ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume V Issue V

The Cover Art/Photo:

"Blue Andalusia"

from Antiphonal: “Battle scene” Spain (1545)

Courtesy of the British Library

“This is an image of “Santiago Matamoros”
(Saint James) who was the Patron Saint of

“the lake of lavender skies

early morning blues . . . “


“o’ printemps

the flower of jesperson opens, slow

light through dark clouds

wells of erskine

el craik de craik

bled into stone


cry me heaven

the republique of no

at brick mount harbour

and you put him in a shrine

the light in shadows

drag him out

late at night

or of an afternoon


then the sunshines in

lilacs bud

pies at sunbake

a new matelas

the queen

hanoi, the picture

opus de Serrano


Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume V Issue V
(May 2017)

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2017


Inside Out

by Jamie Nicol

Pitching words,

Just beyond comprehension,

Calling it poetry.

Wasting a thousand days,

On a million words,

That are dumb with meaning.

Unhitching the stars,

Making a trace of the moon,

All in homage to the sun.

Now in this cold light,

Of a winter's day,

Thinking Northern thoughts.

You knew my words,

Before ever I spoke,

Yet still understood nothing.

Inside out,

Turning the other cheek,

There is always another perspective.

It has already been said,

The books line the shelves,

The quote is upon my tongue.

But yet it still is,

Pungent with presence,

Casting aside abstractions.

It gathers together,

Drawing the world in its wake,

Unconcealing truth.

A tenth verse,

Looking for justification,

Waiting for acceptance.


Four Haiku for Morning

by Jamie Nicol

This cold night will out

A glimmer now of morning

A breath in the leaves.

Forest silence wrings

Blackbird's solitary song

Such intimacy.

A blind man reading

Long lost days of living sight

In memoriam.

Pathos of distance

Setting forth on open seas

A new risen sun.


Seeding Storms

by Jamie Nicol

This sharp air,

Glancing sun,

Crystalline fragility.

A remembrance of youth,

Sudden clarity,

The promise of vigour.

But this day darkens yet,

Cloud builds to the North,

Where mountains seed storms.

Bruised purple,

Undercloud afternoon,

The threat of evening.

It is soon now,

The charge grows,

Ripples across my skin.

The choked sky cracks,

Wind rages ragged leaves,

Water falls.

Deafness hears silence,

In the passing wake,

Of now star streaked sky.

It will not rest,

This world want,

For ever new day.

And I turn too,

On the pivot,

Of vast brightness.

Wheeling away,

Yet ever returning,

Sleep creates new light.

Featured Poet: D.H. Lawrence

In a Boat


D.H. Lawrence

See the stars, love,

In the water much clearer and brighter

Than those above us, and whiter,

Like nenuphars.

Star-shadows shine, love,

How many stars in your bowl?

How many shadows in your soul,

Only mine, love, mine?

When I move the oars, love,

See how the stars are tossed,

Distorted, the brightest lost.

—So that bright one of yours, love.

The poor waters spill

The stars, waters broken, forsaken.

—The heavens are not shaken, you say, love,

Its stars stand still.

There, did you see

That spark fly up at us; even

Stars are not safe in heaven.

—What of yours, then, love, yours?

What then, love, if soon

Your light be tossed over a wave?

Will you count the darkness a grave,

And swoon, love, swoon?

Missed Connections

Craigslist Montreal – Missed Connections – August 27th, 2016 – Anonymous

window - m4w (montreal)

I'll be gone a while. The war. It's not fun. Will you still be around?

When I return I won't be the same. The ocean might make me better.

Will you still be waiting? Can I give you a flower?

Show me a sign in life.

I'll give you a sign tomorrow at noon. Outside the window. Watch.

(N.B.: “Cathy’s song . . . as I walked on . . . “ - a note from the editor

“and when you ran to me, your cheeks flushed with the night, of juniper and lamplight . . . “*
- a note from the other editor

“candy” - says the cat)

*from “Cathy’s Song” by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel

Book Reviews

ANTHEM: a treatise.

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Anthem

Author: Kimberlynne Darby Newton

Publisher: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Date of Publication: 2017

Pages: 173

“Come on take me to war
Take me to war
I’m ready for invasion
Take me to shore”
- from Take Me To War by Blue Peter

“And I’m proud to be an American
Where at least I know I’m free,
And I won’t forget the men who died
And who gave that right to me”
- from God Bless the U.S.A. by Beyonce

Anthem by Kimberlynne Darby Newton. A brilliant offering in the New Age Renaissance Republic of Poetry, the story of the African American goddess in the essence of love and beauty, a truthtelling inside the brutality of the dislocated places of the post-modern world. Kimberlynne Darby Newton was born in Montgomery, Alabama. She was a journalist for several years and is a retired history professor from the University of Alabama. She is the author of over 13 books, and has recently compiled the Freedom Writes Anthology (Subterranean Blue Poetry, 2017). This is the second book review This Writer has written for Kimberlynne Darby Newton, the first being for Freedom Writes.

Anthem is a dialogue in gender and race relations, an African American Poet revealing great suffering and in the telling a crucible for peace. This poetry is a no holds barred truthtelling, that dispells the demons, the raw emotions fashioned into poetic climes brings into the light, dance and celebration in healing. The poetry is in the imago of the Black Madonna, harsh realities told bare bones and through the beautiful essence of the Poet, the Reader is brought to a place of love.

Protest poetry, against oppression, sometimes in the Beat tradition, shines a beacon of light into the dark of night. There is occasional rhyme, and a recreation of language in original spaces, using Black meme, she sometimes invents new words, Poet Newton is a very considered and accomplished writer. This poetry is inspirational, as if having been born from listening to the speeches of Malcolm X or Martin Luther King, Jr. It rises like a bird in the blue of sky, taking your spirit high and higher.

As if to give both sides their due, both Black and White for black and white people`s are capitalized, a new form in the politics of race relations, perhaps assigning credence to both sides can make people feel better, lessening violence.

Rib is a fresh perspective on the Garden of Eden story in a post-modern context, that riffs on the empty spaces of gender relations, the conflicted story of post-modern love.

Don`t is a stand-alone anthem for the results of conflicted love lives and the resulting violence to the psyche that creates a soldier mentality. A bred in the bone piece that lays bare the truth, the incredible violence of a brutal world.

Silenced is a beautiful write in a dance of anger, a dance in turmoil of emotion, a story of possession in love. The poetry, is broken, an intricate weave of emotion, as if a tarantala, a story of conflicted love.

The poem Anthem is about race, about being Black in a white world, the otherness and also about connection.

“I’ve never felt

more American.

We are our anthem.”

Song of the South is the quintessential poem, a classical rendering, it weaves nature imagery and the passion of place, the southern United States, into a song of resurrection, writes of life in a death culture.

The poem begins,

“Culleygaps and cowcummer leaves

honeybees buzzing

under paint-stained eaves.”

The new words in Black meme, pictures a hot day in the deep South, it is the meaning of place and people throughout time. As if influenced by the classical poetry of Maya Angelou, Song of the South is everlasting and celebratory with original images, the Poet and the poem is of the very cloth of America.

As if poetry inside the eye of God, of good and all that is right, a gift of the essence of woman, the Black Madonna, a treatise in the power of love. A brilliant read, Anthem by Kimberlynne Darby Newton.

Available @ Amazon.ca.

Taxi Cab Voice: Poems by Neil Flowers.

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Taxi Cab Voice

Author: Neil Flowers

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2016

Pages: 12

“Mr. Bojangles, Mr. Bojangles, dance, dance, Mr Bojangles, dance.”
- from Mr. Bojangles by Bob Dylan

This book of poetry is a soundbite, a short 12 pages of original lightening in the New Age Renaissance Republic of Poetry, Taxi Cab Voice by Neil Flowers. A Poet who has worked as a writer, director and actor for theatre, film and radio. A Poet of aliases, Neil Whiteman, Monk Besserer amongst others was born in Montreal and has lived in the United States, Mexico, Italy and British Columbia. He studied literature at Carleton University under Poet/Professor Robert Hogg. Poet Flowers edited the Northern Comfort Anthology published by Commoners’ Press, 1973.

The Poet travels and Taxi Cab Voice was written in Los Angeles, Ottawa, and Albuquerque over a period of years. This poetry write is a celebration of new images, new use of language in sophisticated working class blues. There are references to broken serial lovers, and the manifestation of emotional flat line after much time, the violence of broken covenant. And the idea of travel, driving the car across the country, some endless highway, as if in rhetorical sequence. In the background it is as if the memory of the Canadian Great Depression of the 1930’s lingers, infuses the writing, you can feel the dust across the Prairies, people riding the rails, the breadlines, the want and not. The Quebecois Poet also occasionally uses French words, adding a distinct Montrealais ouvre to the write. The Poet is an Oracle, infusing the work with a subtle wisdom.


Starfuckers, Unite

said your Mexico journal

back in the 60s

our classical Athens

O where have they gone the lean aces and maximus men?

Jongleurs of the folk scene, the blues revival?

Le Hibou?

Women with rainbows for eyes?

                  We meet to part and go our separate ways

No one in the streets now

            save the old lady in broken shoes

                          and Sally Ann overcoat

chartreuse with gold (plastic) buttons

lugs her bags

            shuffles toward that trailer park

                            mind on tinned tomato soup

You were there

etching the empty spaces

                    A million burst from my head every day

Finding your own you stepped clear

Clear out of frame”

The poetry is post-modern, a broken thought train, no rhyme, in parts as if you are seeing one half of a conversation. In parts, cadence is created through the repetition of words and lines, a sing song rhythm that creates sonance, a certain reckoning with the world. And it is a stark truthtelling, the places where love aches and leaves us.

Like some song sung on the back of a flatbed truck, the wind in your hair, in your eyes, open to all the elements of nature, the poetry rains down. And it’s another day, another night on the road. A brilliant read, Taxi Cab Voice by Neil Flowers.

Available @ above/ground press.

"and the storm

a set to, winter

roils in the bare trees ...”



Rebecca Anne Banks



white and white

tear drop window

the art of wall bang

winter knifes her teeth

and then he came, again

and everything is written, unwritten

falling, falling the snow

voices and voices

in broken carriage

from downstairs

the loneliness

not realized

until the whispers

the murmurings

at the edge of the sky...


inside the blue

that holds


the moon

and the night


a reflection

the water

the drowning

the blue

and his beauty

in blue.


Rebecca Anne Banks lives in the New Age Renaissance Republic of Poetry. She is the author of over 27 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 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).

Neil Flowers (Poet, actor, writer, screenwriter, director) aka Neil Whiteman, Monk Besserer amongst others since forgotten, born in Montreal, currently lives and works in Los Angeles. He has worked in theatre, radio and film. He has lived in Montreal, Mexico, Italy, British Columbia and the United States. He studied literature under Poet/professor Robert Hogg at Carleton University. Poet Flowers edited the poetry anthology, Northern Comfort published by Commoners’ Press, 1973.

D.H. Lawrence was born in the U.K., 1885 in a mining town. He is a Poet/Writer/Teacher/Playwright/Literary Critic/Painter and is remembered as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century. As a child he was physically frail and prone to illness, an intellectual out of place in a blue collar family. He was a teacher. He became engaged to Louie Burrows an old friend from college but then ran off with Frieda von Richthofen, the wife of one of his professors. They travelled widely, Australia, Italy, Ceylon, United States, Mexico, the south of France as his writings were published. There was an obscenity case over “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” and at the time of his death from tuberculosis, he was not considered highly by most critics. He is best remembered for the novels Lady Chatterley’s Lover, The Rainbow, Sons and Lovers, and Women in Love.

Kimberlynne Darby Newton was born in Montgomery, Alabama. She has degrees in Literature, Southern Studies and a Phd. in African American and Women's History. She has worked as a journalist at the Times Picayune in New Orleans, and at the Jackson Advocate and The Clarion Ledger in Jackson, Mississippi. She is a retired professor of world history from the University of Alabama. Poet Newton is the author of over 13 books, and has recently compiled the Freedom Writes Anthology (Subterranean Blue Poetry, 2017).

Jamie Nicol. Living in the forested hills of Northern Spain, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea; giving over my time to the expression of the abundance of life that creates and sustains each day. Trained as a Zen teacher, recovering philosopher, and small scale natural farmer; everything eventually gets stirred into the pot of life if we live long enough. Sitting each day in the dawn silence, listening to the forest wake, writing just what comes.