Welcome....

Poet Jenne' R. Andrews was born in Albuquerque and has spent the last thirty years in Colorado. Her literary odyssey includes seven years in the Twin Cities and ten weeks in Italy.

But it is the American West that figures most strongly in Andrews' oeuvre and gives rise to her most lyrical work. Her newest collection of poetry, Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, a short but powerful collection turning on her love of place, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press this year. Her poems have appeared in many signature journals, most recently in the new The Passionate Transitory, Belletrist Coterie, The Adirondack Review, and Poets for Living Waters.

Previous collections include Reunion, Lynx House Press; The Dark Animal of Liberty, Leaping Mountain Press, and In Pursuit of the Family, Minnesota Writers Publishing House, edited and published by her mentor, Robert Bly.

Ms. Andrews is also a former full-time Poet in Residence for the St. Paul Schools, a fellow of the National Endowment for the Arts in Literature, and earned the Master of Fine Arts Degree (MFA) in Creative Writing-Poetry at Colorado State. She has taught at the University of Colorado and has been an associate editor of The Colorado Review. She posts work in draft to this blog and reviews contemporary poetry at Loquaciously Yours.

Contact her on Facebook as Jenne R Andrews and Twitter @jenandrewspoet. e-mail: jenneandrews2010@gmail.com .

Sunday, January 27, 2013

New Poem: Mood Tupelo, for The Mag and Beyond.



To see the image used in today's The Mag meme, click here.


Mood Tupelo

She’s as sweet as tupelo honey
She’s an angel of the first degree
She’s as sweet as tupelo honey
Just like honey from the bee.

Van Morrison 

I was never one for high fidelity,
more like the wanton barn swallow
floating on air currents, besieged
by tumescent lovers
blood-breasted in the blur of their wings.

I went looking for my muse
in the pile of classical LPs,
all bequeathed by the parish priest
who saw my mother sashay
in her Tupelo two-step,  nude,
past the slatted doors.

You don’t know what else
I saw and heard. 
Come into the shadows with me
to hear our scotch-soaked secrets.

He never said we were all so damned
we wouldn’t one day trek to heaven.
But he came here in his Advent stole
to love my mother naked
and kept me quiet with a vinyl windfall
of Beethoven and Brahms.


copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2013



2 comments:

Maureen said...

I was hoping someone would pick up on that Tupelo cover. Really like that opening line "I was never one for high fidelity", with all its various meanings. So nicely played out, Jenne.

Mystic_Mom said...

Bella! Brava!