Gritty Towers

a photograph by Alazanto, Kevin Davis, our son ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

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Lesser World

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I saw them
in strings,
making the shape of V’s,
Canadian Geese,

flying high enough
to use the lake’s edge
as their guide:
Blue-green water
with white foam
at the edges,
over rushes with dark red plumes
on their trek

For our world will
become lesser
without them,
not as full of life
as the wet summer
has been

while we wait
for the silent season
of winter—

and for the quiet winter
of our life,
a more diminished one,
a lesser world.


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Cave of the Mounds

a photograph by Sonja Bingen, our daughter

Cave of the Mounds

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by Thomas Davis


He talked about the mirror of the lake,
reflected trees and cloud and sky, the still
so absolute, the waters dark, opaque,
no wind, no breath, no birds, no human will
to mar the moment made for memory
entangled in the webs of days and hours
that jumble, jangle, pounce, drone, laugh, and flee
across and through the fields of flowers
surrounding us and all the love we miss
but know inside our livers, gall stones, hearts
as hours blend into hours and all our bliss
becomes a mirror that is but a part
of floating on a lake of trees and sky.

As rain begins to fall, a loon begins to cry.


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Summer Clouds

a photograph by Sonja Bingen



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White Blossoms on a Branch

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

When all human
intervention has harmed us,
when all familia
have spent the fruits,
then the Great Spirit
gives to us our opening
from the darkness,

from the “going down
into the pit of our own agony,”

a candle,
a birth, a rite
into a new life.

Then we are assured—
like the mother tiger
who reassures her young
that they belong
to a family,
that they are important
in this world.

This is what it’s like—
White blossoms on a branch.

Note:  I owe the quotation and inspiration for this poem to Herron, Elizabeth.  2010.  Poetry for the Ear of God.


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Field of Wildflowers

Wildflower Field

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July 29, 2014 · 8:53 am