“there’s nothing you can do that can’t be done ..... ”
- John Lennon

“Love is like a precious plant. You can’t just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it’s going to get on by itself.
You’ve got to keep on watering it. You’ve got to really look after it and nurture it.”
- John Lennon

“We live in a world where we have to hide to make love, while violence is practised in broad daylight.”
- John Lennon


“People like me are aware of their so-called genius at ten, eight, nine . . . . I always wondered, ''Why has nobody discovered me?'' In school, didn’t they see that I’m cleverer than anybody in this school? That the teachers are stupid, too? That all they had was information that I didn’t need? I got ******' lost in being at high school. I used to say to me auntie: ''You throw my ******' poetry out, and you’ll regret it when I’m famous, '' and she threw the ******* stuff out. I never forgave her for not treating me like a ******' genius or whatever I was, when I was a child. It was obvious to me. Why didn’t they put me in art school? Why didn’t they train me? Why would they keep forcing me to be a ******' cowboy like the rest of them? I was different. I was always different. Why didn’t anybody notice me? A couple of teachers would notice me, encourage me to be something or other, to draw or to paint - express myself. But most of the time they were trying to beat me into being a ******' dentist or a teacher.”
- John Lennon


“When you do something noble and beautiful and nobody noticed, do not be sad. For the sun every morning is a beautiful spectacle and
yet most of the audience still sleeps.”
- John Lennon

“Love is the greatest refreshment in life.”
- John Lennon

“You may say I’m a dreamer but I’m not the only one.”
- John Lennon

“Please don’t wake me, no, don’t shake me, leave me where I am, I’m only sleeping ...”
- John Lennon

“Living is easy with eyes closed; misunderstanding all you see.
It’s getting hard to be someone but it all works out.
It doesn’t matter much to me.”
- John Lennon

“In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
- Paul McCartney

“If slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian.”
- Paul McCartney

“I used to think anyone doing anything weird was weird. I suddenly realized that anyone doing anything weird
wasn’t weird at all and it was the people saying they were weird that were weird.”
- Paul McCartney

“When you’ve seen beyond yourself, then you may find, peace of mind is waiting there.”
- George Harrison

“All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much.”
- George Harrison

“I feel the older I get, the more I’m learning to handle life. Being on this quest for a long time,
it’s all about finding yourself.”
- Ringo Starr

“First and foremost I am a drummer. After that, I’m other things . . . But I didn’t play drums to make money.”
- Ringo Starr










MISSED CONNECTIONS

Craigslist Denver – Missed Connections – August 13th, 2021 – Anonymous



Dear “Karen” at Safeway, 44th and Lowell, Monday 8.9.21 (Highlands)


Hi “Karen” who doesn’t like tomatoes. Do you like walks around the park? You're quite cute, funny and beautiful all rolled up in one. Please respond! Sincerely, the guy who bought the carrot cake.

:)


(N.B.: “A sale in Aisle 5” – a note from the Editor

“A sale in every Aisle in the store” – a note from the Other Editor

“O’ Look, they’re fighting over a bag of grapes in the Produce Section” – says Madame X

“A left, a right, a left” – says the cat

“There’s grape juice everywhere” – says the other cat

“This is an ad for “No Bad Romance”” – Reform School Girls)










BOOK REVIEWS



LABOUR DAY: A MAGICAL NEW AGE PROGRESSION



Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Labour Day

Author: James Lindsay

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2021

Pages: 18


“And when you smile,
the whole world stops
and stares for a while . . .”
- from Just the Way You Are
by Bruno Mars


Heading down to the post box, the anticipation, to find regular packages of Chapbooks, the small coloured paper treatises with elegant Book Cover pictures, the spinning poetics on “a day in the life” telling stories of the poets, their lives, their craft, is all the news from home, as if fanciful letters from friends. This day finds a magical moonlight monologue in New Age poetics, weaving the surreal in classical images, poetry candy, Labour Day by James Lindsay and above/ground press. James Lindsay (poet, publisher, record producer) has written the poetry collections, Our Inland Sea, Double Self-Portrait and the Chapbook Ekphrasis! Ekphrasis! He runs a vinyl record label, Pleasence Records and is also a publisher.

A fanciful symbolist work, a daydream in island magic that spins in the voice of a sophisticated child. A series of poems, as if a diary with stories of the weather, of the landscape, visiting friends, events, with a love affair in the background.

“It’s a heinous wrong to watch wildflowers
And the surf dozing what’s left of the beach
In the yard of a cottage I did not build
By hand with sons I had to fight to have
A relationship with on taken land . . .”

A spinning weave, thoughts broken and full, a play on Imagism and the mixed genre post-modern Art Nouveau. The original use of word juxtapositions captivates. As if a fairytale in poetics, a round story, yet haunted, a certain disquiet/distrust of the universe, a mysterious darkness on the periphery. A story with the covid lockdowns in the background. A certain Zen of “the lost days of summer” awaiting the next breath.

“Let’s be clear regarding the rabbits
And flowers I insist hate us . . .”

An engenue poet with an evolution in New Age poetics, excitement that makes This Writer’s day, Labour Day by James Lindsay.

Available @ above/ground press.













HOTELS: T.S. ELIOT REVISITED



Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Hotels

Author: George Bowering

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2021

Pages: 16


“And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.”
- from The Waste Land
by T.S. Eliot


An elegant surrealist progression of the post-modern, a broken internal monologue that blooms into a New Age event, Hotels by George Bowering and above/ground press. George Bowering (poet, novelist, historian, biographer, teacher) is one of the founders of TISH poetry journal. He is the first Canadian Parliamentary Poet Laureate. He has high honours for his work, including The Order of Canada and The Order of British Columbia. Bowering has published 5 Chapbooks with above/ground press amongst other Chapbooks, seven collections of critical essays, five memoirs, three books of historical nonfiction, and six plays.

A broken interior monologue that spins, spinning into the night, the time of writers’ haunts. This work was inspired by Hotel Victoria by Artie Gold, and a posthumous book by Gold, Romantic Words Bowering is editing, Hotels being a response Chapbook.

On the surface, a travelogue written in a series of hotel rooms, San Francisco, Frankfurt, B.C., New York, Verona, Peurto Limon, Calgary, Lund, Guatemala, Chinatown . . . a description, walls that don’t meet the ceiling, walls, locks, “a little loop, that slipped over a nail”, windows that we don’t look out of. As if something/someone escapes us, the name, the dress, the year of time, exists on the periphery of the highway but is not there. Perhaps a desert, perhaps a game of lost and found, perhaps the last verse of The Waste Land (T.S. Eliot), this work spins DaDa, spins time. Esoteric, mystic, as if a burning blunt of sage, the smoke drifts up to the sky. The mention of a girl, a night, a dream, the lost song of Summer.

“This strange
author thinks he is at sea with dead sailors,
trying to stand before a wooden magdalene,
tears all over his face and shirt.”

Hard spaces of third world countries, exile, outside, for what slips through your hands, for the pen and paper, for what stays in your hands, the hard spaces rounded.

Mysterious and surrealist, a fantastique poetic event in New Age literature, Hotels by George Bowering.

Available @ above/ground press.











OF POETIC INTEREST . . .

 




SUNSHINE ON OUR LITTLE TOWNE

by

Rebecca Anne Banks



(Abridged)





To the Muse




(In memory of Hillcrest Avenue, 1962 – 1971)




Foreword


This unofficial memoir, is a coming of age story about the childhood of a girl in a Willowdale neighbourhood in the early 1960s. Milk comes in bottles and is delivered to the front door until 1964, sliced bread comes in plastic bags (notoriously unsatisfying until they added multigrains), a meat dish was made every night for dinner, you can buy penny candy jujubes 3 for a penny at the corner store . . . the large paper newspapers delivered to the front door smudge when you read them, leave ink stains on your hands, the tv blares commercials with sound, every family has a stereo for playing vinyl records and listening to the radio, most adults smoke cigarettes, every family has a car, children have bicycles, later milk comes in boxes and plastic bags at the supermarket and corner store.

Willowdale is grid blocks of streets and cross streets of family houses of diverse architecture, all are quite close, within 10 feet of each other, 15 feet at the most, some are similar but no two are the same. Some of the older houses by the side door had an empty shelf box with a door on each side so that the milkman could leave the milk and pick up the empty bottles in relative obscurity. The vast majority of houses had an empty space the size of a brick about 4 ft. up the outside wall with a heavy metal cover that fit in place and could be easily removed, “A place where you could keep an extra set of house keys,” someone said straight-faced. In that block on Hillcrest Avenue and perhaps across the city and even the country, everyone left their doors unlocked during the day, the children came and went, most of the mothers were stay-at-home, only one or two had part-time work, everyone knew their neighbours, any outside car or person walking would be noted. When the family left the neighbourhood 9 years later, the space between the houses had mysteriously grown larger. Amongst everyone but the girl, there was a certain sense of the known.

The sixties were a new peace and freedom call after W.W. II, the new rock and roll music, sex, and drug experimentation, yet the new style of long hair and micro dresses were actually signs of a war economy. Dress hemlines often become shorter during wartime, particularly seen in W.W. I and W.W. II. Historically, in many very well-developed societies, particularly ancient Greece, ancient Rome, France in 1770, the Victorian Era, the elite women wore their long hair up, it was a sign of being a married woman, being an adult woman and having long hair in public was a sign of poverty or an unmade bed. I suspect long hair flowing and framing a woman’s face creates great beauty and gives the impression of being sexually available, perhaps encouraging unwanted advances by men. Short haircuts for women were largely unheard of and being shorn of one’s hair was traditionally a sign of being a church celibate, a castigate without a husband. The new sexual freedom, to the uninitiated, the Old World wisdom had for most been largely lost, was a call to be a whore, a role not suited for the vast majority of people, a role of great suffering for most and an experiment to drive the economy which manifested and maintained a war zone internationally and an underground war zone in the West. The Italian congreve across Europe for 900 years, beginning just before the birth of Christ was largely fueled by Lupercalia, a lottery system of bed rites that sexually defiled the population. Sexual defilement causes karmic impurity, anger, depression, impulses to act in (suicide) or act out (violence, murder) and basically manifests people as soldiers, honed workers, addiction cases, mental patients, prisoners, and economic drivers. With a burgeoning population since the late 1800s there is a struggle for jobs and resources in an ever-changing world. End game and war keep the population down freeing up jobs, food and goods and services for others, in a game of survival of the fittest. By withholding cultural and Spiritual information it is easy for others to control for outcomes for individuals and stoke racism, people with hidden agendas, goals of chaos, traditional family enemies looking to end bloodlines, to rape, ruin opportunities for and make monies off the suffering of others. Geopolitics, stoking the economy with the suffering of innocents causes karmic dissonance, violence, and a debt-ridden war economy. Broken bed rites fueled by an unofficial cultural rote based in Satanism (violence against innocents) and chaos politics. An overlord society, where the threat of violence for disagreement with an individual or the unofficial government (that should not be on the wrong side of God), manifests violence, negative outcomes, ruins lives and destroys democracy. People’s callings from the Spirit for work and love should never be frustrated, it is their mission from God while on earth, keeps the village running, creates peace and harmony and saves lives. In the experiment to keep cursed people in serial sexual relationships and to stoke the economy the West moved away from the tenets of the Spirit manifesting 50 years later violence, suicide, people locking their doors and putting in security systems, about 1/3 of the population living alone, looming ecological crisis, an epidemic and a possible war on the front doorstep of Europe and N.A. A response to the karmic dissonance and violence is an incredible Zen, Deep Process work, good mental health, healthy living, caring for the environment and an arts economy blooming through the Think Box society. A society where everyone is effectively mentored and discerned for their calling for work, their calling for love, where people do not hurt innocents, a consciousness that creates accountability and preserves the environment, is in-line with the Spirit and will create peace, non-violence and prosperity, the dreamed of post-apocalypse village.

Sunshine. This girl-child’s family is part black, the mother part French iconoclast/Indigenous peoples the step-father Black Irish, the only part black family on the street in a basically white world, white world advertising, everyone on tv and in magazines was largely white with the very rare exception. There were maybe 7 famous Black people, 9 at the most and no famous Indigenous peoples except for maybe one actor in Hollywood, Chief Dan George, and later Buffy Ste. Marie on the music scene. The mother and some of her sisters, the step-father were evil witches with conflicted souls from past lives. The French family out of place out of time for 2 generations lost in the English hinterland. To a girl child with broken telepathy due to brain damage from a rough forceps delivery without a diagnosis or help from a psychologist, a child looking through a broken mirror, things look so unassuming, so everyday, innocuous, but without someone to explain the truth, the child has no understanding. How everything seemed boredom and nothing yet how there was static and tension and an entire underworld stirring beneath the surface. There is actually a lot going on, stress, things that are hidden, secrets, secret wars waiting to erupt. An entire society based in thoughts, she is uncomprehending, her thoughts usually repeated back to her or broken thoughts repeated back, it is very difficult for her to pick up truthful information, to know what the truth is and she is unsocialized except for the basics, being able to read, write and speak English and to get to the bathroom. In the background the simmering violence, the war in Vietnam, the assassinations of John F. Kennedy (1963) and later his brother Bobby (1968), the civil rights activist Martin Luther King, Jr., (1968), the first landing of a man on the moon, the busted marriage of Uncle Blue, the broken love life of the Artist Aunt, the illegitimate child of the Teenaged Aunt given up for adoption, the Secretary Aunt traveling with CUSO to Africa to find a husband. To the initiated, there is an understanding, but what is actually unfolding is like the David Lynch movie, Eraserhead, long silences, steaming underground streets of enfer, a woman dancing on pig embryos but to the unsuspecting child, a silence, a profound silence. How the night dawns.

(To be continued . . .)











“blue moonstone sky
rain in the window . . . quiet
such a long season . . . past”


UNTITLED

by

Rebecca Anne Banks



so much paradise sometimes the day is fresh the colours dark whole like clean earth wind over mountain trees things don’t become lost like lovers become lost half the world is Christian on a good day he, the angel stands in the window it is a new season, it is a revolution of the heart the renegade pope songs from rain over water trees the quiet of joy inside the broken machine play, playing the record, again, again o’ boulevarde exchange carry the estate house grey and grey in indigo golds white cinquefoil roses when love is a season . . . somewhere lost together on European beaches, the beautiful wrecked beach . . . sleep and sleep . . .










 

“eye”

- A painting (perhaps painted by John Lennon) inside the Ashram house (India) -
(This is where The Beatles wrote The White Album)
Art/Photo by Dan Brook










BIOGRAPHY


Rebecca Anne Banks lives in the New Age Renaissance Republique of Poetry. She has been writing and producing artistic content for 40 years and is the author of over 30 books of poetry, guides to the Holy Spirit, a primer on marriage discernment, a family cookbook, a book of children’s stories, a book of World Peace Newsletters, all available at Amazon Stations. She has produced 3 CDs of Folk/Rock music and has 17 CDs of music awaiting production. She won an IARA Award for Top 55 Internet Airplays for Angel Song (2010). She is an Associate Member of the League of Canadian Poets. She is also the Poetry Editor at Subterranean Blue Poetry (www.subterraneanbluepoetry.com), CEO/Artist at Tea at Tympani Lane Records (www.tympanilanerecords.com), the Book Reviewer at The Book Reviewer (www.thebookreviewer.ca)and the Quilt Artist at Kintsugi Art Quilts (www.kintsugiartquilts.com.

George Bowering (poet, novelist, historian, biographer, teacher, editor) is a Canadian literary icon born in British Columbia. He is one of the founding members of the TISH poetry school. He is highly awarded having earned the The Order of Canada and The Order of British Columbia. He has written Chapbooks, critical essays, memoirs, historical nonfiction, and plays. He is noted for, Sticks & Stones, In the Flesh, The Catch, Smoking Mirror, Blonds on Bikes, Vermeer's Light: Poems 1996-2006, Lost in the Library, Montenegro 1966, According to Brueghel, Sitting in Jalisco, Sitting in Mexico, Music in the Park, amongst others.

Dan Brook PhD teaches in the Department of Sociology and Interdisciplinary Social Sciences at San Jose State University, from where he organizes the Hands on Thailand program. His most recent book of poetry is Sweet Nothings.

Adrian Ernesto Cepeda an L.A. poet who has a B.A. from the University of Texas at San Antonio. He is also a graduate of the M.F.A. program at Antioch University in Los Angeles where he lives with his wife and their cat Woody Gold. He is widely published in journals, including, Subterranean Blue Poetry, Glass Poetry, Poets: Resist, Cultural Weekly, Frontier Poetry, 24HR Neon Magazine, Tin Lunchbox Review, Neon Mariposa Magazine, The Yellow Chair Review, amongst others. He has written books of poetry including: Flashes & Verses . . . Becoming Attractions (Unsolicited Press), So Many Flowers, So Little Time (Red Mare Press), Between the Spine (Picture Show Press), La Belle Ajar (CLASH Books).

D.B. Cox is a Marine Corps veteran and blues musician/writer from South Carolina. His poems have been published extensively in the small press, in the US and abroad. He has published five books of poetry: Passing For Blue, Lowdown, Ordinary Sorrows, Night Watch, Empty Frames and the Chapbook repetition of a blue bass line.

George Harrison (musician, singer/songwriter, film and music producer) born in Liverpool, England. He was the lead guitarist for The Beatles and was known as “the quiet Beatle”. He had 2 marriages, his first to Pattie Boyd and the second to Olivia Arias and has a son. He is best remembered for composing While My Guitar Gently Weeps and Here Comes the Sun as well as some solo discography.

John Lennon (musician, singer/songwriter, visual artist, peace activist) born in Liverpool, England. His first band was the Quarry Men, a skiffle band formed when he was 16 years old. Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Stuart Sutcliffe and Pete Best were invited and the band was renamed The Beatles. He was a vocalist, songwriter and guitarist for The Beatles. He married Cynthia Powell and they had one son. In 1969 he married artist Yoko Ono who also gave him a son. Famously, John and Yoko held a peace protest by staying in bed at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, Montreal while being filmed and interviewed. He was inducted posthumously into the Songwriters Hall of Fame (1987) and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (1994).

James Lindsay (poet, record producer, publisher) is the CEO of Pleasence Records who release contemporary music artists on vinyl records. He has written the poetry collections, Our Inland Sea, Double Self-Portrait; the Chapbooks Ekphrasis! Ekphrasis! and Labour Day.

Paul McCartney (musician, singer/songwriter, film and record producer) born in Liverpool, England. He was a vocalist, songwriter and bass player for The Beatles. He and John Lennon were the lead composers/lyricists for the band. He was married to Linda Eastman (who gave him children), Heather Mills and is currently married to Nancy Shevell. After The Beatles disbanded he has a very successful solo career with the band Wings, starring in and creating movies. He is an activist for ending cruelty against animals and a vegetarian. His latest album is McCartney III Imagined, on which he plays all the instruments.

P. Muralidharan is a versatile thinker and literary reviewer who lives in Chennai, India. His non-fiction piece, “Bubble Burst”, has been widely-read. A well-known writer in Tamil for over two decades, he is now also writing in English. His English short stories have appeared in anthologies, including HydRaw, and published in online magazines and publishing house portals. He is an active member of many global literary societies that have published his literary reviews on their social media platforms. His short story collection, Draupadi’s Only Partner and novel Boomerang were shortlisted by Cherrybook Awards in 2020/21. Both works will be available to readers in about six months.
Email: sathyanandhan.mail@gmail.com

Robert Priest is a Canadian poet, singer/songwriter, children’s writer born in England, he lives and works in Toronto. He has written 10 collections of poetry, 2 novels for children, 3 albums of children’s music, and 4 CDs of poetry and songs. He is married to Marsha Kirzner and contributes regularly to Now magazine. His fourth CD of songs is called Feeling the Pinch.

Stan Rogal. In the Poet’s words, “I reside in Toronto. Work has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies in Canada, the US and Europe. The author of 26 books: 7 novels, 7 story, 12 poetry, plus several chapbooks. An MA English from YorkU. An amateur thespian and sleuth.”

Ringo Starr (musician, singer/songwriter, actor) born in Liverpool, England. He played the drums for The Beatles. He was married to Maureen Cox who gave him 3 children. They divorced and he married Barbara Bach. Famously, he wrote Don’t Pass Me By and Octopus’s Garden. He meditates every day and is a vegetarian.

John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate NY. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the continuous search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest poetry collections include A FLAG ON FIRE IS A SONG OF HOPE (2019 Scars Publications) and A DEAD MAN, EITHER WAY (2020 Kung Fu Treachery Press).