24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Dexta Jean was raised in Arkansas, but her maternal ancestral home is Puerto Rico. She is a poet, a painter, a pilgrim, a mother, and a new Gigi. She also takes her conceptual art pieces and travels the region delivering "art sermons." She considers both poetry and visual art as powerful conduits to initiate discourse on the failings and celebrations of the human condition. Dexta Jean teaches college writing and is a doctoral candidate in the field of art leadership. She loves to laugh and sit among her ferns, hostas, and koi in her peace garden.
it is an institution that has outlived our purposes
possibly
but we are dreamers, are we not?
perhaps, though, we are ready to give up on the illusion
that there is more than a middlin’ chance of survival,
of true love, of a forever love, of a lifetime commitment
and of monogamy in general
but have we given up on the entire notion
of growing old together?
I wonder why we have such trouble letting Venice sink or abandoning New Orleans in the wake of Katrina with all the toxins embedded in the buildings and soil. We cannot right the axis of the earth, stop the ice caps from melting, clean the plastic from the waters or lower the temperatures.The time is now to fix ourselves. We can imagine a new existence if we work together. Let the land sink. Save the people.
banished for burning
creator of the islands
mischievous goddess
has Pele flowed on lava
to play with fire in Maui
We made an undulating landscape on the floor after the hard week
our bedraggled bodies propped on sofa pillows
plates of barely recognized food stuff in varying degrees of consumption
two roaming dogs attempting to lick plates clean
Around us sharp angles of squares and rectangles
mottled with yellowed photographs and meticulously crafted text blocks
that elicited occasional yelps and countless sighs
until our heads drooped but we would not arise
“This is how she found us/ the past draped about us like a cloak”
Hello, fellow poets. I am so happy to be here again. I am a veteran marathoner; I believe this is my 8th year or so and look forward to this all year. I teach leadership at the university and work full-time as a volunteer recruiter for the American Red Cross. I live between the Ozark and Ouachita Mountains in western Arkansas. May we all have a fruitful journey, dexta
rushing down the hall
on a mission of mercy
to coax or defend
to steady amidst chaos
the principal has our back
this is our safe place
take a rest, a bite, a pee
welcome teacher’s lounge
Performing in front of parents is a collective moment of shared humiliation. The umbilical cord connecting them to their parents weakens a little under the harsh stage lights that bleach their eye sockets and inextricably and tightly binds them into a group.
dangling astronauts
grasping for the escape hatch
just to stay afloat
blue and red pancake
round and round and round she goes
leave her alone please
are you married and
how old are you teacher and
do you have children?
mind your manners child
it is not polite to ask
yes I am twenty