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Jenne' Andrews is an American poet. She has three published chapbooks including the recent Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, Finishing Line Press 2013.

A full-length collection, Reunion, Lynx House Press, was published in 1983; after a long hiatus to raise Golden Retrievers in Colorado, recent work has appeared in The Passionate Transitory, Belletrist Coterie, The Adirondack Review and Vox Populi, a journal of culture, politics and poetry published and edited by the august Michael Simms.

A bilingual collection of "Italiana," Bocca, Voce, Delirio, with translations by Lorenzo Luciani, will be released by Finishing Line at the end of 2016 and her latest collection, And Now, the Road, a finalist for the Autumn House prize in 2014, will be released by Salmon Poetry Ltd, Ireland, a highly regarded international house, Jessie Lendennie, Publisher, circa 2017.

Andrews holds the MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry from Colorado State University, is a literary fellow of the National Endowment for the Arts, and was full-time Poet in Residence for the St. Paul Schools from '74-78. She lived in St. Paul from 1971-78 during the first wave of the Twin Cities literary renaissance, and spent the summer of 1973 in Reggio Calabria, Italy.

The poet lives in northern Colorado's Poudre River Valley with her husband, fiction writer Jack Brooks; the couple has recently imported two British Golden Retrievers and expects a litter in June-- see the Ardorgold website for details. Contact: jenneandrews2010@gmail.com .

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Poem for One Shoot Sunday



Photo by James Rainsford  (please take a look at Nightfall in Verona)




In Praise of the Feral

What lies in the irrigation pipe, trembling at the scent
Of the wary hare, looking out at the bars between herself
And the green day.

What trots in at dusk low to the earth, her belly empty
Off in the ditch bank, her lair and its small voices
Whose paint-brush tail trails away in tall grass

What comes and taunts the cats away from their kibble
What vaults the fence when we look at it
And scampers through the garden disturbing not
The sprouting seed

What causes the furor of the squirrels in the poplars
The kittens to run under the house
The moon to rise and sing
The wind to dance
The gypsy ghosts to join hands in the meadow. 


Vixen, you have my heart in your mouth. 

          

x
copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2010

5 comments:

Brian Miller said...

smiles. love all your descriptions...they get more delectible the further you go...

Diana Lee said...

A definite chill from this read, but a delicious one :) Thanks for visiting my page today, much appreciated.

dustus said...

Like one released from captivity, initial fears are aroused before acclimating to the many sides of the wild. Painting with the cat's trailing tail was over-the-top, Jenne' Provocative poem.

wolfsrosebud said...

Feelings like an Alice in Wonderland adventure. Wonderful description...

Semaphore said...

So many things to single out in this poem, but what I find most impressive is the craftsmanship - the prayer-like invocative structure that is subtly Gerard Manley Hopkins, the deceptively simple language, the pacing to the final heart-in-mouth double-entendre. Terrific!