ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume V Issue XII

The Cover Art/Photo:

"cadillac dreams
and ice cream soda"

Love Me Tender – Elvis Presley

Elvis, Viva Las Vegas, movieola, Frankie and Johnny, Jailhouse Rock, In the Ghetto, Moody Blue, Blue Hawaii, G.I. Blues and
Blue Suede Shoes. "blue, blue, blue suede shoes" Rockin' round the clock with your favourite girl or guy at the
Drive Through, at the Sock Hop, at the local bar and grill with the juke box playin' Elvis, where the cokes are
tall and icy and the burgers come with fries on a Saturday night.

"the package

hangs high

in the bare tree

an offering

to the blue sky

. . . winter"

the pentagram book cover

uncut rice

more beautiful than wine


the doorway across

the street

is lit,

all the apartment windows,



the bones sing

at the bottom of the ocean.

Tia Leone

odd caisse muraille

punching the dragon . . .

ode to condolences

falling into

the Zen of 1,000 blues

of him

falling into

the blue rhyme


begin the begine

in play,

the rain falls on the defiant girl staring down

and everything moves in this world

everything moves

and nothing


making time

40 years

last Thursday 2 a.m.

hiding a love crime

hang a blanket over the window

sex is intimacy

of the soft written page

i hear him in the shower

in the dark

he who lives in the quiet

the Zen of 1,000 blues

his name rhymes

in shine

a course in numbers

for a full moonbake

my blue guitar

dance and dance

the starry night

in a dark sky

the artist

through the darknight . . .

she watches,

the guardian,

as he sleeps.

"last of moon

in jewel sky

through bare trees

blue, early morning . . ."

Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume V Issue XII
(December 2017)

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2017

Happy Birthday to Me

by Tim J. Brennan

Stretch fingers like a pianist -

clap sixty times in a steady beat.

Drink a little wine, play Elvis,

re-tell the story of when his heart was broken

for the first time, he created a dance so sad

he never showed it to anyone.

Later, enter a room with a made bed, stiff

effigy sheets. Plan on midnight cake.

While the highway cars play chicken

and the neighbor’s schnauzer

lets itself be known as the top dog

on the block, spring will carol on,

another year indistinct.

Heartbreak Hotel

by Alec Solomita

Sitting in a hotel room with a broken heart,

surely I’m not the first.

I seem to recall a song or two

when I was almost grown,

when all Mama’s children

bopped ’til they popped,

I watched

the older girls and boys

polkadot skirts the girls, ice cream swirled hair the boys,

twisting to the jukebox at Pellegrini’s Pizza;

rockin’ to Jan and Dean, slow dancing to LuLu,

Shelley Fabares, Ricky Nelson, Fabian. All of it

five decades before actually checking in

to Heartbreak Hotel,

and pondering how

bizarre Primo Levi’s suicide was.


by Jim Zola

He says, "Why are you eating your heart? And the beast replies, "I eat it because I like its bitter taste,
and because it is my heart."
– Stephen Crane


That was the summer I made love to Bridget Bardot in the loft above our garage. I considered learning
French for her. She smelled like musky newsprint, stale ink, like black walnuts smashed against
asphalt. Her moans were like the sudden squeal and crunch at the intersection of Market and New
Garden. That was the summer I stopped believing my eyes were cameras and that everyone had a
soundtrack for life. Most only hear the dryer dry humping, the toilet running. Jiggle the damn handle –
my father’s battle cry during my Peter Noone phase, my kind of hush all over the world before I
discovered drugs and the wonders of my own penis. Then it became Black Magic Woman and other
headphone anthems.


     Now it is night.

Three dogs

at a party

on a boat

at night.


     "Inadequacies, foreign bodies"

Xmas, 1982

I died on Skyline Drive

during a heavy snowstorm,

looking up

while the other Elvis sang

don’t bury me cause I’m not dead yet

and there was no place to go

but home


Poetry 101. I wrote about rubbernecking

a stripjoint in New Orleans. Two rows over

a boy who was Goth before there was Goth

wrote long poems about insects and sketched

Illustrations along the edge of the paper.

The professor drank gin from a 7-up can

and let his cigarette ashes grow until

they covered everything.


This morning I felt my heart flip.

But what does it matter.

I died back there

in section three.


I think his name was John.

The other poets snickered

and said

but it’s not



I need to go to work now.

I will finish this

at lunch.



by Jim Zola

Ramp weed and half-trampled grass

winnows as cars pass. A hot breath

turns everything still, forgotten;

the car, the driver whose thoughts

are already in Toledo

kissing his lover’s cheek. He hopes

she wears her red pleated skirt,

the one he pictures her in now

as he drives too fast and plans

his goodbye. He has taken

 an early withdrawal

of sadness. The red skirt waves

like a bright flag.

I am the yellow grass

left by the side of the road.

How easy it is to forget.

I could get in my car and drive

into some rural maze

of endless dirt roads and keep

driving. Within a year, loved ones

would forget my voice,

the color of my hair.

As kids, we tried to lose ourselves.

Our neighborhood was our world

 as we rode bikes beyond the streets

and houses we recognized.

We rode until faces looked foreign.

We rode until the first fingerprints

of dusk touched the sky, then worked

our way back. Usually,

it was easy. Maybe we were

too busy being explorers

to notice the man in the car,

the woman in the red skirt,

the grass by the side of the road

waving goodbye.

My Brother Has Left the Building
(September 1956, Tuckahoe, NY)

by Linda Simone

Five, I’m too young to swoon

at rock star’s slicked-back pompadour

sideburns framing full lips

pursed like a rain spout

skinny pants, jacket of window-pane plaid.

In bathroom mirror, Brylcreams his pomp

coaches it to cascade

over forehead.

Umber eyes, clenched jaw

cheeks sucked in.

Gyrating to some blue

Hawaii I can’t see,

primed to love some girl tender,

his jet black chinos, white tee,

Marlboros tucked

in rolled-up sleeve.

Musses my pigtails -

  See ya later, alligator!

Back of his neck

a duck’s tail.
     In a while, crocodile, I reply,

voice bouncing off starstruck tiles.

Featured Poets: Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart
Sung by Elvis Presley

Blue Moon


Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart
Sung by Elvis Presley

Blue moon,

You saw me standing alone,

Without a dream in my heart,

Without a love of my own.

Blue moon,

You knew just what I was there for.

You heard me saying a pray for

Someone I really could care for.

Blue moon,

You saw me standing alone,

Without a dream in my heart,

Without a love of my own.

Blue moon...

Without a love of my own.

Missed Connections

Craigslist Maine – Missed Connections – May 4th, 2017 – Anonymous

Hey Strawberry - m4w (Lakes region)

It's a beautiful day ... I can't stop thinking about you. Tell me something .......

re strawberry - w4m

hmmm I wish that this ad was for me if you are the one I wish for. IF you are the one I wish for.

Craigslist Maine – Missed Connections – May 5th, 2017 - Anonymous

re re strawberry - w4m (Lakes region)

It's written for a Princess who surprised me, sort of scared me and then saved me from myself.

(N.B.: "a big cake with white icing" – a note from the editor

"and some candy bride and groom on top" – a note from the other editor

"them Princesses are the best" – says the cat

"and cake" - says the other cat

"you cats are getting no Princesses and no cake" – says Machiavelli

"we are too . . . mum says" – says the cat

"then you’re getting ice cream" – says Machiavelli)

Book Reviews

The Lover is Absent: a fantasia of forbidden love

Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: The Lover is Absent

Author: Jessica Smith

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2017

Pages: 30

"Bus stop, wet day, she's there, I say
Please share my umbrella"
- from Bus Stop by The Hollies

The Lover is Absent, a conflicted, enigmatic story of an entanglement in love told in New Age poetry. Jessica Smith born in Birmingham, Alabama has degrees in English Literature from SUNY Buffalo. She is the Poetry Editor at Coven Press and Foursquare and name magazines, and the librarian at Indian Springs School where she runs a poetry reading series. She has had numerous chapbooks published and 2 books of poetry, Organic Furniture Cellar (2006) and Life-List (2015). This is her 3rd Chapbook published by above/ground press and the first This Writer has reviewed for her.

This long poem begins, presents a love interest, she is married, he is married, he is an entanglement, a place her thoughts go, the poetry of heat, conjecture, there is the connection, there is the loss of contact, there is the hope of contact, it is love as obsession, as in all great love affairs. The poem is enigmatic, did they or did they not connect sexually (perhaps once) has he died?, there is a church service, perhaps vows, perhaps a funeral and then the anonymous “he” brings her a coffee he has made. The ending is beautiful pulsates with hope, and may also present a double entendre, is the forbidden love interest also in some way her husband, the use of the anonymous "he".

This poetry is like jewelry, a truth saying, an enigma, the disjointed and careening thoughts, the push and pull of forbidden love, the lines are discombobulated across the page. You can read the lines to the right or up and down, the affect is riveting, multiple readings of the conjoins of one line with others creating multiple layers of meaning, flow and connect/disconnect, the excitement in rapture.

Years from now, this long poem, may be the only physical momento of the memory of this bewitchment, this magic of the perfect love interest. An offering to the goddess, the sky, the redemption for he who captures the moonlight, parce que nous ne savons pas.

A brilliant read from above/ground press. The Lover is Absent by Jessica Smith.

Available @ above/ground press.

"silent witness

to the night rain . . ."

. . . and Elvis sings at Christmas

(For Elvis and those who sing like Elvis,
And you too, Andy Kauffman)


Rebecca Anne Banks


through an open window

a society of criminals

i headed out into the street

cold and rain

taking my pay sheet

down to the welfare office

another long wait

the place a morgue

of purple and grey

at Christmas

bored, i sit

and sit

the drag of time ...


in a flash of white and rhinestones

he enters the building

"Well, I found a new place to dwell"

I stared in amazement

"Well, its down at the end of Lonely Street"

he sings

"At Heartbreak Hotel"

and in another flash

receding strains

of "where I get so lonely, baby"

"where I get so lonely"

out into the street


he was gone

echoes in

"Elvis has left the building"

the Ipswich king


cadillac dreams

and ice cream soda

"well, who wouldn’t want to marry Elvis"

people and places

lost in time

the order of the days

looking into old photographs

old movieola posters

the songs

the movies on the talking picture box

swim in blue

and something for Elvis,

at Christmas

"the lady, she just had a good time"

and a river runs through it

the war

and everything is a meat beg

on a Friday night

west Hemingway boulevard

Love Me Tender

some fast and slow song

the cool liquid marons

and Elvis sings

at Christmas . . .

and I smile

as I hang the

Christmas tree ornaments

Blue sings

at Christmas . . .

(One winter,

I went to look for an apartment

I didn’t know which was the Super’s

so I rang all the buzzers

about 15 people lined the


a chorus of

"hey" and "hey?"

the gremlins

in varying degrees of caricature

in light blue

everyone a little too well masticated

and a little toasted

and living alone

(the circus was in town)

and there was an old woman

riding a hobby horse

having a heart attack, again

and she really was

a confederate in the audience

and after his show

we watched him sing on stage

She said, "I don’t know . . .

does he ever look like Elvis"

"he’s not getting away with that" said another woman in the background

but he did, he did get away with that

and it was


sings at Christmas)

P.S.: we’re all together on a tropical island drinking big blue drinks. Wishing you were here.


Rebecca Anne Banks lives in the New Age Renaissance Republique of Poetry. She is the author of over 30 books of poetry, a guide 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 www.amazon.ca and other Amazon Stations. She has produced 3 CD`s of Folk/Rock music and has 17 CD’s of music awaiting production. She won an IAIRA award for top 55 Internet airplays for Angel Song, 2010. She is mildly brain damaged since birth that went undiagnosed, that gave her a hidden disability. She is also the 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).

Tim J. Brennan’s poetry can be found in many nice places including Green Blade, The Lake (U.K.), Bitchin’ Kitch, and KAXE public radio. Brennan’s one act plays have been performed widely including stages in Milwaukee, Colorado Springs, & White Bear Lake MN.

Lorenz Hart (lyricist) was born in New York City. His writing partner was Richard Rodgers, together they wrote 26 Broadway musicals, as well as music scores for Hollywood films and television.

Elvis Presley (Singer/Musician/Actor) born in Tupelo, Mississippi, raised in a working class family. He attended Assembly of God church, where the Gospel Music may have had an influence on his music. He created a string of #1 hit singles and became the iconic rock and roll star of the American landscape. He was a big star in Las Vegas and also acted in Hollywood movies. He married Priscilla Beaulieu in 1967 and they had a child Lisa Marie. He is best remembered for his popular music particularly, Heartbreak Hotel, Love Me Tender, Don’t Be Cruel, Good Luck Charm, Blue Christmas, Suspicious Minds amongst others.

Richard Rodgers (composer) born in New York City. He wrote with Lorenz Hart and later with Oscar Hammerstein II. He composed music for American musicals, Hollywood films and television, over 900 songs and 43 Broadway musicals. He won many awards including an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, a Tony and a Pulitzer Prize. He was married to Dorothy Belle Feiner and was known as a serial womanizer. He is best remembered for The Sound of Music, Oklahoma!, South Pacific and Blue Moon amongst others.

Linda Simone’s most recent chapbook is Archeology (Flutter Press, 2014). Her Pushcart-nominated poems have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. She was honored that two of her poems were selected for San Antonio Poet Laureate Laurie Ann Guerrero’s signature project, Love Poems to San Antonio. Originally from New York, she now lives in San Antonio, TX. www.lindasimone.com.

Alec Solomita’s fiction has appeared in, among other publications, The Mississippi Review, Southwest Review, and Litbreak. He’s published poetry in Literary Orphans, MockingHeart Review, Algebra of Owls, Silver Birch Press, MadHatLit, and many other venues. His poetry chapbook, Do Not Forsake Me, is forthcoming, to be published by Finishing Line Press.

Jim Zola has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for Deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children's librarian. Published in many journals through the years, his publications include a chapbook – The 100 Bones of Weather (Blue Pitcher Press) - and a full length poetry collection - What Glorious Possibilities (Aldrich Press). He currently lives in Greensboro, N.C.