Lois P. Jones
                 Lois P. Jones’s poetry and photographs have been published in American Poetry Journal, Raven Chronicles, Qarrtsiluni, Rose & Thorn, Tiferet, and other print and on-line journals in the U.S. and abroad.  She is co-founder of Word Walker Press and a documentarist of Argentina’s wine industry.  Since 2008 she has hosted KPFK’s long-running radio series in Los Angeles, Poet’s Cafe (90.7 FM Pacifica Radio), produced by Marlena Bond which airs the 2nd, 4th and 5th Wednesdays at 8:30 p.m.  Lois co-produces Moonday in the Village and is a co-host of Moonday’s east side poetry reading at Flintridge Books.  She is the Poetry Editor of Kyoto Journal and a 2009/2010 Pushcart Nominee as well as a 2010/2011 nominee for Best New Poets.
    I believe Lois began writing poetry only a few short years ago, not long after hearing the poetry of Verlaine and Eluard. She seems to have gotten the hang of it very quickly and gone from the beginning/intermediate phase straight to Advanced Placement. I first heard her read a moving poem about, I believe, a tree outside Ann Frank’s house. Smart, earnest, creative, deeply spiritual, Lois seems to trust that the minds—and, more importantly, the souls—receiving her words are able to absorb poems that exist on the page with a minimum of scaffolding, fuss or explanation, and yet go for maximum impact.  In Lois’s work we inhabit a garden, we could be in the mountains over Maui, something rare considering Lois lives here in the town of Bukowski and his imitators. And yet the writing is never purple, never stale or corny—far from it. But then how can you go wrong if you start with Verlaine?


Late Winter

I like it when you’re quiet.
The way your shadow fills me
with solitude.

With the face of a red hibiscus
overturned into this stream.

The patience of a well worn
bench empty and expectant.

You don't need words
to coax a season.
To translate borealis, kisses

in the archway. The camellia
that tricks you
into thinking it's a rose.

To know me, listen
to nothing. Take my heart
and roll it in your palms.

Here under this lintel
of silence a river birch
shows only skin,

pale as a prayer
and twice as lonely.

Around it, everything
in early bloom.


The World According to Goldfish Vol. 1, 2009




Ouija
“Green sunflowers trembled in the highlands of dusk and the whole cemetery
began to complain with cardboard mouths and dry rags.”
                                                                    
–Federico Garcia Lorca
You asked for an R, for the ripening of olives
in your garden, the red-tailed hawk

angling over the road, the path
that took you down and away

from the empty room of the body.
The R of reasons, of the ringing that breaks

in a yellow bell tower – the only sound
after the round of shots that shattered

an afternoon. And the T can only be more time,
time to be the clock or the weather vane,

the twilight through your windows
on the page, your pen once again plow

and the places you took me
where I abandoned faith.

A is alone, how you never wanted it,
preferring the company of bishop’s

weed and drowsy horses—the warm trace
of the lily and a flame

for the night with its black mouth
that sings your saeta.

G is the ghost bird that hovered
at Fuente Grande that you did not wish

to come, for the grave some say you dug
with your own hands,

empty as a mouth full of snow,
as a sky that held no moon that night

only its pure shape to stow
all the names of the dead.


Poem of the Year IBPC 2010 Judged by Dana Goodyear.

Published in Raven Chronicles Spring 2011, featured in Magma’s monthly newsletter.

2011 Lois P. Jones
Lois P. Jones was a Featured Poet who read her poetry at the August 2011 Second Sunday Poetry Series