6:41 AM ~ poem

 

Early AM Light - Providence, RI - August, 2016 - photo credit - Jessan Dunn Otis, Writer\

 

 

 

 

6:41 AM ~ poem

In this early morning, break-of-a-new day light

In this cooling, new-day air

I could live

forever.

 

(c) poem and photo credit – Jessan Dunn Otis|Writer – August 30, 2016

My Take on #SocialSelling – via #Brandergy ~ essay

My Take on Social Selling – via Brandergy ~ essay

A LITTLE HISTORY:  I began marketing myself as an independent, professional freelance writer just over twenty (20) years ago with no website, no separate teleph…

Source: My Take on Social Selling – Brandergy

Swimming Under Water – poem

swimming underwater - woman

Swimming Under Water – poem

 

Walking away from home the macadam is still warm

black and sticky and the air          air          is

feeling the line of day and night as another mystery

 

To the end of the concrete walk

across cooled grass and over the warm stone to

the smell is sweet rotting fish and seaweed that is home, too

 

I leave my clothes on and swim south to the sea-thing

away from shore under water hearing my air rise

to be the ocean holding me all over in phosphorous, as eyeballs

ache, blurring the stones and the crabs scutter away.

 

(c)1983, 1989, 2015 – Jessan Dunn (DeCredico) Otis – 1989 American Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, Great Lakes Poetry Press, Chicago, Chuck Kramer, Ed. & Publisher, p. 88.

 

 

Falling Into Your Eyes – for CKW – poem

Big Red Heart

Falling Into Your Eyes

                   for CKW

Two black birds fly together

as if the shadow and the object

were coming to the same place

 

A tongue wags from the stump

as if the song of presence

that lament brings speaks

after so much silence

 

A white star flashes on a dark blue

directly over the heart

and you say

                   who will come to us

                   who will give us solace.

 

(c) 1981, 2015 ~  Jessan Dunn (DeCredico) Otis

Jessan Dunn Otis | Writer

AmeriCymru

The Day After Thanksgiving 2015 – essay

blessings

The Day After Thanksgiving 2015 – essay

Today is Friday, November 27, 2015 – the day after Thanksgiving.  Yesterday was a quiet, thank-filled, beautiful day.

As usual, I was up early – before sunrise.  Quiet time.  Focus.  Reflect.

Bright sun.  Dry, crisp Rhode Island air.  Telephone conversations with family and friends.  E-mails to others.  Thanksgiving Day parade playing in the background.

Later in the morning – preparations of favorite dishes to contribute to the shared dinner in the afternoon. Mashed potatoes, with fresh-chopped garlic, fresh rosemary, sour cream, butter, salt and pepper.  Baby peas and pearl onions in a light cream sauce.  My mother’s recipe for pineapple upsidedown cake, with extra maraschino cherries as part of the decoration, begun, and, then, baked in a black, cast iron fry pan – as that’s the best way.  The perfume of fruits, fixings and fresh herbs blending into an aromatic, Thanksgiving day memory.

After we (Al, Gus-The Wonder Dog and I) arrived at my younger son’s home, the first whiff of turkey, with homemade cornbread stuffing, wafted down the stairs. Added to our feast was: Al’s homemade mashed carrots and turnips, with sweet butter, and; Ces’ turkey, stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce and brussel sprouts.  What a feast!  All washed down with a glass or two of dark amber Duchesse de Bourgogne.

What was required next was to temporarily step away from that table, with a few remnants of the fixings left on the plates.  One must leave room for the two desserts.

Stepping into the late afternoon air was a welcome respite, all three dogs (Gus, Betty and Lucy) bouncing around, still looking for a bit of extra food and (always) for our attentions.

By then, the day had turned unseasonably mild, with a damp sweetness beginning to come in.  No jackets required.  Sun lowering a bit more in the West.  That certain slant of light.  Three of us talked on the terrace of food and incidental things, attempting to wiggle out a bit more space.

After a sufficient respite, the desserts were laid out – the aforementioned pineapple upsidedown cake (served with Brooklyn Creamery Company’s Extra Thick, Single Cream) and a pumpkin pie, with pecan and praline crumble, decorated with rich, yellow whipped cream edging, courtesy of Pastiche; and, some rugelach, just for good measure.

I cannot recall that last time I was as full as I was yesterday.  One more bite and it would have spoiled everything.

Another retreat to the terrace, sunset by now.  Lights of the city coming up.  The trio of red, flashing warning lights at the top of the three stacks at the electric company flickering like erratic fireflies through the branches of the de-leafed, skeletal trees.  The low whir of other folks coming or going, crossing the I-Way, East to West to East.

More incidental conversations, each happily fed and full, enjoying the evening’s air and city silence.

The divided leftovers are still covered and untouched.  I’m just beginning to feel hungry, again.

A singularly memorable Thanksgiving Day 2015.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As a way of continuing to celebrate a Day of Thanks; and, to return many favors and blessings received, please accept The Thanksgiving Reader, created by Seth Godin and others.  This is a free download; and, can be generously shared, individually and/or globally.  Thank you, as always, Seth.

 

 

 

 

çok güzel – poem

ç SplashHearto k   g ü z e l – poem

           for Sarik, Lale, and Leyla – with Love

 

 

Your ash and smoke have

filled my skin

The silent music enlarges

my lungs

 

Celebrate and whisper on

each hand and eye that

loved me

 

Further than the green lights

from the opposite side

 

I love your home          because

I know that you are there

From where I always stood

in the cool cathedral of the night

I could, at last, see further

than myself

 

Even stones spoke in an

eloquent tongue as soft

as flesh as liquid as constant,

washing water over turquoise tiles

and my mouth and hands and

feet were washed away

 

Leaving is another stone

that is dissolved in sleep

 

Mountains and snow are the

memory of separation in a

dream of leaving and coming back,

again.

 

(c) 1988, 2015 ~ Jessan Dunn (DeCredico) Otis