a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
John Looker Reviews Meditation on Ceremonies of Beginnings
The High Window is an important poetry review site dedicated to covering international poetry in Great Britain. The High Window just published a major review by the British poet John Looker, artwork by Ethel Mortenson Davis, and poems from Meditation on Ceremonies of Beginnings published by Tribal College Press, written by Thomas Davis. This is just a stunning issue of the website, at least from where I sit in the universe.
The link to the website is: https://thehighwindowpress.com/2021/04/27/thomas-davis-river-of-people/?fbclid=IwAR3F5LB_pDFwhf2t7x5ei8JLBpriz1MdfJEdWA3MdsB3zVRN4gKGdx3CirQ
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry, Published Books, Thomas Davis
Mirror
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Because we walked to the edge of the water, a loon surprised us with two young clinging on her back— geometric black and white spots on top of a still, early morning mirror.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Night of the Swan
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Bullet Train
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
There is a bullet train speeding through our town, our country, with the letters CRISIS written on it. We cannot put our arm out to catch it, or wrap our legs around it to hold on to it. With lightning fastness, it is melting the ice at the poles, changing the seas forever. It is ripping apart the land around it with drought, flood and wildfire, diminishing wildlife and songbirds. Like a giant spring, loaded and set to snap at our face, it will take out the whole eye of the world.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Slipping Away
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Heaven
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Wolf moon with yellow-green eyes, slipping between trees, slipping from heaven. Timber wolf with yellow-green eyes, slipping between trees, slipping between exploding bullets- heaven slipping between our fingers.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
In Memory of Juno
Poem and pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Dog The way you buried your nose in my hand made me unable to forget you that cold morning at daybreak. Skin and bones you were. Perhaps a boot to your neck, or starvation sent you fleeing to my gate, asking for help. So I let you in.
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Our Winter
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
About Being Lost
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
As a different species, you were there in the beginning, leading the toddler clinging to the long hairs on the ruff of your neck out of the vast corn field and into the arms of frantic parents. Then, in midlife, you led us out of the western wilderness back to the road— how glad we were to find a way out. Now, in old age, you are disappearing from our lives— a little each day, as a new wilderness looms on our horizon. Who will lead us back to the road now?
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
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