Always Loquacious, Always Interesting…


Welcome! Please scroll down for latest post. This blog has been a work in progress since early 2010. Nearly 30,000 overall views and counting. Here is a wonderful compliment from a friend and blog follower: “Your creative gifts, your activism, and your sharp intellect make this world a better, more transparent, more honest, beautiful place.”  You can read all about me  here. Contact me at, and I am on Facebook at Jenne R Andrews. Scroll down for current post.

Update as of August 2, 2016


Please do not share any of the poetry and nonfiction on this blog in whole or in part without crediting Jenne’ R. Andrews as author and linking back to this blog–you can also share a post on Facebook or follow the blog via widgets on the right sidebar–thanks.

I am especially happy to announce my first collection of poetry in some thirty years, an expanded chapbook from Finishing Line Press, Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love; the work in this collection is recent and has received many kudos from the toughest audience of all– my fellow poets. I am proud to say that endorsements from Jim Moore, collected and new poems Underground due out soon from Graywolf; Dawn Potter , Same Old Story, CavanKerry Press and Patricia Kirkpatrick, winner of the 2013 Minnesota Book Award for Odessa from Milkweed Editions,  grace the back cover, with cover art by John Sokol.


Publication Announcement:

My second Finishing Line collection, Bocca, Voce, Delirio – Mouth, Voice, Delirium, Poems of Italy and Amore, will be released by Finishing Line in October 2016, with translations by Professor Lorenzo Luciani. .

My second full-length collection of poetry, And Now, the Road, will be released by Salmon Poetry Ltd, in 2017.  Jessie Lendennie and Siobhan  Hutson are co-editors of this operation–one of the finest presses in all the UK.  .

I have become a regular contributor of poetry to the marvelous Vox   Populi, Michael Simms, Founder, Publisher, Editor. I have had thirteen poems in this wonderful “zine,”  beginning last year.     Thank you, intrepid sir!

Finally, I am proud to announce that  I finally extricated my MFA from Colorado State            University.

Please continue to check out my creative work freely offered to the literate public on line at La Parola Vivace, (literary erotica) and my highly praised memoir Nightfall in Verona— all twenty-two chapters.  See page links. Check back here for book reviews and political notes. Note: archives at bottom of page.


Lady Liberty Has Slit Her Wrists


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How absolutely deplorable the contest for US president has become; it is a sideshow with a deadly serious aspect.  The Trump of the past few days reminds me of the gut shot lion in The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber.  A wounded beast is single-minded; it wills itself to bring down its attacker.

The metaphor is perfect for this loathsome man. Losing the presidential election in utter bitterness, lying to Anderson Cooper’s face, per the Access Hollywood tapes recording his testosterone-laden braggadocio,  when asked if he had made unwanted and unwelcome advances to women, grabbing them by the genitals, with eight women to date motivated to come forward out of the shadows where sexual abuse victims suffer a half-life, he flails around on the podium, at one point wrecking the teleprompters.

This man is incapable of taking the high road in the face of his accusers. He is pathologically incapable of ignoring the accusers and steadfastly staying on message.

Trump has become a dangerous lone bull, bloodied by the picador.  Instead of stating to Cooper in last week’s debate that he had committed indiscretions in the past that he felt badly about, that he apologized wholeheartedly to women he had violated and objectified, TAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR HIS OWN BEHAVIOR, he has all but called on the Alt Right to take out Secretary Clinton, all but called for violent rebellion if, as seems evident, he doesn’t win and she does.

Regarding his constituency, a breast-beating mob, where does this vermin white trash come from, these gun-toting, bible thumping pieces of human dreck who live in a state of meth-fueled paranoia, calling themselves patriots, when they are in reality assassins in the making..

Let us hope and pray that someone is paying attention.  Let us hope and pray that Obama is discussing our domestic security and whether it is even safe for Hillary Clinton to show up for the third debate. Let us try to have faith that violent backlash will be contained by the National Guard.

When I was young and foolish, under the spell of charismatic leaders of Students for a Democratic Society, I called for the overthrow of the government too, as did numbers of us who were catalyzed by the Viet Nam War and myriad social injustices.

I was dumb, naive, and fortunate enough to not go the way of the SDS Weatherman Faction, who did take to the streets and pick up the gun. Nota Bene:  “You don’t need a weatherman to say which way the wind blows, ”  Robert Zimmerman aka Bob Dylan, Nobel Laureate in Poetry, 2016.

Trump has no problem calling Clinton a liar and a hypocrite.  But when his dirty laundry is aired in public, in the New York Times, the Washington Post, cable news, he shows himself to be completely incapable of looking in the mirror.

If Donald Trump is a victim, he is only the victim of himself, of his own shtick, his own song and dance, his own sexual predation and how that tape ended his eleventh hour end run around the mess he has made of his life.

We all know that lies beget more lies, that once you lie, you find yourself lying to cover up the lie….and so on.

Trump the Buffoon, waiving his arms, his comb-over adrift like a sail in his own hot air, is one thing.  Ginning up the Alt Right, people like one woman who stated flatly, “We’re all Second Amendment Pros, so…..”  flexing her blubber and displaying her tattoos, is quite another.

Among those demonizers of Hillary Clinton, hunkered down in the shadows of the Alt Right: three members of a Kansas Militia who plotted to blow up a Muslim Mosque the day after the General Election.

And who else?  Copycats of Joseph Hinckley?  Any number of camo-clad outliers who blame their own moral failures on anyone and everyone, stoned on meth and rage, ready to play Lee Harvey Oswald and stash themselves somewhere so that with long range scopes and years of backwoods practice, they can put a bullet or three in Clinton’s head when she is in mid-sentence?

Trump has been off message, bellowing at the red capes of the women busting his chops and telling the truth about him, for some 72 hours.

How deplorable.  How unbelievable, that the Russian government has teamed up with Julian Assange and is releasing e-mails from Leon Podesta, to unhorse Hillary Clinton, who with Michelle Obama, is fast becoming the only sane voice in the wilderness, the only candidate keeping her cool..

Think of the fact that Putin methodically took over Crimea.  Think of the upheaval in other nations with extremist factions running amok in the streets.

That such things could never happen here is fast becoming an assertion the facts no longer support. It is time for our wishful thinking, our naivete, to be replaced with vigilance, concern, the readiness to hold on to all that we hold dear and take for granted in being citizens of this great and beautiful nation.  Because rage, fear and paranoia are metastisizing among us.  What a terrible, aggressive cancer hatred is.  What it has set in motion, since homo sapiens half-crawled out of the cave into the sunlight.

Look closely at the Statue of Liberty, and then over your shoulder from some distance, back at our country, a place of safety, of safe harbor, of gracious concessions when a candidate loses.  She is weeping; she has cut her wrists in dismay.