ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume VII Issue XI


The Masthead:

"street cathedral"

by Rebecca Anne Banks



rain sky afternoon

walking and

walking . . ."

and something in September dawn

(I look for you

blue . . .

sky crow fly)

Napolean bream

the byzantines

they walk among us

(west Hildegaard numbers are in town)

in season

a new blue mattress

in season

I look for you . . .

of the street cathedral

"aider, aider"

a coffee in Madrid



a conscription of oasis

love of the everlasting Saint

a good capital

after a catholic Friday

"no grocery carts" at the vintage store

found luck

punk on film

and gin ricky girl

on tv

did they make you sleep with strangers?

(whispers of repentance)

la couloir du Plateau ce n'est pas chante


the haunted gallery space

"the little dancer"

a face in sunlight

the silence


the haunted gallery space

walking and walking


the silence

I look for you

a little rain

(the ghost of Montreal

(whispers of repentance)

fish and coin

fish and coin

a coin in the mouth of a fish)

a long line

by the deli

feast or famine


by the boulevard

and who by numbers

sur la rue

i leave

a dollar for food for the dog

to jant on it

"5th Avenue heartache"

the Commissar

(i thought the stereo was gone)

and September trains

sous sol

i look into her face

of lost and missing lovers

the picture of blue

the Plateau corridor does not sing.

(from (for heaven's garden)

dreams of Calvados 1969)

walking and walking

I look for you . . .

as the cold

washes the streets,

a little rain"

Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume VII Issue XI
(November, 2019)

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2019


by Eadbhard McGowan

The red, dispersed by the wind
Ten thousand petals
fall into the river...
are flames.
Fire in the green disarray.

My purple cry permeates into
the luminous power of night,
rotten wood glows and bitter roses
bloom like your attentive lips,
thoughts true as the rain.

Dancing in cloudy waves,
gloomy violet of the evening.
Sun pressed into a formula,
insoluble in the whirl of reality.
Grey weaving, passionate.

The pale window-cross of the moon,
the blue light of the graveyards
shine in the puddles and
the barmy glow
reddens the pale gardens.
How blind they are,
the houses, the glistening streets,
how numerous they are
and narrow, exuberant,
those stone leaflets.


by Eadbhard McGowan

Snow-covered fields lie wide
on which playful crows are dancing.
Deep stretches the countryside
Up to the frozen hem of the horizon
uniting with the Baltic Sea.
Drains and ditches, silver lanes,
willow trees, wizen.
A buzzard hovers over the plains.

A picture book takes childhood by the hand;
memories settle as dust on what remains.
Sun penetrates through roof beams
into an imaginary faded wonderland.
There she is, my island under dreams:
Endless taiga, abundant clouded lake land.

Would like to hide, seek shelter, in fields of rye,
or between those thumbed pages of a fairy tale,
star money coins like rosary beads recounting,
pass through my fingers, dreamily,
to pay for moonlight over the Curonian Spit
and the Nemunas river.

The memory suitcase gets heavier,
heart grows old
a thousand nights since passed
counted by falling calendar sheets,
the hair grows white, open fields are cold,
a broken cross warns at the waterside.

Only thoughts remain on yellowed photos:
A forlorn couple in front of green pine forests.
A lonely house near marshy meadows.
The step beyond the horizon not far away.

1 A.M.

by Debarshi Mitra

Clocks have monotonic precision.
I have resigned to this indifference
this drudgery of unmapped thoughts
stretching every cell inside my head
along different tangents.
I have had my routine sex.
The radio melodies from the apartment above
infiltrates this silence for a while
and then fades away.
A little while later
the first signs of sleep on my eyelids
A little while later still
I am in a train on a rain drenched night,
my father sleeping on the berth above.
The huts in the paddy field are flickering
like diminishing stars against translucent glass.


by Debarshi Mitra

Lately I've been thinking of the poems
I didn't write, the ones you didn't read
or the ones nobody read guarded
by unopened drawers in anonymous
hotel rooms, where the unnamed make love
and leave, the poems lost midnight to sleep
that never arranged themselves into language,
those are the ones that I seek today
the ones that remain there,
where all things rot,
where unkept promises turn bitter.


by Debarshi Mitra


From cab windows:
haloed tree tops,
men and women,
traffic lights blinking
in desolate streets,
neurons fired across
empty skulls,
reduced to a blur,
whittled down
to a single line
stretched across the page.


in empty streets,
on pavements,
bare trees
with their branches
sticking out
like nerve ends.


by Autumn Cooper

Even the summertime gets boring,
and I'm ready for cold again.
After waiting months for sunshine
I look forward to wrapping myself in shearling.

I feel like a boy with his dog!
I'm laughing, sucking in so much air that
my lungs become the biggest part of me.

I am a marionette with a balloon middle.
My strings are all the way up in heaven,
but the balloon string is dangling down,
and is handed off and held
by whatever is heaviest to the ground
right now. The wrist of myself as a child.
The ribbon tied on by my mother
in case I want to let it go.




Anne Sexton

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant's teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.

Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was...
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
with the stranger's seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.

I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out
and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.

Pull the shades down -
I don't care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?

Not there.

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up


Craigslist Rome - Missed Connections - February 12th, 2019 - Anonymous

1968 (Rome .Bruges)

Claudine, Its David 1968 in
Rome .You were a tour guide.

(N.B.: "when in Rome . . . " - a note from the Editor

"do as the Romans do" - a note from the other Editor

"somewhere my love" - says the cat

"I remember you" - says the other cat

"that was 50 years ago, Stella, Stella . . ." - says Machiavelli

"the frost is off the pumpkin" - says the Editor

"they probably have arthritis, are fat, wrinkling and walking with canes . . ." - says Machiavelli

"To live Roman Holiday forever" - says the other Editor

"that's poetry" - says the cat)



Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: This Transmission

Author: Michael McNamara

Publisher: Argotist Ebooks

Date of Publication: 2019

Pages: 34

"There are, you drive like a demon
From station to station . . ."
- from Station to Station by David Bowie

This Transmission by Michael McNamara and Argotist Ebooks is a roaring lament with Beat Poetry influences, the truncated thoughts, rock, not unlike Haiku in dark Goth, dark shadows that haunt the dead of night in the New Age Renaissance Republic of Poetry. Mike McNamara is from Ireland and lives in Wales, UK. He has published one collection of poetry Selected Poems Overhearing the Incoherent (Grevatt and Grevatt, 1997). He is widely published in journals "Acumen, Aji, Dream Catcher, Envoi, Eunoia Review, International Times, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Lyric, New Welsh Review, Orbis, Reach, Subterranean Blue, Tears in the Fence and The Pterodactyl's Wing" amongst others. He is a songwriter and fronts a band in the U.K.

This poetry of love lost is a truthtelling, disturbs the atmosphere, wakes the sleeping, brave, it asks the silent question "Why?" One-sided thoughts, blunt, sharp, broken in staccato delivery create tension and violence. The dark allusions reptiles, serpents, tobacco, disease, bulimics, sometimes of the body, depression/anger - broods. And within the dark oeuvre and hard delivery is a juxtaposition of great light in wild images of beauty. The images of light are often of nature, the weather, flowers, dandelion, the sea, river, Turkish coffee, star, fields, birds, crows, "a winter sun" as if the poetry breathes through hell and heaven simultaneously. Sometimes nouns are used as adjectives, "spayed curses", "hammer drumbeat" and this creates a Beat drill that drives.


Where the deed men are stilled in sleeves

of stars crows caw a cold dawn, irises of

rain twinkle on naked branches catching a

rising light. Eyes filled with tears

reflecting sorrow. Walk this way between

the cold earth and flowers living, dying,

dead. A winter sun is casting plum red

dancing shadows upon this, a day

never seen . . ."

This poetry is considered and spare, every word carefully placed. The language is a creative take on Old World English, on occasion morphs into new words that are like a dagger, sharp and violent.


Rebut chime tapa brave... your

hotel wifi code for today . . ."

Unexpectedly the poetry may rhyme in a rhyming couplet which is compelling and may borrow from the influence of the Bard's plays, William Shakespeare.

One day we will be free. A speer of light in the darkness, a brilliant write from "the Bard's own pen" in the post-modern U.K., This Transmission by Michael McNamara.

Available @ Argotist Ebooks.


Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Voyage of the Sable Venus

Author: Robin Coste Lewis

Publisher: Alfred A. Knopf

Date of Publication: 2015

Pages: 142

"The sun is falling and it lies in blood
The moon is weaving bandages of gold
Old black swan where oh where is my lover now . . ."
- from Black Swan by Nina Simone

Voyage of the Sable Venus by Robin Coste Lewis is an exciting lyrical poetry weave within Beat Poetry influences that explores the idea of love and loss, a magical travelogue of a black woman poet that sings sweet, answers to the firmament within the New Age Renaissance Republic of Poetry. Robin Coste Lewis (poet, teacher) is born in Compton, California, her family is originally from New Orleans. She received an MFA in poetry from New York University as well as an MTS in comparative religious literature from Harvard University. She holds honourary fellowships from the University of California, Cave Canem and the Los Angeles Institute for the Humanities and is widely published. She teaches English at colleges and universities.

"She who paints pictures of desire." Within the suffering of a lover who is missing, the loss, is a brilliant magical dance of poetry that creates new synergies in beauty. An elegant "her" story, there are allusions to power constructs, the power of love, the power of what you can and can't have, the devastation of what it means to lose a lover and the suffering. The idea of will and how this too is suffering when people need to be better mentored and discerned for their love lives. How this Society is very thinly veiled, a certain surface of everyday that is secretly seething with desire fetid overt and blunted violence bubbling. This poetry sings in archetypes.

"Mother Church No. 3"

"You step down into the Flat World
Then ask me to say it, to explain

How our name can mean both ancestor
And enemy. Your body begins in four directions . . ."

This poetry is a travelogue, the day, the night, the love, the sex, the no sex, the history of being, the idea of in place, out of place and the violence of abuse that may occur outside the light and love of the Spirit. The narrative poem, Voyage of the Sable Venus, is "comprised solely and entirely of the titles, catalog entries, or exhibit descriptions of Western art objects in which a black female figure is present, dating from 38,000 BCE to the present." The poems are a representation of the disembodied black woman, an idea of sorrow, a black woman as an object, something displaced, an art installation of protest. Perhaps an allusion to abuse by a white culture that does not understand itself, the strictures of violence and the need for The Holy Spirit Way.

This poetry is considered, wise, lives in the beauty of the Spirit, paints pictures of the beautiful and the truth, triumphs in brilliance. Voyage of the Sable Venus by Robin Coste Lewis.

Available @ Amazon.ca.



(a book in serials)


Rebecca Anne Banks


"Art is the proper task of life."
- Friedrich Nietzsche (Philosopher)

"Inspiration comes when I'm doing other things."
- John Lennon (Songwriter, Musician, Singer)

The following thoughts are on the role of art in society and the politics of art in the marketplace . . .

Art as Entertainment. To entertain, celebrate and lift people's spirits.

Art as Activism/Truth telling. Let's the artist vent about injustices, their own/other peoples. Tells the stories of themselves and people in the community and becomes the conscience of society contributing to positive change and justice.

Art as Defining Current Trends. A study in now, taking the pulse of the nation, exploring current trends, economic conditions, states of peace and war.

Art as Prophesy. Artists can also be psychics/prophets not only defining current social, economic, environmental conditions but may also be early warning systems predicting trouble in the future.

Art, where fantasy meets reality. Creates mythologies by recreating truths into a better place. Is a reflection of the Artist's soul and vision.

Art as a learning tool. So that if something is wrong everyone knows about it. And so that injustices don't repeat themselves.

Art as inspiration. Inspires other artists and their work. Inspires people to action to resolve injustices. Creates trends (in genres, colours . . .)

Art to heal. By weaving the day and often creating synchronicity from chaos the Artist's endeavour creates healing. Creating art can cause a spiritual healing in the artist and perhaps in those that observe the work and in the larger Community, perhaps preventing someone from suicide or violence. A body of work made public by an Artist over a lifetime can create magic with the Holy Spirit causing them if they have had too many lovers (is karmically impure) to become karmically pure again. Hopefully so they can have a happy, long-term covenant marriage.

Art to create an historical record. Often the Artist's work is a reflection of the times, like a picture postcard of a particular time and place in the world, perhaps based in events, politics, and/or the school of thought at that time.

Art worships God. Seminal/great art usually has an element of beauty that glorifies Gods creation.

Art as advertising. Sells products.

Art as design. Creates the spaces we live in. Architecture, furniture, appliances etc. and drives the invention and creation of new products.

The Politics of Art Art, the cultural affects of the Community, should be available to everyone. Poverty should not limit one's access to the legacy of art. Poverty should not limit an Artists ability to study or produce art, particularly if it is their calling for work. It is possible for Artists to form collectives/groups to inspire and support each other and perhaps help with materials costs. I believe in offering art work for Pay-What-You-Can, if you download the work of an artist (an MP3, a piece of writing, etc.) just send what you can, a few dollars along by PayPal (even a small gift of 1 or 2 dollars is appreciated.)

Because the New Economy has downsized jobs and there are so many producers of art, it leaves little room to breathe and can be difficult for people and Artists to live. Giving away your art for free at first, can get your foot in the door and perhaps help you attain a patron base, however this can be rather soul destroying for the Artist. Sometimes Artists with better financial bases have more monies for supplies, education, advertising and networking. However, the great equalizer in the post-modern age is the Internet; it is possible to find information/education, to have a Web presence through social utilities (Facebook, Twitter, My Space, Craigslist, Kijiji . . .), use free email to advertise to contacts/fans and is relatively inexpensive to launch your own Web site. The Internet potentially gives a wide international audience access to your endeavour and like magic creates mythologies for all Artists/peoples. Mythologies are important because they imagine the Community the way it could be, creating peace, healing and beautiful spaces in the New World.

Renumeration of the Artist

"Buy art . . . it's good"
- Tango Blue Arias
(the cat at Tea at Tympani Lane Records)

"If art is to nourish the roots of our culture,
society must set the artist free to follow his
vision wherever it takes him. We must never
forget that art is not a form of propaganda;
it is a form of truth."
- John F. Kennedy (President of the United States)

"Stats Can most recent figures - 2010 - for the industry perspective are that the GDP of culture industries was $53.4 billion, 3.4% of Canada's GDP and 707,012 jobs. And yet artists have no income for their contribution . . . My 13th book will be published in early 2017, and the sad reality is that I have never been able to live off my 40 years of artistic writing, despite winning many awards."
- D.C. Reid (Canadian Poet)

"In This Writer's experience, I have been an Artist for 35 years, I have written over 27 books of poetry, and other books, produced 3 CD's of music (and have 17 CD's awaiting production), produce videos/photos/art, I run 4 WebSites, and post original artwork on Facebook, Twitter, Google Plus and YouTube regularly. I have won an award for most Internet Airplays (Top 55) for Angel Song, was asked to give a talk by The League of Canadian Poets on the changing face of poetry on the Internet media, am a member of The League of Canadian Poets and have been published online. I do not have a recording or publishing contract. I live in poverty on a Disability Pension and make monies from Book Reviews, WebSite Development, publishing other Poets' books, Royalties are nominal. I just received a Low-Cost Housing apartment from the city, rent geared to income which is helping finances."
- Rebecca Anne Banks (Poet/Singer/Songwriter/Artist/Writer/Philosopher/Counselor/Activist)

In my experience of the online arts economy, there are myriad producers of art content, it is as if after the factories closed in N.A. at the end of the industrialized economy that was to become computerized, everyone picked up a guitar or a pen and began to produce art. With so many arts producers, it is a struggle to get attention and sales, although the Internet is an ace global marketing tool. Many of us are giving away art content for free online with little or no sales.

An Artist with a true calling should be able to live and produce art, being looked after by patrons and the Community/society; for the true Artist producing art is a way of life. Often Artists are entertainers, prophets and truth-tellers, they interpret the Holy Spirit, the Holy Spirit works through them in good works, being an unofficial judge able to discern the truth of a situation and helping to keep peace and social justice in the Community. Also, Artists are often economic drivers, producing new ideas, products, streamlining systems, coining phrases, often these ideas are used by other people for free making them a lot of monies. It is important that the producer of ideas/Artist is given something in renumeration (it doesn't have to be monies, it can be a gift of something they need) or there may be karmic dissonance that reflects negatively on the well being of the person who took the idea. I suspect the good elite understand this.

It is possible to receive donations by posting a bio and some of your writings/art at Patreon. And it is possible to receive donations through Go Fund Me campaigns. It also helps to have a donations button from PayPal on your WebSite. Museum's permanent collections should be free, asking for donations or having free visitation days. Traveling collections at Museums should be a reasonable price. It should be possible to visit local art galleries regularly, leaving a small donation in a donations container to aid the Artist/gallery. More people visiting art galleries increases word of mouth advertising and may increase sales. Going to local art galleries gives people contact with local artists their stories and mythologies creating inclusion in the Community and inspiring people.

What makes an artist popular or recognized?

Peoples taste in art is personal, the public success of an Artists endeavour depends very much on striking a chord with people. Sometimes when an artist wakes that exact note with the public, usually something everyone is thinking, the popularity of their work catches like wildfire (e.g. The Friday Song by Rebecca Black or No Rehab by Amy Winehouse). I also suspect not being discouraged is important and to keep producing, if it is your true calling you may eventually be recognized, and it helps to be recognized by God. Sometimes sheer excellence and mastery of the art form will bring you personal happiness, recognition and I suspect it helps to have more friends than enemies. Some Artists are never recognized until they die; for example, Modigliani, the famous Italian painter living in France in the early 20th century, produced sculptures and paintings, giving only one public exhibition in 1917 which was shut down by the police because the nudes were considered licentious, he was married but became famous only after his death from consumption. I viewed a Modigliani art exhibit in Toronto and as I approached one of the paintings the entire painting seemed to be surrounded in a golden light, the painting of his nude wife Jeanne Hébuterne was exceptional and beautiful, his work is seminal.

The art market has exploded, there are very many producers vying for the spotlight; it has become a society of Artists buying each others art or bartering for each others art, I suspect because there are so many Arts producers due to changing business models and morphing job structures (the result of computerization) and the easy access of the Internet as a means of advertisement.

The importance of accessibility of the Artists work.

For all the roles that art plays in society, it creates enfranchisement, so that everyone is aware of the major "stories", happenings, trends and celebration, creating inclusion for the Artist and the public so that everyone can feel a part of the larger Community. And it informs and inspires people, particularly other Artists. The Internet potentially gives an Artist public and international attention and possibly an international market, it helps to have good search engine placement and ways of making your URL public, particularly Internet social interchanges like Facebook and Twitter, blog sites, combined with more traditional media like advertisement in hard copy zines and a business card. Great Art and the Artists that produce great Art are the soul of the society, creating consciousness, mythologies, new synergies, healing and celebration.


The famous psychoanalyst Carl Jung used art as therapy and as a celebration of the Holy Spirit, relying on images from the subconscious and dreams as symbols and Archetypes. By connecting to the subconscious mind in sleep and through meditation, images form through painting and art that reach into the depths of the primordial and eternal, the symbols of meaning, often predicting truth and healing. I suspect art can be prophesy working on different levels, for the Artist personally, for the Artist's associates and for the Community. Jung saw the Artist as a "translator of eternal" opening up consciousness to new worlds and not limited by place or time.

After practising your calling for Art for a long-time as a way of life, making your work public, your skill improves, the offering becomes warm. Your emotional landscape improves. If your love life has been very broken, you have suffered greatly from too many broken marriages and have been dealing with stress, grief, depression and too strong emotions over the years through creating art, the Artistic calling helps with healing.

In the Christian religion the symbol of the cross, the cross that Jesu was crucified on is a fantastical metaphor about trespass, suffering and release. What it means to be "put on the cross" and what it means to be "taken off the cross". Going against The Holy Spirit Way and the 10 Commandments is trespass, trespass is suffering, both for the one trespassed against and the trespasser, hurting innocents which in turn hurts you, it is being "put on the cross". (And sometimes people are "put on the cross" when they are cursed by other people). What you say and do comes back to you 9 x's, either positive or negative according to the wisdom of the Wiccan Religion. Serial intimate relationships for the vast majority of people are trespass, God sent each and every one of us the ideal Kismet Lover or very well-suited lover on a positive SignfromGod, for a mutually happy long-time covenant marriage. A happy covenant marriage is the basic unit of peace in the family and peace in the Community. Not being socialized effectively or mentored and discerned effectively for life, work and love sets one up for trespass.

What is trespass?

Worshipping capricious gods, cursing God, not following Spiritual ritual (not praying at least once a week, working on the Sabbath, not meeting with Saints occasionally for prayer and worship), not respecting Saints and the Community of Saints, murder, rape, stealing someone's wife or husband, stealing goods or property, lying or bearing false witness, sexual blasphemy, fornication, bullying or hurting innocents, sins of omission.

What is the suffering from trespass?

In my experience trespass causes a shadow across the soul of the trespasser. Depending on the severity of trespass against the Holy Spirit, Community and the Individual, the violence will manifest karmic dissonance. In cases of serial relationships, the ending of a good intimate relationship is a type of trespass, a breaking of peace with the Holy Spirit, a breaking of a Holy Union, the people become angry and depressed, and may be prone to suicide, in extreme cases may be capable of murder. In severe cases of trespass (murder) the trespasser loses his peace, becomes insane, suffering anger, depression and paranoia, arguing with people, relationships breaking, negatively affecting their reputation, their monies won't stick with them, their teeth may fall out from shame and they will be out of step missing opportunities.

What is Healing?

Healing is feeling in a positive mood, not suffering emotionally, having positive affect. How does one "come off the cross"? By following the Holy Spirit Way. All God asks of us is to follow your calling for work, follow your calling for love and not to hurt innocents. Follow Spiritual ritual, pray once a week, not working on the Sabbath, meeting in communion with the Community of Saints occasionally, raising others' consciousness and helping people in the Community. It is also good to mend any riffs you have had with people in the past (if it is too difficult to talk to them, at least think good thoughts to them, wish them well, wish them what they need and keep them in your prayers). When your good works and the good you have done outweigh the hurt and damage you have done your mood and emotional landscape will improve. It also helps to process anger over broken relationships/arguments by doing release work, meditation, journaling, following an arts or sports calling, talking to village elders (clergy, doctors, therapists) spending time alone in contemplation, spending time in nature and more (please see Surviving Emotionally). If what you have done is against the law, it is also good to turn yourself in to the local police. There can be great healing and relief in "coming clean" and telling someone what you have done. It is not possible to lie, village elders can tell where you have been and the first rule when you trespass is that everybody knows.

In terms of sexual intimacy, developing a mutually long-time happy marriage on a positive SignfromGod can be very healing. If you are in serial relationships being in a happy marriage all the time can keep you mended but it may be uncomfortable like "picnics in awkward spaces" if you are not that well suited and know it is going to end at some point. Also "the space between" can be very emotionally painful, full of depression. There can be great healing in long-time celibacy. I have heard through the grapevine that if you become a celibate in the church on a true calling you are married to the Lord and have healing (if you do not break your celibacy). In my experience after 20 years of celibacy with an arts calling or a special calling for work and you keep the Holy Spirit Way, you are "mitred in the cloth" and it is as if you are married to the Lord. The ultimate "coming off the cross" is going home to the Lord by following the Holy Spirit Way and the healing of an arts calling or a calling for work.

Over long-time (37 years of arts calling) I have suffered gravely but in discovery of these basic principals of the Holy Spirit Way, doing Deep Process Work, becoming socialized and following a calling for the Arts I have found new ground, spiritually and emotionally. Like coming into the light, my mood is good almost all the time.

"out of dark shadows

a man

in winter street

a guitar on his back

walking . . ."



Rebecca Anne Banks

it's still good to dream

there really should be a property tax

no highway charge

Suz de Suz

the good

the bad

the ugly

and the beautiful

all in one place

the kit cat girl

the myth of Danish fairytales

make you live

make you die

watch as he leaves the room

a shore to sunny girl

the Royce brothers

and the birds in shadows

in the tree

some longtime lover

someone special in kit kat

light source

heat source


Gianna Bellagio

at the coliseum

he needs to be held

and made a Christian

so hurt

you're dreamin' outloud

an pick up a guitar

down in

Tottingham square.


Rebecca Anne Banks lives in the New Age Renaissance Republique of Poetry. She has been writing and producing artistic content for 38 years and 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 Amazon Stations. She has produced 3 CD`s of Folk/Rock music and has 17 CD's 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).

Autumn Cooper. In the words of the Poet: "I am a creative writing student, traveler, and poet from Minneapolis, Minnesota. My poetry is an exploration into the dichotomy of the self and of life, and the spiritual implications embedded in the seemingly insignificant details around us- as well as the humor in the darkness of it all. I have been published in my school journal, The Paper Lantern, but have withheld from submitting my poetry up until recently. This summer I attended the Cambridge Writer's Workshop in Paris, where I wrote and workshopped with poets and fiction authors from all over the world. I am also an assistant editor for the Twin Cities based journal Poetry City, USA."

Robin Coste Lewis is from Compton, California and her family originally resided in New Orleans. She has studied and received degrees from New York University and Harvard University. She has received many honours including a Fellowship at the University of Southern California, the Los Angeles Institute for the Humanities and Cave Canem. She is widely published in anthologies and journals including The Massachusetts Review, Phantom Limb, Callaloo, VIDA, Lambda Literary Review, Transition: Women in Literary Arts, The Harvard Gay & Lesbian Review and was shortlisted for the Rita Dove Poetry Award. She has taught English at Hunter College, Wheaton College, Hampshire College and the New York University Low-Residency MFA in Paris.

Eadbhard McGowan is an artist and a translator and writer of poetry, crime novels and short stories. He is writing haibun, tanka, haiku and poetry in four languages: English, French, Spanish and German and holds workshops on Japanese and Chinese style poetry and prose. He is a member of four writer groups in Ireland and lives in County Kerry, Ireland, since more than 25 years and is a proud Irish citizen, born in Germany. He was published in 47 anthologies, literary journals and broadsheets in UK, Ireland, Canada and USA.

Michael McNamara "was born in Ireland but lives in South Wales, UK. He had his Selected Poems Overhearing the Incoherent published by Grevatt and Grevatt in 1997. His poetry has been published in Acumen, Aji, Dream Catcher, Envoi, Eunoia Review, International Times, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Lyric, New Welsh Review, Orbis, Reach, Subterranean Blue, Tears in the Fence and The Pterodactyl's Wing. He is also a published songwriter."* *from THIS TRANSMISSION

Debarshi Mitra is a 24 year old poet from New Delhi, India. His debut book of poems Eternal Migrant was published in May 2016 by Writers Workshop. His works have previously appeared in anthologies like Kaafiyana, Wifi for Breakfast and Best Indian Poetry 2018 and to poetry journals like The Scarlet Leaf Review, Thumbprint, The Punch Magazine, The Seattle Star, The Pangolin Review, Leaves of Ink, The Sunflower Collective, Coldnoon, Indiana Voice Journal, The Indian Cultural forum among various others. He was the recipient of the The Wingword Poetry Prize 2017 ,the Srinivas Rayaprol Poetry Prize and was long listed for the TFA Prize 2019.

Anne Sexton is an American Poet born in Massachusetts who broke new ground creating the genre of Confessional Poetry. Her poetry included details of her depression, suicidal tendencies and her private family life. She married Alfred Muller Sexton II and they had 2 daughters. She was a professional fashion model. She was awarded and celebrated winning the Pulitzer Prize, is a member of the Royal Society of Literature and a member of Phi Beta Kappa at Harvard. She is best known for To Bedlam and Part Way Back (1960), All my Pretty Ones (1962), Live or Die (1966), Love Poems (1969), Mercy Street (1969), Transformations (1972) amongst others.