a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
To the Innocent
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
To Troy Davis
I hope you are in a place where there is justice, where there is love unconditionally, the end where young men no longer are lynched by ropes, or the machinations of killers, where there is light and not the suffocating, ethered mud, a place where you will rise above humanness. I hope you are in a place called Justice, a place that will never be named Georgia.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis
George Floyd
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
We saw how bad the killing is in this country. But the many more we did not see — children, women, and men in far away, hidden places, unknown towns, and mud-filled swamps. No one recorded their cries for help. Their blood has filled our land — up to the withers of our horses, touching the white wings of angels.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Unfurrowing
by Ethel Mortenson Davis The unfurrowing of new leaves is like a carefully synchronized orchestra with each musician in exact harmony. But we do not stand and applaud. Only Oriole gets up and sings his splendid song, dressed in brightly colored vestments.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
All That Is Left
The primeval forest at the Toft Point Preserve
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Underneath
undisturbed giant trees,
beneath the soil,
the mycelial web—
a fungi galaxy of life,
connects all the trees
together,
one species next
to the other for a reason—
a dependency for life.
Lichens drape
the forest floor,
even over the fallen trees,
covering them
with a green blanket.
Tree trunks grown
for four or five hundred years
climb into the clouds.
My heart seems to grow
at least as tall.
A bird’s song
I do not recognize,
plants I cannot identify.
The air thick with oxygen
and the icy breath
of a thousand Wisconsin winters
gathers around our ankles
as we stand in a primeval forest
on a small finger of land—
all that is left.
Note: Based on the scientific discoveries described by Peter Wholleben in The Hidden Life of Trees.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
You
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
You came to tell me
this morning
that he was gone,
but last night
when the dread came
and overwhelmed me,
I knew.
You see, love
transcends space and time.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
The Rite of Spring
photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography
Poetry Hall Chinese American Poetry
Ethel Mortenson Davis has two poems in the new issue of Poetry Hall, an English/Chinese journal that is available in the United States and and China. A Chinese scholar translated Ethel’s poems, and they appear in English and Chinese. You can order the journal at amazon. It’s really inexpensive. The title of Ethel’s poems are “The Room” and “Snow Goose.” “Snow Goose” was written when we joined Francha Barnard in Egg Harbor at the library for a session on writing Ekphrastic poetry!
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Seed
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
A Vision
Out of the fire,
with the splitting
of the cone,
a seed emerges.
Thunderstorms
bring it to the soil.
A new tree begins
it’s rapture.
Out of the fire
we have found
new pathways,
a new vision.
We bring the least of us
along in our wagons.
There are no slaves or rich men.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
