Always Loquacious, Always Interesting…


Welcome! Please scroll down for latest post below my bio, and feel free to browse through the site’s pages which feature book reviews, samples of fiction and miscellany.


Jenne’ R. Andrews, 2016


Jenne’ R. Andrews is an American lyric poet; her poetry is noted for its rich musicality,   brilliance and luminosity of imagery, and unabashed emotional risks. Autumn House founder Michael Simms considers her work significant for the strength of its voice and mastery of craft.

The poet’s work has appeared in literary journals since ’69; to date she has had five collections published. Early mentors include Robert Bly, Canadian poet Tom Wayman, former Colorado Poet Laureate Mary Crow, master poet Bill Tremblay, Pulitzer Prize winner Maxine Kumin, memoirist Patricia Hampl, and other luminaries of her generation.

Andrews’ early collections of poetry include In Pursuit of the Family, edited and published by Robert Bly and the Minnesota Writers’ Publishing House and Reunion, Lynx House Press, Christopher Howell, Publisher. Also in the seventies, before ever completing a B.A.,  she was four-year, full-time Poet in Residence to the St. Paul Schools, and won both a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship in Literature and a Minnesota State Arts Board grant.

An expanded chapbook from Finishing Line Press, Blackbirds Dance in the Empire of Love, appeared in 2013, receiving high praise by her contemporaries and a lauding letter from Mr. Bly.   Copies of this book are available from Finishing Line; signed copies are available from the poet via

Forthcoming Publication as of February 2017

Sometime in 2017 a second Finishing Line collection, Bocca, Voce, Delirio – Mouth, Voice, Delirium– Poems of Italia and Amore, , will launch with a true bonus; an e-book translation of the work  in Italian by Professor Lorenzo Luciani, New York State University, and the great Tuscan poet Rosalba DiVona.  Visit the collection’s online home: Bocca, Voce, Delirio, Poems of Italia and Amore.  

In 2018 or 2019, of especial interest and great meaning to the poet,  her  second book length collection of poetry, And Now, the Road, will be published by the preeminent  international house Salmon Poetry Ltd, Knockeven, the Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland, Jessie Lendennie, Editor and Publisher.   The collection was also a finalist for the 2014 Autumn House Poetry Prize.  Salmon recently issued a thirty-fifth anniversary anthology received favorably throughout the UK, the US and Canada. 

Roots, Travel and Passions

Andrews’ poetry is imbued with a strong sense of place, including her native New Mexico, Colorado and Minnesota.

In 1974, invited by NPR’s Caroline Marshall, the poet traveled to Italy, ultimately taking a train alone down the coast to Reggio Calabria to rendezvous with a Calabrese she met in Verona.  She became fluent in Italian, and has a great affinity for southern Italy and Sicily. In addition to her forthcoming collection of “Italiana,” she has self-published the memoir Nightfall in Verona to its own blog online.

Returning to Colorado from Minnesota in 1978, the poet completed her bachelor’s degree and went on to take both M.A. and MFA degrees at Colorado State University.  She has taught composition, literature and creative writing at CSU and The University of Colorado.

After twenty years of raising Golden Retrievers in Colorado, continuing to write on the fly but during an intentional break from US Arts and Letters, the poet lost most of her mobility in a fall from a horse in 2007.  She has since devoted herself to a full time writing life, becoming a proficient political blogger,  and posting reviews of new collections of poetry to this blog.

Andrews’ passions include loving and breeding English Cream Golden Retrievers, creating exquisite collectible baby dolls, civil rights advocacy and lately, blogging about politics in the regressive wormhole of the Trump presidency.  She lives with her husband, fiction writer Jack Brooks, and dogs Angelo, Paris, Malibu and Scherzo on six acres on the county line in northern Colorado.


This blog has been a work in progress since early 2010. Nearly 130,000 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 much more about me  here. Contact me at; I am on Facebook at Jenne R Andrews, and Twitter as jenandrewspoet.

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.

Time Running Out, and No Angels in Sight….

Trump and his surrogates are currently rebuking CNN, the NYT, WaPo and company for wholesale negative reportage.  They claim that “the media” is failing to cover what he has accomplished, instead offering up a vision of an administration that cannot administer, and escalating chaos.  It is all just as if a pack of wild dogs in heat has been turned loose on the White House lawn.

Certainly Red America agrees that Trump is being mistreated; in solidarity with the culture of bigotry, white supremacy, rage and hate he generates, they bay at the moon. .  Trump is feeding this pathogen plenty of red meat–that the CIA is leaking to the press, at the same time denying his missteps, tweets, profoundly distressing and inappropriate bluster–that he can’t find a new national security adviser– and most recently, that he held a campaign style rally in Florida to get a fix of adulation from a host of people who seem to be blinded by the sheen of his very hair.

It is now patently, abundantly clear to most Americans, that Donald Trump is not equal to the task set before him.  Pundits, viewing the debacle of his roll-out of an immigration band two weeks ago and the East Room press conference several days ago, have begun to use adjectives to describe him such as “unhinged.”

Many of us caught Trump’s thin skin early in the campaign, when he tweeted at the Khans. Since then his need to defend himself by going on the offensive has become legendary.

Several months later, it is apparent that criticism, or the merest suggestion of a misstep, cause this man great distress.  He fixates on crowd size at the inauguration and still says that he won the presidency by an electoral landslide.  Now that there are investigations into whether or not Trump colluded with Russia in the hacking fiasco, and the possibility exists that he could be called to account by Congress or a special prosecutor, he is truly in anguish.  In anguish–and holding the nuclear warhead codes.

Worst of all, and given that his family and closest staff, not to mention that the Congressional majority, are silent in the presence of gaffe upon gaffe, it appears that there is something that Donald Trump appears to be unable to do.  It is something big, necessary, profound.

He is unable to see the connection between his behavior and how it results in the news he can’t stand.  He cannot step outside himself and open himself to the possibility that a report in the NYT is true,  that it is his own behavior that is generating consternation, criticism and panic.

Trump has thick defenses and a massive ego between himself and the unvarnished reality that he has no idea what he is doing.  Every day, he has to arrange a tolerable emotional stasis for himself, insulated in the back of a black SUV with tinted windows, his retinue behind him. To function at all he must furnish a parallel universe in which he is the victim of everyone else in the world, that he does no harm with his tweets and erratic roll-outs of policy made via executive order.

Delusion is not a reliable home for the mind.  This president needs an intervention, stat.  He is becoming more ill by the hour.  And as he degrades, distrust metastasizes over the globe.  It is not inconceivable that by the end of next week, we will all align our payloads, returning to an anticipatory dread and  deep freeze, the Cold War’s twin.  .