by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The water lotus
should not be so beautiful
in this war-torn world.
Category Archives: poems
Lotus
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Chicago on the Road to Freedom
a terza rima sonnet
By Thomas Davis
Cacophony, noise, horses, people, smells,
A raging restlessness and energy
Unbounded from the places spirit dwells,
Infected them and made them want to flee
Their fleeing even as Chicago seethed
And made them wonder if their slavery
Was more than whips and white men wreathed
In arrogance, but something in their souls,
Their consciousness, the very air they breathed
That filled their lives with loss and empty holes
Where dreams should live and let life soar in skies
Removed from fear and all the deadly shoals
That, hidden, suddenly materialize
And snatch away a slave’s most longed-for prize.
Note: This continues the sonnet sequence I am writing. The sonnets, all of them different kind of sonnets, head each chapter in a novel that is giving me endless trouble. In the novel a large group of slaves from different plantations, led by a fiery Preacher, escape southern Missouri and head north toward Washington Island in Wisconsin. At this point in their escape they have reached Chicago.
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis
Fractals
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Wilderness embraces us
this wet morning
with pictures of chaos.
Fractals,
repeating patterns
of symmetry
that quiets,
sets our minds free.
These lovely patterns
in trees, rivers, coastlines,
mountains, and seashells
give us designs that are graceful. . .
like the wild dogwood,
a signature tree in the forest,
whose fractal symmetry
is like no other.
The most beautiful grace
I have ever seen
brings rest to our minds —
our souls.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Trees
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The trees have always
extended their hands to us,
making deep, cool chambers of cedar,
birch and maple,
where enlightenment is possible.
But we, in turn,
have responded
with a sharp slap
to the side of their face.
The women of Kenya
started a green revolution
across their land:
Women planting trees
in hope of stopping
the encroaching desert.
Trees that created a moist climate,
pulling water to the parched lips of Kenya.
When our great, great, grandchildren
ask us what we have done
to save the trees on our planet,
will we be the generation of enlightenment,
or one with empty hands?
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems
A Force Inside the Dream of God
by Thomas Davis
Their stomachs ached, they felt ice cold, their eyes
Sank back into their sockets. Still, worn out,
They kept on moving, moving. When the skies
Were dark enough, they got up, brushed the flies,
Mosquitos off, shoved fear and gnawing doubt
Into their bellies’ emptiness, and ran, their route
Through hills and fields, past roads, an exercise
In dreams that live on while the body dies.
But as they moved, the Preacher was a force
Inside the dream of God, a man possessed.
He would not fade. His tongue, without remorse,
Whipped legs too tired to move to movement, stressed
Them all until a blessed miracle
Made life and dreams again seem possible.
Note: I have been posting two of these sonnets at a time. Since I am in the rewriting mode of the novel at the moment, going backward unfortunately, I am afraid I’ll run out of postings for the series before I get to a place where I can keep up the sequence. This is the fifth sonnet I’ve posted from the series. I am working on a novel with a sonnet at the beginning of each chapter. The sonnets themselves are a mixture of forms. This particular sonnet is a Spenserian sonnet.
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis
How Hard
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
We talked about children,
their schooling,
their boyfriends.
How they are becoming
serious about their relationships.
We talked about children
becoming people.
How hard it is.
We talked about
how hard creating
a new piece of art is.
How much energy
the making of art takes —
an extraordinary piece of art.
How hard that is:
Like the yellow orchid
in the forest this morning
among the blue waters.
How hard the earth struggled
to bring about that flower:
Like my ancestors
that were sailors,
sailing to other lands —
among the blue waters —
how hard.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Publication in The Lyric
I just posted two sonnets and then the latest issue of The Lyric arrived in the mail. The Lyric is the oldest magazine dedicated to traditional verse forms in the North America. Its website can be found at https://thelyricmagazine.com. My Shakespearean sonnet, “A Lover’s Song,” which was written to Ethel several years ago, is in the new issue. I subscribe to the magazine and have had another sonnet published in it about a year ago.
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis, Uncategorized
The Miracle Inside a Storm from Hell Inside the Turning Wheels of Time
Sonnets by Thomas Davis
The Miracle Inside a Storm from Hell
Their misery growing as they splashed through streams
And felt huge clouds above the battered trees
That flung down branches as the sorceries
Of wind and hunger screamed and screamed, and screams
Into their fears, their hatred, useless dreams
The Preacher cultivated with an ease
That wasn’t true, not when the miseries
Of hell danced in the storm’s wild, fierce extremes.
And then, as if inside a miracle,
They reached a lonely church, the raging storm
So fierce they quailed inside its crucible,
And knew the light of God, their spirits warm,
The dreams the Preacher preached so lyrical
It made them feel, inside their hell, reborn.
Inside the Turning Wheels of Time
Inside the rhythm of the wagon’s wheels,
The Preacher, with his people crammed beside
Him underneath a false floorboard, untied
His consciousness from who he was, ordeals
He’d face for years now in the past, and reels
Of rainbow light exploded, amplified
A vision where he felt Ezekiel’s tide
Of prophecies burn like a fire that heals.
He saw his Promised Land, boats filled with fish,
A land of gardens lush as men could wish,
And in the garden of his vision, black
As midnight skies, a shining Adam spoke
A chant so sibilant with grace the almanac
Of hours turned like the wagon wheel’s spokes.
Note: These two sonnets continue the series that constitute the beginnings of chapters in a book on a black community that existed on Washington Island before the coming of the Civil War. These sonnets are part of the sequence that deals with the escape of people from the community from the plantations where they were enslaved. The sonnets are written using a mixture of sonnet forms. “The Miracle Inside a Storm from Hell” is a Spenserian sonnet. “Inside the Turning Wheels of Time” is a French sonnet.
Filed under poems, Poetry, Thomas Davis, Uncategorized
Door
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
There,
in the bright morning,
hepatica,
whose leaves stay alive
under the dead layer
all winter,
send up flowers
before all others.
It is here where
the pale pink and lavender
are the door opening
to where my god lives:
Her angels are the birds
opening their wings.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
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