Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis

November 22, 2014 · 7:47 am

Letter to an American Poet

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

I have waited for the prodigal son to arrive,
looking across the line of hills each day,
hoping to see his cherub-like face again—
but they say he is still in a distant land,
throwing away his inheritance,
living a debauched life.

For he has no real needs, they say.
Not like the Russians
Pasternak, Ginsburg, Yevtushenko,
Solzhenitsyn,
men of needs and wants
who cherish their inheritance
and are called sons.

I am waiting for you to come back to life again,
waiting to take the fattened young bull
out of his pen to celebrate your return.

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Tagged as debauched life, Ginsburg, inheritance, letter to an american poet, Pasternak, poems, prodigal son, Solzhenitsyn, Yevtushenko

October 29, 2014 · 7:34 am

Night Ride

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Come with me,
down where the trees are,
for there is a line of sky
without clouds,
and soon the earth
will be the color of red honey.

Come with me,
for there is enough feed
for the horses,
and when we stop to sleep
we’ll keep the dogs close
to warm us.

Come with me,
for the songs of the Ancients
are calling.
Orion is straight above our heads,
and we must make
this night’s journey.

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Tagged as come with me, dogs, night ride, Orion, poems, red honey, songs of the ancients, stop to sleep

October 26, 2014 · 7:01 am

The Road I Walk

a photograph by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Tagged as Ethel Mortenson Davis, fall, fall colors, late fall, leaves, photos, Potowatomi State Park, road, Wisconsin

October 7, 2014 · 8:34 am

Climber

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

This is the right time
of the year
to be a climber of trees,

trusting only
the youngest
and strongest limbs
with your life,

your cheek resting
on the nook
of a shoulder—

the right time
of the year
for fireball colors.

This is the place
where one can look
back below
to see if mankind
has become a race
of Renaissance men.

Not yet,
the climber says,
not yet.

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October 6, 2014 · 9:11 am

Patterns in Potowatomi Forest

a photo essay by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Cedar Fall

Wild Grapes

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Tagged as cedar fall, Ethel Mortenson Davis, patterns, photos, Potowatomi Forest, Sturgeon Bay, wild grapes, Wisconsin

September 26, 2014 · 6:52 am

Fellow Travelers

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

The older Oriental woman
was not nice.
The younger men
that were of European descent
accompanied him.
Actually, they never
left his side.

He thought if he
went far enough away,
they would go away.
But they did not.

Even when he was dying
they frightened him.
That was why he moved
far away—to New York.
Perhaps all his problems
would go away.
But they did not.

He told us this at the last.
He didn’t want to hurt us.

When you were little
The voices in your head
were telling you things.

I made a mental note,
“Something is wrong.”

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August 30, 2014 · 7:32 am

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
southward.

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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July 31, 2014 · 8:40 am

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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July 3, 2014 · 7:40 am

Reach

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Her reach finds
small openings
in the forest canopy
until the carpet
at the bottom brings
every kind of plant and fern to formation.

These are true families
that enjoy each other’s company–
some living at the top of hills,
other kinds in depressions–
trees that are dependent
on plants around them,
plants that only live by certain trees.

Step lightly.
Speak in whispers,
for there are babies sleeping
everywhere.

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Tagged as babies, Ethel Mortenson Davis, forest canopy, nature, plants, poems, reach, trees, true families