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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
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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

Let’s begin by understanding one thing – I wasn’t always a writer. After all, once I accomplished the required rudiments of beginning to become a human being – i.e. sitting up, eating human food, beginning to learn language, walking and all – I was just a little girl, growing up.
Somewhere along the way, however, I learned that words have meaning – often, deep meanings. That speaking the right word can either encourage or profoundly discourage myself and others; and, unfortunately, that words can be used as weapons.
Some time later I, also, learned to write words. Sometimes they were “funny words”, like “sword” (that I learned how to spell by emphasizing the “sw” sound and, then, adding the remaining “…ord”). I have a long and growing list of “funny words”. Another one might be “gabberflasted” (intentionally flipped ’round for memorability, emphasis, and humor).
Eventually, I began to, somewhat, “eat” words – rolling them over in my mouth for pronunciation, “digesting” the deeper meanings, learning the human history of words. I think, at that point, I was hooked; but, didn’t consciously realize it yet. I was on the path to becoming a writer; whether a public writer or a private writer didn’t matter.
Subsequently, the unconscious became conscious as I wrote more. I thought, as a returned undergraduate, I would major in English and, then, earn a J.D. in law to, eventually, specialize in international law, with sitting on the World Court as my goal.
Halfway through my undergraduate degree (I went back as a sophomore), what can only be called a phenomenological occurrence happened. My World Court goal took a one-week hiatus. I talked with two writers and two lawyers that I knew and respected. At the end of one week, I decided to go into writing not law; and, didn’t know it was poetry until I wrote more.
The rest of this story is my continuing history as a writer – earning my graduate degree, a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) from Brown University (Providence, Rhode Island) with the concentration in poetry. Sending out submissions, receiving acceptances, being published in various literary journals; and, eventually, teaching at the college level for eight (8) years. From time to time I continue to be invited to be a Guest Lecturer and Visiting Artist. These days I’m, also, invited to be a presenter based on my adventures as a woman-owned entrepreneur.
When my teaching gigs ended, I began to develop my skills, expertise, and acumen as a commercial, independent, strategic freelance writer and editor. I had come to understand that the world wide web, hence the internet, is founded on and completely driven by words. That was in May, 1996. I became a bootstrapped, solopreneur founding Jessan Dunn Otis|Writer.
At this time, poetry continues to be the foundation and inspriation I have as a writer. Thankfully, poetry continues to flow. Clients continue to reach out to me when they feel that my experience, expertise, and skills best match their well-funded projects.
Finally, the following quote by Mark Twain are the words upon which my logo was created:
“The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug.”
…and, that answers the question (more or less) how and why I became a writer.
Enjoy this day you make/are given.
Dance On…
~ Jessan

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.

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.
The turn of a page and a new month arrives. For those of us who live in certain territories, we’ve either “gained” or lost an hour in our day (how is that, truly, possible?).
Leaves turn golden, brilliant red, shades of vermillion and, then, drop resolutely to the damp earth. Nature taking itself back into Nature – circles within circles.
As someone I know, often, says – “These are the days of the long shadows.” Sunsets are more intense, as if to linger just a moment or two longer. There’s a typical New England chill in the air that signals migrations, harvests, a kind of gathering together that, most likely, harkens back to archaic, atavistic times.
Today is, also, All Saints Day, a celebration of all saints, known and unknown – preceded by Halloween and followed by Day of the Dead (Dia de Muertos). These, too, are ancient, atavistic, deeply-held, socio-religious ceremonies.
All of this speaks to me in a language of smoldering embers, after the heat and brilliance of Summer. There’s a kind of “dampening down” at this time of year here. Perhaps that’s why Rumi’s quote holds a certain meaning. If it’s true that there’s beauty in everything, even this “dying down” and celebrating saints and Spirits is mysterious and exciting. This is a kind of “call” that ignites me.
As I move through each day, there’s a singular sweetness because of the drying hydrangeas outside my window, the pungent leaf mold from the cut back urban garden, picking the last of the tomatoes, hearing the migrating calls of flocks of geese heading south, remembering other places, other people.
I hear Rumi’s call to respond to that which excites me, transcending apparent barriers of time and space.
What excites your Spirit?
Today is Sunday, October 4, 2015; and, I celebrate three (3) birthdays.
My mother – Helen Smith Dunn – who loved me (and continues to do so) more than I knew. Until we meet again…
My sister-in-law – Rita Verardo.
A young one, SweetBoy, gone too soon – Turul Kaan Cilam.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“The first step is, simply, everything.” ~ jdo
To His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama
Your raised eyebrow and shy, quizzical half smile Who
could have known where your boychild would walk and
how far
Circles within circles
High in those isolated, beautiful, brutal mountains
Prayer flags
Meditation
One sought and found
Turning away, finally, from politics to passion, the road
to peace is begun with one step
Turn and turning in a widening gyre, come close in the spiral, into
the center of our truer heart
“It’s as easy to laugh as it is to dance,” she said; as shared laughter
rose up, as if prayers rippling through air as flags, flapping and tethered,
as if we could touch it simultaneously
“Throw sparks. Create fires.” she said
You said, “Patience and compassion.”
Dream peace
Learn to recreate it within This is my wish, too
This moment, this moment,
this moment, only this moment.
Jessan Dunn Otis – (c) 2012 – written at the request of Leon Stuparich, Director, ROAD TO PEACE, with thanks
As when you touch yourself for the first
time inside and out
Or when you have left without saying goodbye
for the last time and you do not know it yet
Like walking into a dark room where everything
is known and you are excited that
something alive and beautiful will brush
your face
Or I am the long tree whose branches
move gently wild from the wind
and leave marks on your face
that you will remember when you dream
and you will go back to stare for days
until your eyes ache
Like arms that nobody who has ever loved you
has had before or has held you more strong
than you will ever be held again
And you will weep because you know that
that is true.
(c) Jessan Dunn (DeCredico) Otis – 1985/1987 – CQ, California State Poetry Quarterly, Spring-Summer 1987, Volume 14, Number 1, p.11.
“Today, like every other day, we wake up empty/and frightened….” ~ Rumi
There are days when the world is too much with us – when the news reports are about the terrifying things we continue to do to each other, when an unexpected telephone call too early in the morning changes everything and there’s nothing you can do about it but pray (for a long time) and to show them you love them, when where you were once able to see beauty in that certain slant of light or find solace in the quietude of that sunset or the ocean; or, the enduring love of that person who gently tries to prod you back to your better self falls on your deaf heart. A long-loved friend dies – you were better than sisters to each other. The drowning of another friend’s 3 year old son strikes another shattering blow. Like a slug being hit by salt, you curl up, tight.
You know you’re in trouble; but, can’t find your way back.
Slowly, by constancy, grace, force of will and that invisible Love, a small chink finds its way in. Belly laughs return. Someone you’ve reached out to after your long silence interrupts your conversation, prays for you, and your heart lifts a little – amen.
No one said this life would be easy; and, sometimes it’s not. But, it’s worth it – every time.
Gratitude.
~ Jessan
“…Everything/has to do with loving and not loving/This night will pass./Then we have work to do.” ~ Rumi
At This Time of the Turning of the Year – essay
At this time of the turning of the year my thoughts go in two directions – turning back and turning forward. Simultaneously, I stand exactly where and as I am in this moment.
Turning back, 2014 has been another year of continuing to become accustomed to not being able to hear my youngest sister’s laughter, to share a story of our adventures and expectations. Until we meet, again, Genevieve – I love you and miss you, BabyGirl. Your children and I will tell stories to your grandchildren of growing up together and of your gentleness and loving ways – part of your legacy.
2014 has, also, been a year of good, sometimes challenging, professional and personal work for me. Collaborating with clients to create custom-crafted content, strategies, buffing and polishing existing content until it shines and communicates exactly, mentoring and more. Good folks. Good work. Thank you for your confidence and continued support. My special thanks to Adam J. Kovitz, an extra-ordinary Friend and collaborator. Get this guy!
My personal work continues to shift, evolve, change, as it has since 1985. My gratitude to all poets and writers who came before me is steadfast and enduring. A particular nod of the head must go to Michael S. Harper, 1st Poet Laureate for the State of Rhode Island, through whose work, counsel, teachings and friendship I have been (and continue to be) enlarged, challenged, humbled, sustained. Thank you, MSH.
Gratitude, also, for the blessings of love from my three SweetMen – Al, Sandro and Ces. You enrich and sweeten my life; and, are loved more than you know.
In contrast, there were parts of 2014 that I would wish I never witnessed nor experienced. Continued killings, hatreds, viciousness, turmoil, senseless slaughters, ongoing acts of unkindness. Heartbreaking. Destructive beyond all measure. Repeating history. Lessons not learned.
Once again I ask myself: “What is my part in this?” I ask you: “What is your part in this?”
And, so its continues to go – another month turned, another year passes.
At this time of the turning of the year, I remember, rejoice, reflect and rejuvenate. May the blessings and joy of loving and being loved by someone somewhere follow and sustain you throughout 2015. May all your troubles be little ones; and, the wind always at your back.
#Happy2015
~ Jessan
IF WE…
– For ARO
If we were not able to touch, as we do If it
was not possible to share in the ways that
only you and I have made with each other
would we still love in the ways we do now?
If we had no apparent means of enjoying all our senses have encouraged us to explore
would we, still, love each other, as we do?
If we, unexpectedly, found ourselves, inexplicably, dumb-made, incapable to
communicate
the shades and variations and variables of how we love each other would we continue,
as we have, to grow in it?
My reply is, simply, this Your laughter is my rain, it nourishes me Your tears, my tears
Your joy, my joy beyond my breath.
(c) 12/3/04 Jessan Dunn Otis
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Happy Anniversary SweetMan ~
Love ( all ways),
~ Jessan