a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis
An Artist that Uses the Color Blue
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The first pictures of the earth from space showed a blue and white jewel shining out of the blackness. It was like seeing patches of blue in the sky after a difficult storm, blue patches that gave us hope, or seeing rare blue flowers on an ancient forest floor, or the sparse blue iris — a surprise in the dry desert. Blue is the color of promise, the color of hope.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
October Sumac
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Christmas
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
We dropped her off after the Christmas program. Snow was on the ground. The night was cold. We waited, with our car running, for her to get inside. But, instead of going in the front door, she scurried up a wooden ladder that was placed outside to an upstairs bedroom. Faster than a blink of an eye she went, faster than we ran up our own stairs at home.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
The Racing Clouds of Winter
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Heart of the Evening
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
All of Us
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
we cannot go
to another planet,
to another earth
in another solar system.
We are too late for that,
too far away.
Instead, we must
sit down, you and I,
and look into each other’s eyes,
our arms embracing,
before we can save
any of us.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Photography, poems, Poetry
In the Time of Covid
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The old men are dreaming bad dreams. The rain will not fall on our land. Even the deep water stays away. I yearn for the earth to give us her blessing, her sanction, so we can harvest the oats and rye again, so I can run to the far field to wrap my arms around the face of my horse and dream good dreams.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
The Telling Dream
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
In my dream it was nighttime. I was in a muddy field overlooking a large city with bright lights. The field was enclosed with barbed wire, and there was a herd of cattle within the enclosure. The cattle were not really cattle, but were members of my family. They were up to their bellies in mud, unable to move. Hundreds of poisonous frogs were climbing onto the cattle, killing them with their bites. This was a foretelling, a story of betrayal and pain, a story of survival and transcendence, an ancient story. Come over here and sit down by this tree, and I will tell you this story. It is a story of my life and yours.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Separation
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
At birth, the farmer separated the calf from its mother. He wiped away the amniotic fluid with a gunny sack before putting him in a separate pen. Black children born to enslaved parents were taken from their weeping mothers and moved hundreds of miles away. Native children were snatched from anxious parents and moved to some miserable life. A Central American baby Is ripped from its mother’s arms. Both baby and mother’s spirits are broken. The farmer’s wife protested, “keep the calf with its mother. Do you need every ounce of milk?” “This is the way we do things,” replied the farmer.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
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