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 .

Monday, August 1, 2011

2nd New Monday Poem for Magpie Tales and Beyond....

This poem written for Magpie Tales hosted by Tess Kincaid; today's prompt:  the posted photo.


Around the Jefferson Street bend

On the banks of the Poudre River

White pillared silo

Refracting the morning sun

Devouring all winnowed plunder

Great slot machine pouring forth

Golden jackpot grain

The sacks are full, the grain milled.

Fattened heifers

Wait to calve in hock-deep chaff

nothing bears the languor

Of deprivation

Except perhaps the spring air, teasing

a lagging turbine

To pull water from the earth

But not long ago, we saw the skeletal frames

Jutting on the sky, great fans stilled

War bonnet crests gripped in an unseen hand

Out on the shimmering desert

Where Angus calves lowed for water

The blades of our distrust

Turned and burned against the day

One minute, the seraphic kiss

Of the mothering wind

Her ripening, resolute breath

Then, nomadic, abandoning,

Playing the windmill heart

For a fool.


copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2011  jenneandrews2010@gmail.com
All Rights Reserved


Maureen said...

You've created some wonderful sustained visual imagery from that prompt, from the "Great slot machine pouring forth" to "the wind itself, teasing / the lagging turbine" to the "great fans stilled / War bonnet crests gripped" to "The blades of our distrust" culminating in "the windmill heart [played] For a fool". Also the sounds: grain falling, wind "teasing", calves lowing, breath "ripening".

Perfectly titled, too.

Mama Zen said...

This is so descriptive! Love it!

Ann Grenier said...

Powerful imagery in your personification: blades of distrust, seraphic kiss and playing the windmill heart for a fool. A small mystery in the poem's tone of betrayal.

Reflections said...

Love the bitter reminders of a land giving and unforgiving... blanketed warmth from arid winds. Depths of all time, engulfed in life.

Brian Miller said...

nice you set this up with some great imagery...the last stanza is the one it turns on for me though...the blades of our distrust...i like

Erratic Thoughts said...

I liked the title very much..superb use of the prompt...

Doctor FTSE said...

Excellent. I particularly liked the image "golden jackpot grain."

Anonymous said...

This is great makes me feel like I am right there smelling the grain! I took this link from d'Verse but I don't see a link or anything saying this is for it hope I did not err, but liked this all the same

BKP said...

Your last stanza, le magnifique. I read your poem once, then the fourth stanza five times. The visual of "Mother Wind" teasing the windmill, so as to move it, and make it believe it will be moved for eternity, then rendering it fall still, leaving it silent, and alone.


Kay L. Davies said...

A wonderful heart-stirring word picture. Well said.
— K

Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel