ubterranean Blue Poetry
Volume VIII Issue II


The Masthead:

"Venus de Montreal"

Sculpture by Claudio Parmiggiani

Photo by Rebecca Anne Banks




everywhere . . ."

Venus de Montreal

bite into an orange

and coffee liquer

the morning

never betray the cloth . . .

the forges blaze

the bloody armour

washes in the well

the silent meals

"if I light a candle"

she shrouds herself in night

the music box

a tune plays


falls down

the silence

waiting on Tyree


on the radio

we are going to the shore

(you come too)

left to the dogs of time

it is a Caucasian winter

at the horse race

and the murderer, Ophelia

the girl

with the pearl earring

dice heart, sings

spirits move here

the cloud coloured animus

white collar

sunshine afternoon

(now I am dead)

the sweet of it

dead before they die

and flowers in the morning

crown and anchor

see the sights of Madrid

and something in Foucault

"just turn the lights off"

and everything is tragedy

in the dance halls of America

something in rope skip

on radio band

note from the Spirit

(as if the Smithsonian

is on loan)

and she said, "worship God,

the stone"

l'argent of arsenic

rainbox beds

the heads of jonquils

sit in water

the dried rice paper


sit in light

and the lily grazias

green picta

blessed with good skin

the spirits in the trees

the trees that dance

crack soul art


into the night

as the machine

moves into dreamland

la Sienetta

pekinese pekinese

o' Sha Shondra

the house of flowers

muther nightly

a cattold one

o' citrine

the lovers knot

such semblance of beauty

missing still

and not missing . . .

"In God We Trust"

the rain comes down

in American nickles

American dimes

sorry, Antigone

the written art in the Spirit


antique golden flowers,

the centers of pearls

a golden rain

the days turn into songs

the art written

in the Spirit

and everything is song

(no bitch prog

from one bar

into another)

no liquor breakfast

where the tears fall down

being made broken

the golden drawstring

and they came from across the water

send butterfly wings

sing, the stalk of yellow flowers


taste of green

"gone, just gone . . ."

lover by 2 x's the watermark

plus carriage weight

crack soul art

the dreamland machine

reality has moved into

"In God We Trust"

the rain comes down

and everything is song

(the beautiful cousins of Deshoto

children hiding under the table

the war

what touches them

the war

what doesn't touch them

they wait for the all clear)

of the night's breath

buy a mainline

when love is sweet

the Saint of the moonlight

into night"

Subterranean Blue Poetry
Volume VIII Issue II
(February, 2020)

Subterranean Blue Poetry

© 2020

too bright

by Gabor Gyukics

I reflect the world
some part of it for certain
I see her coming
she'll never arrive
I see her leaving
she'll never depart


by Gabor Gyukics

one can walk in
after the first frost
when ice flowers bloom in high windows
after the snakes hibernated,
when thunders went to sleep

an oblong figure maybe
whose curtains are open,
who has his blinds up
to see how
death robbed his lover's body of its value
pulled the last sentences out of her mouth
enveloped her dreams
to free them later
when they can survive like clouds
in pockets as fragments and patches

delivering her soul back to
where it came from
if her spirit would want it to go


by Kristopher William Locke

I drink alone.

            skulking . . .
                                                  drain circling . . .
                         negotiating the turn

                   as centrifugal force pulls
                                                  moth to flame and
                                     rabbit to hole

I drink alone.

            ascertaining . . .
                                          idiosyncratic offerings . . .
                             ever the maverick

         creating a convincing synthesis
                                          :  pinning it on my
                                 tale of woe

I drink alone.

            spinning . . .
                                          tilted wheels . . .
                       loading the dice

               betting with both hands
                                           contemplating between letting go and
                                   hell no

I drink alone.

            ghosting . . .
                                        cornflake girls . . .
                        and raisin girls

                 as new threats loom
                                        mannequins seen through a window of

I drink alone.


by Naida Mujkic

The permanence of my room
in which poems are blooming
slowly like camellias lying
on the grass
The pendulum mechanism
With slimy canines
I can't scatter words
On the pillows like petals
Of snow-white camellias
How can I fall asleep if I won't
wake up at dawn
Stare at the ceiling, detaching me from the stars
Fades away under the rush
Of ploughs, flasks that let dew drops slide down
I'm leaving behind a wet bed
Weedy thoughts which no first sun rays
Can reach
My room is like a shadow frozen
In the mirror
Occasionally changing the angle
And it can be found only there


by Bruce McRae

My true love calls from a fold in the earth,
her voice a lengthening shadow,
her voice a high cloud in winter.
My true love calls from an airliner's berth.
From an inconvenient crag on a Hollywood back lot.
From a fault under the ocean.
My heart is a chalk outline of a body.
My heart is an immigrant's untold struggle,
her one true voice mispronouncing my name,
sounding like a bell ringing in a baby-blue sky,
my beloved's voice shining like a new penny.
Like a match struck in a mausoleum.




William Shakespeare

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fastened in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and aw'd resistane mae him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes;
Rain added to a river that is rank,
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upont the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevel'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie!
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn to night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And lo, I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me:
And were I not immortal, life were done,
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hhundred ttuhes unto thee?
Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?'

'Now of thhis dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthhia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine,
Wherein she fram'd theee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day, and her by night.

'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done.
Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies:
Love is all truth; lust full of forged lies.

Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
Froom his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

O' how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crysttals, where they view'd each other's sorrow,
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

'When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red cherries;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot quikly is convey'd,
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure herself, and not be seen.


Craigslist New York - Missed Connections - June 18th, 2019 - Anonymous

To the most beautiful woman with the beautifully flowered name

Good Morning Precious,

I love you.



(N.B.: "and I love her . . ." - says the cat

"she's so fine . . ." - says the other cat

"I have pms, I haven't showered in a week, I just got a callous on my foot and the coffee is cold . . . - says Mrs. Machiavelli

"and we need groceries" - says Machiavelli)



Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Like the noises alive people wear

Author: R. Kolewe

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2019

Pages: 40

"Love is more than just a game for two . . ."
- from L-O-V-E by Nat King Cole

Like the noises alive people wear by R. Kolewe and above/ground press begins with such a quizzical title, who is alive? who is not alive? who is wearing noises? and falls into an Art Nouveau surrealist poetic Beat poetry progression. The title is a quotation from Jack Spicer's A Textbook of Poetry, the Chapbook is the first of 3 parts, of 33 cantos, the canto is a style of poetry from Medieval times and means song or singing in Italian. One of the most famous cantos is Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy. Kolewe says, the long poem work "created by the random recombinant rearrangement of an obsessively repetitive source text, a stream of consciousness in which no self can be found." R. Kolewe is from Montreal. He has degrees in engineering and physics from the University of Toronto, works in the software industry and lives in small town Ontario. He has written 2 books of poetry.

This poetry is a study in surrealism, the beginning is like a one-sided conversation with an unseen interlocutor and morphs into truncated 3rd person observations. As if a poetic work like an Escher black line drawing in which the stairways, the hallways are all blocked and go nowhere.

"Well, loss is tiresome yes every day."

The poem entire is perhaps a metaphor for love lost, the drag of time and the overconstructed cultural milieu. The poem comforts with startling nature imagery in beauty, and then it shakes out in a challenging way, so what is given, is taken away. As if a misinterpreted love affair.


The everyday overlaps the extraordinary.
I have no idea what these blue flowers are.
Dust dulling the wood floor in the sunlight.


The whole thing
comes apart without
violence this time."

This poem manifests a quiet oeuvre of violence, of subtle frustration, of longtime, of gathering mists becoming a storm. The surrealism dances with an inside/outside accord, the disembodied soul, the beautiful nature imagery, a presentation marking space and time. A poetic event, Like the noises alive people wear by R. Kolewe.

Available @ above/ground press.



(a book in serials)


Rebecca Anne Banks


"A good painting to me has always been like a friend. It keeps me company, comforts and inspires."
- Hedy Lamarr (Actress)

"A picture is a poem without words."
- Horace (Poet)

"The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls."
- Pablo Picasso (Artist, Peacemaker)

"When I judge art, I take my painting and put it next to a God made object like a tree or flower. If it clashes, it is not art."
- Paul Cezanne (Artist)

The following are thoughts on the magic of buying New Age Art . . . With the crisis in culture and economics in the Western World buying New Age Art may seem like a dream but it is a great idea and it is possible.

Art installations, paintings, sculpture at local art galleries may seem expensive (often anywhere from $200 to $3,000 or $4,000 or more) but a good gallery will give you a layaway plan where you pay off the artwork over a reasonable period of time, 3 to 6 months or longer. I have done this, every time I would get some cash, I would put some monies down on a painting I had arranged to purchase. If you lose your job or primary income source you could renegotiate payment terms with the gallery. So that the Gallery doesn't lose monies there are usually no refunds.

If the artwork seems expensive, the artist is usually crafting the works by hand as original creations, they are paying materials costs as well as overhead costs plus the investment of skill and time, some may be paying down student loans. When the art work sells, all they have is a photograph of the work, it is like giving away their children, they no longer have direct access to their work. Unlike a writer or songwriter, even if the work sells, they still have direct access to their creations.

What to look for when purchasing Art . . .

The better you know yourself, the happier decisions you will make in your art purchases. It helps to know what you like, what are your favourite colours, colour combinations and favourite styles. It may help to study art history and past genres. The first thing I notice about a painting is its color(s), the second thing I notice is its form or style. Some people like to be comforted by their art, they look for beauty and harmonized spaces. Some people like to be challenged by their art, it causes them to think, gives them a rallying point, tells them something new about the world and a really fantastic piece of art may do both, ultimately making the viewer feel better. If you are on a limited budget you should really love the artwork you are buying, this way you get the most enjoyment and healing from the work and it is also a financial investment.

Buying local artists from local galleries is a great investment both personally and for the Community. A good painting/artwork will lift your spirits, is good for your mental health and healing. Also, it will bring new life to your living space, making even the smallest room, college dorm or small apartment feel like home. Buying art is a good wealth investment, the work of a seminal artist will increase in monetary value over time.

How buying art from local Artists supports the Community . . .

Buying art from local artists supports the local economy. Local artists are important fonts of knowledge and village elders/Oracles, they are important people who promote peace in the Community, truth tellers who may get signs from God as they promote safety and democracy. Also, artists may be economic drivers living in stressed conditions. Local art galleries are places of life, important meeting places, places of celebration and places of commerce. By buying art from local artists you are investing in the Community, supporting local businesses and creating better circumstances and well being for Artists, the peacemakers.

Vincent Van Gogh was an impoverished/tortured artist who lived at the turn of the 20th century, he did not sell one painting his entire life. His works are Impressionism at its best, the works are seminal. Upon his death his works began to sell, and value increased in the 1980's to $1 or $2 million per painting and then skyrocketing to approximately $50 to $100 million per painting.

When an artist's talent ripens their work becomes seminal, the works are the ultimate in the artists skill and inspiration, worthy of awards and great monetary value. Some artists are ahead of their time and do not sell very well in their lifetime, sometimes the greater tragedy and suffering of an artist may add to the value of the work eventually. A truly great artist may be ahead of their time, it may take 50 years or longer for a great artist to be recognized, as the world catches up to the artists vision place. To be recognized it may help if the artist has no influential enemies, having enemies may be part of the reason they go unrecognized in their lifetime.

If you have some extra monies it could be a great game of buying the artists you think are seminal to see if their work increases in value over the long-term. If you love the artwork, it doesn't matter if it doesn't increase in financial value; to increase in financial value it is usually an investment over time.

Purchasing the works of local Artists is an investment in the Community. By supporting the underclass of Oracles, you are causing good karma and promoting the magic of healing created by these special people. By buying an artwork you really love you are creating good mental health synergies for yourself, brightening your living space and giving yourself a wealth investment, a seminal artists work will usually accrue in value over time. Promoting the New Age art scene is an act of faith and healing in the New World economy.



Rebecca Anne Banks

"and all the colours grey sleeping movie of rain of sky evening light a Grimshaw painting Autumn quiet . . ."

lovers and other found objects sleeping . . . some perfect and perfect her grey eyes adored for those that delight in pinning rabbits those that adore the soft of linen sheets an antique cut glass bottle the scent of roses . . . of lavender (we ate in the kitchen) dinner candles at the high table it is odd when perfect things are ruined people o' seamless mr. daybright for those who love waterfalls penny candy daybright she opened her coin purse a double inscription dimebags for us and hers a vingt-cinq perfect is good (no short runs) short dresses and tanned legs summer drive before the rain and rain pennies candy . . . cast in the wrong movie white lingerie manifesto the kitchen bride sunlight burn butterflies pinned to glass red metal horses a double blue fontaine . . . it is a word no one will tell you . . . f


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).

gabor g. gyukics (b. 1958) Hungarian-American poet, jazz poet, literary translator is the author of 9 books of original poetry, 6 in Hungarian, 2 in English, 1 in Arabic, 1 in Bulgarian and 11 books of translations including A Transparent Lion, selected poetry of Attila József and Swimming in the Ground: Contemporary Hungarian Poetry (in English, both with co-translator Michael Castro) and an anthology of North American Indigenous poets in Hungarian titled Medvefelho a város felett. He writes his poems in English (which is his second language) and Hungarian. His latest book in English titled a hermit has no plural was published by Singing Bone Press in the fall of 2015. His latest book in Hungarian was published by Lector Press in May 2018.

R. Kolewe (Poet, Software Developer) is from Montreal. He has studied engineering and physics at the University of Toronto, creates software and writes poetry. He has written the books of poetry, Afterletters (BookThug 2014) and Inspecting Nostalgia (Talon Books 2017).

Kristopher William Locke is a poet and artist born, raised and situated in the Canadian prairies with experience in various mediums including radio, print, web and stage. Readers are invited to join him on the peaks and valleys that exist within, and despite, the flat prairie landscape of his homeland. The result is part of his shared collection of internal essays.

Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician currently residing on Salt Spring Island BC, is a multiple Pushcart nominee with over 1,400 poems published internationally in magazines such as Poetry, Rattle and the North American Review. His books are The So-Called Sonnets (Silenced Press); An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy (Cawing Crow Press) and Like As If (Pski's Porch), Hearsay (The Poet's Haven).

Naida Mujkic (1984) is a Bosnian poetess. She won first prize at literary festival Slovo Gorcina - the most important award to young poet in the collection of unpublished poems in her country (2006). She was a guest artist at Q21 Museumsquartier Wien (Austria, 2016.) and Goten Publishing (Macedonia, 2017). She published 6 books of poetry. So far, her poems have appeared in many places in the world, as well as in some of the influentual magazines. She participated in several international poetry festivals.

William Shakespeare (Poet, Playwright, Actor) was born in 1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon, U.K. One of the world's greatest dramatists he is known as England's National Poet and "the Bard". His plays are often performed in other languages and more than other playwrights. He is best known for Antony and Cleopatra, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet, The Merchant of Venice, Henry V amongst others.